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