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Men. Not according to the prayer of the people, for they love not Marcius.

Sic. Nature teaches Beasts to know their friends.
Man. Pray you, whom does the wolf love?
Sic. The lamb.

Men. Ay, to devour him, as the hungry Plebeians would the noble Marcius.

Bru. He's a lamb, indeed, that bacs 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

ask 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 for'd with all.
Sic. Especially, in pride.
Bru. And topping all others in boasting.

Men. This is ftrange now; do you two know how you are censur'd here in the city, I mean of us o' th' right hand file, do you?

Bru. Wliy,-how are we censur'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 occasion will rob

you tience:-give your despositions the reins, and be angry at your pleasures ; at the least, if you take it as a pleasure to you, in being so : — 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 else your adions would grow wondrous single ; 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 survey of your good selves! Oh, that you could!


of a great

deal of pa

Bru. What then, Sir ?

Men. Why, then you should discover a brace of as unmeriting, proud, violent, testy magistrates, 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 : said to be something imperfect, in favouring the first complaint; hasty and tinder-like, upon too trivial motion: one that converses 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 such weals-men as you are, (I cannot call you Lycurguses) if the drink you give me touch my palate adversly, I make a crooked face at it. I can't say, your Worships have deliver'd the matter well, when I find the ass in compound with the major part of your syllables; and tho' I must be content to bear with those, that say, you are reverend grave men; yet they lie deadly, that tell you, you have good faces ; if you see this in the map of my inicrocsom, follows it, that I am known well enough too? what harm can your * bisson Conspectuities 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, yourselves, 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 folletseller, and then adjourn a controversy of three-pence to a second 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, set up the bloody flag against all patience, and, in roaring for a chamber-pot, dismiss the controversy bleeding, the more intangled by your hearing: all * bison. (blind) spelt right by Mr. Theobald.


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 gyber of the Table, than a necessary bencher in the Capitol.

Men. Our very priests must become mockers, if they fall encounter fuch 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, aś to stuff a botcher's cushion, or to be intomb'd in an ass's packsaddle. Yet you must be saying, Marcius is proud; who, in a cheap estimation, is worth all your predeceffors, 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 beastly Plebeians. I will be bold to take my leave of you.

(Brutus and Sicinius stand afide. SCE N E. II.

As Menenius is going out, Enter Valumnia, Virgilia,

and Valeria. How now my (as 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 profperous approbation.

Men. Take my Cup, 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: A letter for me!

Vir. Yes, certain, there's a letter for you, I saw'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 prescription in Galen is but Emperic, and to this preservative 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 soundly ?

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 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 posleft 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 ofhim.

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 sworn, they are true.

Where is he wounded ?-God save your good Worships ; Marcius is coming home; he has more cause to be proud :-where is he wounded ? To the Tribunes.

Vol. I'th' shoulder, and i' th' left arm; there will be large cicatrices to thew the people, when he shall


and for his place. He receiv'd in the repulse of Tarquin seven 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 last expedition, twenty five wounds upon him.

Men. Now 'tis twenty seven; every gash was an enemy's Grave. Hark, the trumpets.

(A sout and flourish. 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 advanc'd, declines, and then men die.


S CE N E III. Trumpets found. Enter Cominius the General, and

Titus Lartius; between them Coriolanus crown'd with an oaken garland, with Captains and soldiers,

and a herald. Her, NOW, Rome, that all alone Marcius did fight

Within Corioli gates,
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


heart; Pray now, no more.

Com. Look, Sir, your mother

Cor. Oh!
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-atchieving honour newly nam'd,
What is it, Coriolanus, muft I call thee?
But oh, thy wife-
Cor. My gracious filence, hail!


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