Volumnia: “Come let us go. This fellow had a Volscian to his mother; His wife is in Corioles, and this child like him by chance. Yet give us your dispatch. I am hushed, until our city be afire, and then I’ll speak a little.”
My rage is gone;And I am struck with sorrow.—Take him up:—Help, three o’ the chiefest soldiers; I’ll be one.—Beat thou the drum, that it speak mournfully;Trail your steel pikes. Though in this city heHath widow’d and unchilded many a one,Which to this hour bewail the injury,Yet he shall have a noble memory.—Assist.
[Exeunt, bearing the body of CORIOLANUS. A dead march sounded.]