Page:Coriolanus (1924) Yale.djvu/19

The Tragedy of Coriolanus, I. i

But make you ready your stiff bats and clubs:

Rome and her rats are at the point of battle;

The one side must have bale.

Hail, noble Martius!

Mar. Thanks.—What's the matter, you dissentious rogues,

That, rubbing the poor itch of your opinion,

Make yourselves scabs?

2. Cit. We have ever your good word.

Mar. He that will give good words to thee will flatter

Beneath abhorring. What would you have, you curs,

That like nor peace nor war? the one affrights you,

The other makes you proud. He that trusts to you,

Where he should find you lions, finds you hares;

Where foxes, geese: you are no surer, no,

Than is the coal of fire upon the ice,

Or hailstone in the sun. Your virtue is,

To make him worthy whose offence subdues him,

And curse that justice did it. Who deserves greatness

Deserves your hate; and your affections are

A sick man's appetite, who desires most that

Which would increase his evil. He that depends

Upon your favours swims with fins of lead

And hews down oaks with rushes. Hang ye! Trust ye?

With every minute you do change a mind,

And call him noble that was now your hate,

 169 bale: disaster

171, 172 rubbing scabs; cf. n.

174 Beneath abhorring: more than can be enough abhorred

175 nor nor: neither  nor

179 Cf. n.

180–182 Your virtue did it; cf. n.

183 affections: favorable opinions

