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hearing all the peace you make in their cause, is, calling both the parties knaves: You are a pair of strange ones.


Bru. Come, come, you are well understood to be a perfecter giber for the table, than a necessary bencher in the Capitol.

Men. Our very priests must become mockers, if they shall encounter such ridiculous subjects as you are. When you speak best unto the purpose, it is not worth the wagging of your beards; and your beards deserve not so honourable a grave, as to stuff a botcher's cushion, or to be entomb'd in an ass's packsaddle. Yet you must be saying, Marcius is proud; who, in a cheap estimation, is worth all your predecessors, since Deucalion; though, peradventure, some of the best of them were hereditary hangmen. Goode'en to your worships: more of your conversation would infect my brain, being the herdsmen of the beastly plebeians: I will be bold to take my leave of you.


How now, my fair as noble ladies (and the moon, were she earthly, no nobler), whither do you follow your eyes so fast?


Vol. Honourable Menenius, my boy Marcius approaches; for the love of Juno, let's go.

Men. Ha! Marcius coming home?

Vol. Ay, worthy Menenius; and with most prosperous approbation.


Men. Take my cap, Jupiter, and I thank thee :— Hoo! Marcius coming home!

Both. Nay, 'tis true.

Vol. Look, here's a letter from him; the state hath another, his wife another; and, I think, there's one at home for you.


Men. I will make my very house reel to-night IA letter for me?

Vir. Yes, certain, there's a letter for you; I saw it.

Men. A letter for me? It gives me an estate of seven years' health; in which time, I will make a lip at the physician; the most sovereign prescription in Galen is but empiric, and, to this preservative, of no better report than a horse-drench. Is he not wounded? he was wont to come home wounded.

Vir. O, no, no, no.


Vol. O, he is wounded, I thank the gods for't. Men. So do I too, if it he not too much :-Brings a' victory in his pocket -The wounds become him. Vol. On's brows, Menenius; he comes the third time home with the oaken garland.

Men. Has he disciplin'd Aufidius soundly?

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

130 Men. And 'twas time for him too, I'll warrant him that an he had staid by him, I would not have been so Fidius'd for all the chests in Corioli, and the gold that's in them. Is the senate possess'd 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. 140

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? God save your good worships ! [To the Tribunes.] Marcius is coming 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 shew the people, when he shall stand for his place. He receiv'd in the repulse of Tarquin, seven hurts i' the body. 152

Men. One i' the neck, and one too i' the thigh;There's nine that I know.

Vol. He had, before this last expedition, twentyfive wounds upon him.

Men. Now 'tis twenty-seven: every gash was an enemy's grave: Hark, the trumpets!

[A Shout, and Flourish. Vol. These are the ushers of Marcius: before him he carries noise, and behind him he leaves tears; 160 Death, that dark spirit, in 's nervy army doth lie; Which being advanc'd, declines, and then men die.

A Sennet.

A Sennet. Trumpets sound. Enter COMINIUS the General, and TITUS LARTIUS; between them, CORIOLANUS, crown'd 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, renown'd Coriolanus!

[Sound. Flourish.

All. Welcome to Rome, renown'd Coriolanus ! Cor. No more of this, it does offend my heart; Pray now, no more.

Com. Look, sir, your mother

Cor. O!

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

Vol. Nay, my good soldier, up;

My gentle Marcius, worthy Caius, and
By deed-achieving honour newly nam'd,
What is it? Coriolanus, must I call thee?
But O, thy wife—

Cor. My gracious silence, hail !




Would'st thou have laugh'd, had I come coffin'd


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

Such eyes the widows in Corioli wear,

And mothers that lack sons.

Men. Now the gods crown thee!


Cor. And live you yet?-O my sweet lady, pardon.

Vol. I know not where to turn:



O welcome

And welcome, general!-And you are welcome all ! Men. A hundred thousand welcomes : I could


And I could laugh; I am light, and heavy. Wel

come :

A curse begin at very root of's heart,

That is not glad to see thee!-You are three,


That Rome should doat on: yet, by the faith of men, We have some old crab-trees here at home, that will


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.

Her. Give way there, and go on.

Cor. Your hand, and your's :


[To his Wife, and Mother.

Ere in our own house I do shade my head,

The good patricians must be visited;

From whom I have receiv'd not only greetings,

But with them change of honours.

Vol. I have liv'd

To see inherited my very wishes,

And the buildings of my fancy :

Only there's one thing wanting, which I doubt not,


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