Coriolanus11-放逐 "I BANISH YOU!"

The honoured gods keep Rome in safety, and the chairs of justice supplied eith worthy men. Plant love among us. Throng our large temples with the shows of peace, and not our street with war. Shall I be charged no further than this present? Must all determine here? I am content. Scratches with briers, scars to move laughter only. What is the matter that being passed for consul with full voice, I am so dishonoured that the very hour you take it off again? Say, then. 'Tis true, I ought so. How, traitor? The fires in the lowest hell fold in the people! Call me their traitor! Thou injurious tribune. Should twenty thousand deaths sit in thine eyes, as many millions clutched within thy hands, I'd say thou liest with a voice as free as I do pray the gods. (But since he hath served well for Rome,) What do you prate of service? (I talk as one that know it.) You? Is this the promise that you made your mother? (Know, I pray you...) I know no futher! Let them pronounce the steep Tarpeian death, vagabond exile, raying, pent to linger but with a grain a day. I would not buy their mercy at the price of one fair word. Nor check my courage for what they can give, to have it with saying 'Good morrow'. (...we, even from this instant, banish him our city, in peril of precipitation from off the rock Tarpeian. Never more to enter our Rome gates. In the people's name, I say it shall be so.) You common cry of curs, whose breath I hate as reek of 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 rumour shake your hearts. Your eenemies, with nodding of their plumes, fan you into despair. Have the power still to banish your defanders, till at length your ignorance which finds not till it feels, making not 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.