MENENIUS.
Hear me speak.
As I do know the Consul’s worthiness,
So can I name his faults.
SICINIUS.
Consul? What consul?
MENENIUS.
The consul Coriolanus.
BRUTUS.
He consul?
ALL PLEBEIANS.
No, no, no, no, no!
MENENIUS.
If, by the Tribunes’ leave, and yours, good people,
I may be heard, I would crave a word or two,
The which shall turn you to no further harm
Than so much loss of time.
SICINIUS.
Speak briefly then,
For we are peremptory to dispatch
This viperous traitor. To eject him hence
Were but one danger, and to keep him here
Our certain death. Therefore it is decreed
He dies tonight.
MENENIUS.
Now the good gods forbid
That our renowned Rome, whose gratitude
Towards her deserved children is enrolled
In Jove’s own book, like an unnatural dam
Should now eat up her own.
SICINIUS.
He’s a disease that must be cut away.
MENENIUS.
O, he’s a limb that has but a disease—
Mortal to cut it off; to cure it easy.
What has he done to Rome that’s worthy death?
Killing our enemies, the blood he hath lost—
Which I dare vouch is more than that he hath
By many an ounce—he dropt it for his country;
And what is left, to lose it by his country
Were to us all, that do’t and suffer it
A brand to th’ end o’ th’ world.