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Bending the knee, as 'twere in adoration.

Hark! Hark!

[Flourish of Trumpets-Shouts, &c.

These are the ushers of Marcius-before him

He carries noise, and behind him he leaves tears. [Flourish of Trumpets-Shouts, &c.-Exeunt.

SCENE II.

A triumphal Arch in Rome.

An Ovation.-Music.

Enter VALERIA, VIRGILIA, VOLUMNIA, COMINIUS, MENENIUS, CORIOLANUS, SICINIUS, BRUTUS, CITIZENS, OFFICERS, SOLDIERS, LICTORS, &c.

A Flourish of Trumpets—Shouts, &c.

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't? Coriolanus, must I call thee?

But O, thy wife—

Cor. My gracious silence, hail!

[Kneels.

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

home,

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

Such eyes the widows in Corioli wear,

And mothers, that lack sons.

Vol. I know not where to turn. O welcome home; And welcome, general :—and you are welcome all. Men. A hundred thousand welcomes !—I could

weep,

And I could laugh; I'm light, and heavy.-Welcome !

A curse begin at very root of his heart,

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

That Rome should dote on: yet, by the faith of men, We've some old crabtrees here at

not

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.

Give way there, and go on.

Cor. Your hand, and yours.

[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
Is 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.
On, to the capitol.

[A grand March.-Exeunt.

SCENE III.

A Street in Rome.

Enter BRUTUS and SICINIUS.

Bru. The dumb men throng to see him, and the blind,

To hear him speak: the matrons flung their gloves, Ladies and maids their scarfs and handkerchiefs, Upon him as he pass'd: the nobles bended,

As to Jove's statue; and his commons made

A shower, and thunder, with their caps, and shouts : I never saw the like:

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 From where he should begin, and end; but will Lose those that he hath won.

Bru. In that there's comfort.

I heard him swear,

Were he to stand for consul, never would he
Appear i'the marketplace, 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. 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.

Enter an OFFICER.

Bru. What's the matter?

Offi. You're sent for to the capitol. "Tis thought, That Marcius shall be consul.

Bru. Let's to the capitol;

And carry with us ears and eyes for the time,

But hearts for the event.

Sic. Have with you.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

The Capitol in Rome.

Flourish of Trumpets.

Enter CAIUS MARCIUS CORIOLANUS, MENENIUS, COMINIUS, SICINIUS, BRUTUS, SENATORS, and OFFICERS.

Men. Having determin'd of the Volscians,

It remains,

Most reverend and grave elders, to desire
The present consul, and last general,

To report

A little of that worthy work perform'd
By Caius Marcius Coriolanus; whom

We meet here, both to thank, and to remember
With honours like himself.-

Worthy Cominius, speak.

[CORIOLANUS rises, and offers to go away.

Sit, Coriolanus; never shame to hear

[blocks in formation]

Cor. Your honour's pardon;

I had rather have my wounds to heal again,
Than hear say how I got them.

Men. 'Pray now, sit down.

Cor. I had rather have one scratch my head i'the

sun,

When the alarum were struck, than idly sit

To hear my nothings monster'd. [Exit CORIOLANUS.
Men. Masters o'the people,

Your multiplying spawn, how can he flatter,
When

you now see,

He had rather venture all his limbs for honour,

Than one of his ears to hear it?-Proceed, Cominius.

Com. I shall lack voice: the deeds of Coriolanus Should not be uttered feebly. It is held,

That valour is the chiefest virtue, and

Most dignifies the haver: if it be,

The man I speak of cannot, in the world,
Be singly counterpois'd. At sixteen years,
When Tarquin made ahead for Rome, he fought
Beyond the mark of others;

And, in the brunt of seventeen battles since,

He lurch'd all swords o'the garland. For this last, Before, and in Corioli, let me say,

I cannot speak him home:

Alone he enter'd

The mortal gate o'the city; aidless came off,
And with a sudden reinforcement struck

Corioli, like a planet: Now all's his:
When by and by the din of war 'gan pierce
His ready sense: then straight his doubled spirit
Requicken'd what in flesh was fatigate,

And to the battle came he; where he did
Run reeking o'er the lives of men, as if
"Twere a perpetual spoil: and, till we call'd
Both field, and city, ours, he never stood
To ease his breast with panting,

Men. Worthy man!

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