He kill'd my fon,- my daughter,-kill'd my coufin,
He kill'd my father. [The Croud Speak promifcuously.
2 Lord. Peace,-no outrage-peace-
The man is noble, and his fame folds in
This orb o'th' earth; his laft offences to us
Shall have judicious hearing. Stand, Aufidius,
And trouble not the peace.

Cor. O that I had him,

With fix Aufidius's, or more, his tribe,
To ufe my lawful fword-

Auf. Infolent villain !

All Con. Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill him.

[The Confpirators all draw, and kill Marcius, who falls, and Aufidius ftands on him.

Lords. Hold, hold, hold, hold.

Auf. My noble mafters, hear me speak. 1 Lord. O Tullus

2 Lord. Thou hast done a deed, whereat Valour will weep.

3 Lord. Tread not upon him-masters all, be quiet; Put up your fwords.

Auf. My Lords, when you shall know (as in this rage Provok'd by him, you cannot) the great danger Which this man's life did owe you, you'll rejoice That he is thus cut off. Please it your Honours To call me to your Senate, I'll deliver

Myfelf your loyal fervant, or endure

Your heavieft cenfure.

1 Lord. Bear from hence his body,

And mourn you for him. Let him be regarded
As the most noble coarse, that ever Herald
Did follow to his urn.

2 Lord. His own impatience

Takes from Aufidius a great part of blame :
Let's make the best of it.

Auf. My rage is gone,

And I am ftruck with forrow: take him up:
Help, three o'th' chiefeft foldiers; I'll be one.
Beat thou the drum, that it speak mournfully.

Trail your steel pikes. Though in this city he
Hath widow'd and unchilded many a one,
Which to this hour bewail the injury,
Yet he shall have a noble memory.

[Exeunt, bearing the body of Marcius. A dead
March founded.

The End of the Sixth Volume.

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