Two boys bearing incense.

An officer with the Roman Eagle.

Two boys bearing incense.

Six dancing virgins with baskets of flowers.

Four priests with Torches

Eight senators.

Two officers.

Four trumpets.

Six lictors with fasces.

Two standard bearers, with Pegasus and the Ram.

Six soldiers.

A standard bearer with Fame.

Two officers with Trophies.

An officer.

A Bier, laden with spoils, supported by four soldiers.

A captive General in chains

Four soldiers with spears.

The Choir, consisting of

Four boys,

Six virgins,

Eight men,

A standard bearer, with the small eagle,

Two fifes,

Two drums,

Six lictors with fasces,

Four officers with Trophies,

An officer,

A Bier, laden with spoils, supported by four soldiers,

A captive General in chains,

Six soldiers,

Two officers,

Two officers, one with a Mural, the other with a Civic Crown,

Two officers, one bearing a painting of the city of Corioli; the other, the word Corioli, on banners.

Six virgins,

Four matrons,

Valeria,

Virgilia,

Volumnia,

Six lictors with fasces,

Cominius,

Menenius,

Caius Marcius Coriolanus,

An officer with the Roman Eagle,

Two officers,

Six lictors with fasces,

Eight officers with Trophies,

Six soldiers with swords and shields,

Twelve soldiers with spears.

Mar.
No more of this, it does offend my heart;
Pray now no more.

Com.
Look, Sir, your mother.

Mar.
Oh!
You have, I know, petition'd all the Gods,
For my prosperity. [Kneels.

Vol.
Nay, my soldier, up:
My gentle Marcius, my worthy Caius,
By deed-atchieved honour newly nam'd,
What is it, Coriolanus, must I call thee!
But oh! thy wife—

Mar.
My gracious silence, hail!
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! y'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 on's 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 crab-trees, here at home, that will not
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.

Mar.
Your hand, and yours.
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 charge of honour.

Vol.
I have lived,
To see inherited my very wishes,
And buildings of my fancy; only one thing
Is wanting, which I doubt not but our Rome
Will cast upon thee.

Mar.
Know, good mother, I
Had rather be their servants, in my way,
Than sway with them, in theirs.

Com.
On, to the Capitol. [A grand march. [Exeunt in state, as before.