:

150

Vol. On's brows: Menenius, he comes the third time home with the oaken garland.

Men. Has he disciplined Aufidius soundly?

Vol. Titus Lartius writes, they fought together, 140 but Aufidius got off.

Men. And 'twas time for him too, I'll warrant him that: an he had stayed by him, I would not have been so fidiused for all the chests in Corioli, and the gold that's in them.

Is the senate possessed of this ?

! Vol. Good ladies, let's go. Yes, yes, yes; the senate has letters from the general, wherein he gives my son the whole name of the war: he hath in this action outdone his former deeds doubly.

Val. In troth, there's wondrous things spoke of him.

Men. Wondrous ! ay, I warrant you, and not without his true purchasing.

Vir. The gods grant them true !
Vol. True! pow, wow.

Men. True! I'll be sworn they are true. Where is he wounded? [To the Tribunes] God save your good worships ! Marcius is coming 160 home: he has more cause to be proud. Where is he wounded ?

Vol. I' the shoulder and i' the left arm : there will be large cicatrices to show the people, when he shall stand for his place. He received in the repulse of Tarquin seven hurts i' the body.

Men. One i the neck, and two i the thigh, -there's nine that I know.

Vol. He had, before this last expedition, twenty-five wounds upon him.

Men. Now it's twenty-seven: every gash was an enemy's grave. [A shout and flourish.] Hark! the trumpets.

170

Vol. These are the ushers of Marcius : before him he carries noise, and behind him he leaves tears : Death, that dark spirit, in 's nervy arm doth lie; Which, being advanced, declines, and then men

die.

180

A sennet.

Trumpets sound. Enter COMINIUS the general, and TITUS LARTIUS; between them, CORIOLANUS, crowned with an oaken garland; with Captains and Soldiers, and a

Herald.
Her. Know, Rome, that all alone Marcius did

fight
Within Corioli gates : where he hath won,
With fame, a name to Caius Marcius; these
In honour follows Coriolanus.
Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus !

[Flourish. All. Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus !

Cor. No more of this; it does offend my heart : Pray now, no more. Com.

Look, sir, your mother! Cor.

0, You have, I know, petition'd all the gods For my prosperity!

[Kneels. Vol.

Nay, my good soldier, up;
My gentle Marcius, worthy Caius, and
By deed-achieving honour newly named, -
What is it?-Coriolanus must I call thee?
But, O, thy wife!
Cor.

My gracious silence, hail !
Wouldst thou have laugh'd had I come coffin'd

home, That weep'st to see me triumph? Ah, my dear,

177. nervy, sinewy. VOL. X

49

190

Such eyes the widows in Corioli wear,
And mothers that lack sons.
Men.

Now, the gods crown thee !
Cor. And live you yet? [To Valeria] O my

sweet lady, pardon. Vol. I know not where to turn : 0, welcome

home :

200

And welcome, general: and ye 're welcome all.
Men. A hundred thousand welcomes. I could

weep
And I could laugh, I am light and heavy. Welcome.
A curse begin at very root on's heart,
That is not glad to see thee ! You are three
That Rome should dote on: yet, by the faith of

men,
We have some old crab-trees here at home that

will not
Be grafted to your relish. Yet welcome, warriors :
We call a nettle but a nettle and
The faults of fools but folly.
Com.

Ever right
Cor. Menenius ever, ever.
Herald. Give way there, and go on!
Cor. [To Volumnia and Virgilia] Your hand,

and yours :

210

Ere in our own house I do shade my head,
The good patricians must be visited;
From whom I have received not only greetings,
But with them change of honours.
Vol.

I have lived
To see inherited my very wishes
And the buildings of my fancy: only
There's one thing wanting, which I doubt not but
Our Rome will cast upon thee.
Cor.

Know, good mother,
I had rather be their servant in my way

:

Than sway with them in theirs.
Com.

On, to the Capitol ! 220 [Flourish. Cornets. Exeunt in state, as

before. Brutus and Sicinius come for

ward.
Bru. All tongues speak of him, and the bleared

sights
Are spectacled to see him : your prattling nurse
Into a rapture lets her baby cry
While she chats him : the kitchen malkin pins
Her richest lockram 'bout her reechy neck,
Clambering the walls to eye him: stalls, bulks,

windows,
Are smother'd up, leads fill’d, and ridges horsed
With variable complexions, all agreeing
In earnestness to see him: seld-shown flamens
Do press among the popular throngs and puff
To win a vulgar station : our veild dames
Commit the war of white and damask in
Their nicely-gawded cheeks to the wanton spoil
Of Phoebus' burning kisses : such a pother
As if that whatsoever god who leads him
Were slily crept into his human powers
And gave him graceful posture.
Sic.

On the sudden,
I warrant him consul.
Bru.

Then our office may,
During his power, go sleep.

Sic. He cannot temperately transport his honours 240 From where he should begin and end, but will Lose those he hath won.

230 250

Bru.

In that there's comfort.
Sic.

Doubt not
The commoners, for whom we stand, but they
Upon their ancient malice will forget
With the least cause these his new honours, which
That he will give them make I as little question
As he is proud to do 't.
Bru.

I heard him swear,
Were he to stand for consul, never would he
Appear i’ the market-place nor on him put
The napless vesture of humility,
Nor, showing, as the manner is, his wounds
To the people, beg their stinking breaths.
Sic.

'Tis right. Bru. It was his word : O, he would miss it

rather
Than carry it but by the suit of the gentry to him
And the desire of the nobles.
Sic.

I wish no better
Than have him hold that purpose and to put it
In execution.
Bru.

'Tis most like he will.
Sic. It shall be to him then as our good wills,
A sure destruction.
Bru.

So it must fall out
To him or our authorities. For an end,
We must suggest the people in what hatred
He still hath held them ; that to 's power he would
Have made them mules, silenced their pleaders

and
Dispropertied their freedoms, holding them,
In human action and capacity,
Of no more soul nor fitness for the world

260