Men. Not according to the prayer of the people, for they love not Marcius. Sic. Nature teaches Beafts to know their friends. Men. Ay, to devour him, as the hungry Plebeians would the noble Marcius. Bru. He's a lamb, indeed, that baes like a bear. Men. He's a bear, indeed, that lives like a lamb. You are two old men, tell me one thing that I shall afk you. Both. Well, Sir; Men. In what enormity is Marcius poor, that you two have not in abundance? Bru. He's poor in no one fault, but ftor'd with all. Sic. Efpecially, in pride. Bru. And topping all others in boafting. Men. This is frange now; do you two know how you are cenfur'd here in the city, I mean of us o' th' right hand file, do you? Bru. Why, how are we cenfur'd? Men. Because you talk of pride now, will you not be angry? Both. Well, well, Sir, well. Men. Why, 'tis no great matter; for a very little thief of occafion will rob you of a great deal of patience: give your defpofitions the reins, and be angry at your pleasures; at the leaft, if you take it as a pleasure to you, in being fo: - you blame Marcius for being proud. Bru. We do it not alone, Sir. Men. I know, you can do very little alone; for your helps are many, or elfe your actions would grow wondrous fingle; your abilities are too infant-like, for doing much alone. You talk of pride-oh, that you could turn your eyes towards the napes of your necks, and make but an interior furvey of your good felves! Oh, that you could! Bru. Bru. What then, Sir? Men. Why, then you fhould discover a brace of as unmeriting, proud, violent, tefty magiftrates, alias, fools, as any in Rome. Sic. Menenius, you are known well enough too. Men. I am known to be a humorous Patrician, and one that loves a cup of hot wine with not a drop of allaying Tiber in't : faid to be something imperfect, in favouring the firft complaint; hafty and tinder-like, upon too trivial motion: one that converfes more with the buttock of the night, than with the forehead of the morning, What I think, I utter; and spend my malice in my breath. Meeting two fuch weals-men as you are, (I cannot call you Lycurguffes) if the drink you give me touch my palate adverfly, I make a crooked face at it. I can't fay, your Worfhips have deliver'd the matter well, when I find the ass in compound with the major part of your fyllables; and tho' I must be content to bear with those, that fay, you are reverend grave men; yet they lie deadly, that tell you, you have good faces; if you fee this in the map of my microcfom, follows it, that I am known well enough too? what harm can your * biffon Confpectuities glean out of this character, if I be known well enough too? Bru. Come, Sir, come, we know you well enough. Men. You know neither me, yourfelves, nor any thing; you are ambitious for poor knaves' caps and legs you were out a good wholesome forenoon, in hearing a Cause between an orange-wife and a fofletfeller, and then adjourn a controversy of three-pence to a fecond day of audience. -When you are hearing a matter between party and party, if you chance to be pinch'd with the colic, you make faces like mummers, fet up the bloody flag against all patience, and, in roaring for a chamber-pot, difmifs the controverfy bleeding, the more intangled by your hearing: all biffon. (blind) fpelt right by Mr. Theobald. the the peace you make in their caufe, is calling both the parties knaves. You are a pair of firange ones. Bru. Come, come, you are well understood to bea perfecter gyber of the Table, than a neceffary bencher in the Capitol. Men. Our very priests muft become mockers, if they fhall encounter fuch ridiculous fubjects as you are; when you speak beft unto the purpose, it is not worth the wagging of your beards; and your beards deferve not fo honourable a Grave, as to ftuff a botcher's cushion, or to be intomb'd in an afs's packfaddle. Yet you must be saying, Marcius is proud; who, in a cheap eftimation, is worth all your predeceffors, fince Deucalion; though, peradventure, fome of the beft of them were hereditary hangmen. Goode'en to your Worships; more of your conversation would infect my brain, being the herdsmen of beaftly Plebeians. I will be bold to take my leave of you. [Brutus and Sicinius ftand afide. SCENE II. As Menenius is going out, Enter Valumnia, Virgilia, and Valeria. How now my (as fair as noble) ladies, and the moon, were fhe earthly, no nobler; whither do you follow your eyes fo faft? 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 profperous approbation. Men. Take my Cup, Jupiter, and I thank theehoo, 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. Men. I will make my very house reel to night: A letter for me! Vir. Yes, certain, there's a letter for you, I faw't. 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 prefcription in Galen is but Emperic, and to this prefervative of no better report than a horse-drench. Is he not wounded? he was wont to come home wounded. Vir. Oh, no, no, no. Vol. Oh, he is wounded, I thank the Gods for't. Men. So do I too, if he be 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. Hath he disciplin'd Aufidius foundly? Vol. Titus Lartius writes, they fought together, but Aufidius got off. Men. And 'twas time for him too, I'll warrant him that: if he had ftaid by him, I would not have been fo fidius'd for all the chefts in Corioli, and the gold that's in them. Is the Senate poffeft of this? Vol. Good ladies, let's go. Yes, yes, yes: the Senate has letters from the General, wherein he gives my fon 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, waw. Men True? I'll be fworn, they are true. Where is he wounded?-God fave your good Worships; Marcius is coming home; he has more cause to be proud :—where is he wounded? [To the Tribunes. Vol. I' th' fhoulder, and i' th' left arm; there will be large cicatrices to fhew the people, when he shall ftand and for his place. He receiv'd in the repulse of Tarquin feven hurts i' th' body. Men. One i' th' neck, and one too i' th' thigh; there's nine, that I know. Vol. He had, before this laft expedition, twenty five wounds upon him. Men. Now 'tis twenty feven; every gash was an enemy's Grave. Hark, the trumpets. [A fhout and flourish. Vol. These are the ufhers of Marcius; before him he carries noife, and behind him he leaves tears: Death, that dark Spirit, in's nervy arm doth lie ; Which being advanc'd, declines, and then men die. SCENE Trumpets found. III. Enter Cominius the General, and Titus Lartius; between them Coriolanus crown'd with an oaken garland, with Captains and foldiers, 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. Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus! [Sound. 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. Oh! You have, I know, petition'd all the Gods For my profperity. Vol. Nay, my good foldier, up: My gentle Marcius, worthy Caius, and Cor. My gracious filence, hail! [Kneels. Would't |