3. SCENE III. Rome. The Forum.
You common cry of curs! whose breath I hate
As reek o' the rotten fens, whose loves I prize
As the dead carcasses of unburied men
That do corrupt my air,--I banish you;
And here remain with your uncertainty!
Let every feeble rumour shake your hearts!
Your enemies, with nodding of their plumes,
Fan you into despair! Have the power still
To banish your defenders; till at length
Your ignorance,--which finds not till it feels,--
Making but reservation of yourselves,--
Still your own foes,--deliver you, as most
Abated captives to some nation
That won you without blows! Despising,
For you, the city, thus I turn my back:
There is a world elsewhere.
[Exeunt CORIOLANUS, COMINIUS, MENENIUS, Senators, and
The people's enemy is gone, is gone!
Our enemy is banish'd, he is gone! Hoo! hoo!
[Shouting, and throwing up their caps.]
Go, see him out at gates, and follow him,
As he hath follow'd you, with all despite;
Give him deserv'd vexation. Let a guard
Attend us through the city.
Come, come, let's see him out at gates; come.
The gods preserve our noble tribunes! Come.