Brut.
'Tis true, the Death of Tarquin gave a loose
To this outragious Pride of the Patricians,
Which till that Hour had been restrain'd thro' Fear;
Lest the vex'd People should recall their Monarch,
And rather chuse one Tyrant than Three hundred.

Sicin.
And yet this Marcius, now Coriolanus,
In Pride and Insolence out-does them all.

Brut.
When we were chosen Tribunes, you remember
His Opposition, and his proud Deportment;
And when the People pin'd in the late Dearth,
'Twas he withstood the giving them Relief,
By dealing them Corn gratis.

Sicin.
His new Exploits will scarce abate his Pride,
Nor his new lofty Title.

Brut.
No, nor this mad Reception of the People.
How in tumultuous Crowds they throng to see him,
And view their deadliest Foe with Lovers Eyes!
Blear'd Sights are spectacled to see him pass,
And halting Crutches learn Activity;
And crying Babes into Convulsions fall,
While prattling Nurses chat of none but him:
The Kitchin Malkin pinns her richest Buckram
About her reachy Neck, and up she climbs,
And clings like Ivy to the Walls, to eye him.
Stalls, Windows, Bulks are smother'd up and choak'd,
The Leads of Houses fill'd, and Ridges hors'd
With variable Complexions, all agreeing

In Earnestness to see him; cloister'd Flamens,
That shun the Eyes of Men, and leave Society,
To be quite swallow'd up in Contemplation,
Now labouring cleave the waving Crowd, and puff
To win a vulgar Station; our veil'd Dames
Commit the War of white and fine Carnation
In their nice lovely Cheeks, to be devour'd
By Phœbus' burning Kisses; such a Rage,
And such an universal Eagerness,
As if that whatsoever God who leads him
Were slyly crept into his human Powers,
And gave him graceful Posture.

Sic.
The Senate is resolv'd to chuse him Consul.

Brut.
And the mad People will confirm that Choice.

Sic.
Then our Authority is at an end.

Brut.
And with it Liberty.

Sic.
Our Comfort is,
That he wants Temper to support these Honours;
And all that Pride, with which he threats the State,
Will, like an Engine manag'd without Skill,
Recoil upon himself.

Brut.
That is indeed a comfort.

Sic.
And doubt not, but the giddy changing Vulgar,
Whose Rights are in our keeping, will forget,
With the least Cause, the Glare of these Atchievements;
Which Cause that he will give, I no more doubt,
Than his Presumption and his Insolence.

Brut.
I heard him swear,
Were he to stand for Consul, never would he
Appear i'th' Roman Forum, ne'er put on,
The candid Vesture of Humility:
Nor shewing (as the manner is) his Wounds
To the vile People, beg their stinking Breaths.

Sic.
'Tis right.

Brut.
It was his word.
Oh, he would miss it, rather than obtain it;
But by the Suit of the Nobility,
And of the Gentry to him.

Sic.
And may his evil Genius prompt him still
To hold that Purpose, and to execute it.

Brut.
You may depend upon it, that he will.

Sic.
It shall be like our Wishes then, Destruction to him.

Brut.
He or our Office must find sure Destruction:
Therefore we must insinuate to the People,
With what malignant Hatred he has vex'd them;
That to his Power he would have made them Mules;
Silenc'd their Pleaders, overturn'd their Freedoms:
Contemning them as Animals, as Beasts,
Incapable of Human Thought or Action;
And to be us'd like Camels in the War,
Who have their Provender for bearing Burdens,
And Blows for sinking under them. Shout. Enter Citizen.
What's the matter?

Cit.
The conquering Coriolanus comes this way:
I have seen the Deaf Men throng to see him walk,
The Blind to hear him speak; Matrons flung Gloves,
Virgins their Handkerchiefs and Silken Scarfs
Upon him as he pass'd, the Nobles bended
As to Jove's Statue, and the Commons made
A show'r and thunder with their Caps and Shouts,
Such as I never heard before.

Brut.
The Senate is broke up; see, Caius Marcius,
And with him comes Cominius, and Menenius.
Let us begone. [Exeunt. Enter Coriolanus, Cominius, and Menenius.

Com.
The Senate have with wonder heard thy Deeds,
And have with one consent, for thy great Services,
Resolv'd to make thee Consul.
Anon you must bespeak the Peoples Voice.

Cor.
I do beseech you,
Let me o'erleap that Custom, for I cannot
Put on the Gown, stand naked, and entreat them,
For my Wounds sake, to give their Suffrages:
From this be pleas'd that I may be excepted.

Com.
Know, Sir, the Peoples Voices are their Rights,
Nor will they bate one jot of Ceremony.

Men.
He shall not put them to it.
Go, pray Sir, and adapt you to the Custom,
And take, as all your Predecessors have done,
The Honour with the Form.

Cor.
It is a Part which I shall blush in acting;
And what might well be taken from the People.
To brag unto them, Thus I did, and thus;
Shew them th' unaking Scars which I shou'd hide,
As if I had receiv'd them for the Hire
Of their Breath only.

Men.
Come, come, no more; you must resolve to do it:
So to our Noble Consul we wish Joy,
And all access of Honour. [Exeunt.

Previous section

Next section