MENENIUS.
Be that you seem, truly your country’s friend,
And temp’rately proceed to what you would
Thus violently redress.
BRUTUS.
Sir, those cold ways,
That seem like prudent helps, are very poisonous
Where the disease is violent.—Lay hands upon him,
And bear him to the rock.
[Coriolanus draws his sword.]
CORIOLANUS.
No; I’ll die here.
There’s some among you have beheld me fighting.
Come, try upon yourselves what you have seen me.
MENENIUS.
Down with that sword!—Tribunes, withdraw awhile.
BRUTUS.
Lay hands upon him!
MENENIUS.
Help Martius, help!
You that be noble, help him, young and old!
ALL PLEBEIANS.
Down with him, down with him!
[In this mutiny the Tribunes, the Aediles and the People are beat in.]
MENENIUS.
Go, get you to your house. Begone, away.
All will be naught else.