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DioLiu
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Test3

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SICINIUS:
What do ye talk?
Have we not had a taste of his obedience?
Our aediles smote? ourselves resisted? Come.
MENENIUS:
Consider this: he has been bred i' the wars
Since he could draw a sword, and is ill school'd
In bolted language; meal and bran together
He throws without distinction. Give me leave,
I'll go to him, and undertake to bring him
Where he shall answer, by a lawful form,
In peace, to his utmost peril.
First Senator:
Noble tribunes,
It is the humane way: the other course
Will prove too bloody, and the end of it
Unknown to the beginning.
SICINIUS:
Noble Menenius,
Be you then as the people's officer.
Masters, lay down your weapons.
BRUTUS:
Go not home.
SICINIUS:
Meet on the market-place. We'll attend you there:
Where, if you bring not Marcius, we'll proceed
In our first way.
MENENIUS:
I'll bring him to you.
Let me desire your company: he must come,
Or what is worst will follow.
First Senator:
Pray you, let's to him.
CORIOLANUS:
Let them puff all about mine ears, present me
Death on the wheel or at wild horses' heels,
Or pile ten hills on the Tarpeian rock,
That the precipitation might down stretch
Below the beam of sight, yet will I still
Be thus to them.
A Patrician:
You do the nobler.
CORIOLANUS:
I muse my mother
Does not approve me further, who was wont
To call them woollen vassals, things created
To buy and sell with groats, to show bare heads
In congregations, to yawn, be still and wonder,
When one but of my ordinance stood up
To speak of peace or war.
I talk of you:
Why did you wish me milder? would you have me
False to my nature? Rather say I play
The man I am.
VOLUMNIA:
O, sir, sir, sir,
I would have had you put your power well on,
Before you had worn it out.
CORIOLANUS:
Let go.
VOLUMNIA:
You might have been enough the man you are,
With striving less to be so; lesser had been
The thwartings of your dispositions, if
You had not show'd them how ye were disposed
Ere they lack'd power to cross you.
CORIOLANUS:
Let them hang.
A Patrician:
Ay, and burn too.
MENENIUS:
Come, come, you have been too rough, something
too rough;
You must return and mend it.
First Senator:
There's no remedy;
Unless, by not so doing, our good city
Cleave in the midst, and perish.
VOLUMNIA:
Pray, be counsell'd:
I have a heart as little apt as yours,