you; pray you, avoid: come. Follow your function, go, and batten on cold bits. What, you will not? Prithee, tell my master what a strange guest he has here. And I shall. Where dwellest thou? Under the canopy. Under the canopy! Ay. Where's that? I' the city of kites and crows. I' the city of kites and crows! What an ass it is! Then thou dwellest with daws too? No, I serve not thy master. How, sir! do you meddle with my master? Ay; 'tis an honester service than to meddle with thy mistress. Thou pratest, and pratest; serve with thy trencher, hence! Where is this fellow? Here, sir: I'ld have beaten him like a dog, but for disturbing the lords within. Whence comest thou? what wouldst thou? thy name? Why speak'st not? speak, man: what's thy name? If, Tullus, Not yet thou knowest me, and, seeing me, dost not Think me for the man I am, necessity Commands me name myself. What is thy name? A name unmusical to the Volscians' ears, And harsh in sound to thine. Say, what's thy name? Thou hast a grim appearance, and thy face Bears a command in't; though thy tackle's torn. Thou show'st a noble vessel: what's thy name? Prepare thy brow to frown: know'st thou me yet? I know thee not: thy name? My name is Caius Marcius, who hath done To thee particularly and to all the Volsces Great hurt and mischief; thereto witness may My surname, Coriolanus: the painful service, The extreme dangers and the drops of blood Shed for my thankless country are requited But with that surname; a good memory, And witness of the malice and displeasure Which thou shouldst bear me: only that name remains; The cruelty and envy of the people, Permitted by our dastard nobles, who Have all forsook me, hath devour'd the rest; And suffer'd me by the voice of slaves to be Whoop'd out of Rome. Now this extremity Hath brought me to thy hearth; not out of hope-- Mistake me not--to save my life, for if I had fear'd death, of all the men i' the world I would have 'voided thee, but in mere spite, To be full quit of those my banishers, Stand I before thee here. Then if thou hast A heart of wreak in thee, that wilt revenge Thine own particular wrongs and stop those maims Of shame seen through thy country, speed thee straight, And make my misery serve thy turn: so use it That