You common cry of curs! whose breath I hate
As reek o’ the rotten fens, whose loves I prize
As the dead carcases of unburied men
That do corrupt my air.
The rebellion against Coriolanus seems to be gaining steam. His mother and a few trusted advisers suggest that he might make nice with the rabble so he sets off to the marketplace to do just that. But Coriolanus is not really the type to take something like this lying down and so it doesn’t go so well. As the act draws to a close he has vowed to take his leave of Rome, to much rejoicing from those who were just as happy to see him flung from a cliff.