Cor.
No more of This, it does Offend my Ears;
No More I Pray.

Com.
Look Sir, your Wife and Honoured Mother. Enter Volumnia, and Virgilia.

Cor.
Oh Madam! By the Event I know you have
Petition'd All the Gods on my Behalf;
And next the Gods, I pay you thus my Duty.

Vol.
Nay my good Souldier Rise,
My Valiant Caius, Worthy Coriolanus;
Not Thee this Pomp, but Thou Adorn'st thy Tryumph:
What now Virgilia?

Cor.
Oh my tender Dove!
My gentle Silence hail; What Means this Dew?
Wou'dst thou have Laugh'd, had I come Coffin'd Home,
That Weep'st to see me Tryumph: Ah! My Love,
Such Eyes the Widdows in Corioles Wear,
And Mothers that Lack Sons.

Virg.
Ah my Dear Lord, What Means that Dismal Scarf?
My Joy lies folded There!

Vol.
I know not where to Turn;
Oh! Wellcome General, most Wellcome All:

Now from this Starry Seat, Quirinus Smiles.

Men.
Ten Thousand Wellcomes; wellcome All:
A Curse begin at very Roots on's Heart,
That is not Glad to See you; yet have we
Some base Repiners at this Joy; No matter,
We call a Nettle but a Nettle, and
The Faults of Fools but Folly.

Cor.
The same Menenius ever.

Com.
Blunt and Honest, Lead.

Cor.
Your Hand and Yours:
Yet 'ere in our own House, I shade my Head,
The good Patricians must be Waited on;
I had rather be Their Servant in my Way,
Than Rule with them in Theirs.

Com.
On to the Capitol. [Exeunt. Manent Tribunes.

Bru.
All Tongues speak of Him, and the feeble Sights
Are Spectacled to see Him: Pratling Nurses,
Into a Rupture let their Infants Cry,
Chatting of Him; the dowdy Maukin pins
Her Lockrum on, and clambers Walls to View him:
Stalls, Gall'ries, Windows, All are Smother'd up,
Leads Fill'd, and Ridges Hors'd: The Reverend Flamens
Amongst the Crowd, Press for a Vulgar Station,
As at the Approach of some Descended God,
He cannot Temperat'ly bear his Honours;
But will himself Destroy what he has VVon.

Sic.
There Rests our Hope,
Doubt not the Commoners, for whom we stand,
Upon their antient Malice will forget,
On the least Cause, his most Applauded Service.

Bru.
I heard him Swear, were he to Stand for Consul,
He never wou'd Appear i'th' Market place,
In the vile Garment of Humility;
And shewing (as the Custom is) his VVounds
To th' People, nor wou'd Beg their stinking Breaths.

Sic.
It was his Word:
I Wish no Better, than to have him hold
That Purpose.

Bru.
We must Suggest to th'People, in what Hatred
He still has Held 'em: That to his Pow'r, he wou'd
Have made 'em Mules, and Silenc't Us, their Pleaders;
That he Esteems no better of 'em, than
As Cammels of the War, that have their Provender
For bearing Burdens, Blows for Sinking under 'em.

Sic.
This (as you say) Suggested
At some Time, when his soaring Insolence
Shall Fret the People, which will surely happen,
If he be put upon't; and That's as easy,
As to set Dogs at Sheep; he bears the Fire
To kindle their dry Stubble, and the Blaze
Shall Darken him for Ever.

Bru.
His Pow'r, or Ours, must Sleep: Away to the Capitol. [Exeunt. Scene Opening, shews the Senate sitting in the Capitol; Coriolanus in a White Robe, as Candidate for the Consulship.

1 Sen.
Sit Coriolanus, never Blush to Hear
What You have Nobly done.

Cor.
Your Honours Pardon,
I had rather have my Wounds to Heal again,
Than Hear say, how I got 'em.

Bru.
I Hope my Lord, my Words have not Displac't you.

Cor.
No Sir; yet oft,
When Blows have made me stay, I have Fled from Words:
You did not Flatter me;
Therefore cou'd not Displease me; but your People,
I Love 'em as they Weigh— [Exit.

Com.
The Deeds of Coriolanus, Honour'd Fathers,
Shou'd not be Feebly spoke; and Breath wou'd Fail me
To tell the Half: If Valour be with Romans,
The Chiefest Virtue, Martius has no Equal:
When Tarquin first made Head; at Sixteen Years,

He Fought for Rome's Dear Freedom, and Bestri'd
An 'ore prest Roman, in the Consul's Sight;
Slew Three Opposers, Tarquin's self Encounter'd,
And Struck Him on his Knee; in that Days Toil,
When He might Act a Woman in the Scene,
He prov'd Best Man o'th' Field; and for his Service,
Was Crown'd before the Camp: Grown up to Strength,
The Matchless Youth, prov'd yet more Wondrous Man;
And in the Brunt of Seventeen Battels since
Monopoliz'd the Garland; for this last,
Before, and in, Corioles:
I cannot Speak him Home; He stopt the Flyers,
And by his Rare Example made the Coward,
Turn Terrour into Sport; his Sword, Death's Stamp,
Where it did Fall, it took from Face to Foot:
He was a Thing of Blood; almost alone
He Forc't Corioles, came Aidless off,
And Leading, Waiting Death, from Town to Camp:
He Gave no Respight to his Panting Brest,
Till we cou'd Call both Field and Citty Ours.

1 Sen.
We Yield him Worthy of the Consulship:
Summon Him in.

Com.
Be pleas'd to Hear
What yet Exceeds all this; Our Spoils He Slighted,
And Look't on the Seiz'd Treasures, as they were
The common Muck o'th' World; he Covets less,
Than Misery it self wou'd give, Rewards
His Deeds with doing 'em, Accounts 'em only
As Pledges of more Services to come.

1 Sen.
Summon Him in. Enter Coriolanus

Men.
The Senate Coriolanus are well Pleas'd
To make Thee Consul.

Cor.
I owe 'em still my Life and Services.

Men.
It now Remains, that you Bespeak the People.

Cor.
I do Beseech your Honours

Let me o're-Leap that Custom, for I cannot
Put on the Gown, stand Publick, and Entreat 'em
For my Wounds sake, to give their Suffrages;
Please you that I may pass this Ceremony.

Bru.
The Custom may in no wise be infring'd.

Sic.
The Peoples Liberties Depend upon't,
And no particular must be Dispenc't with.

Men.
We do Solicit from your Spleens no Favour,
Put 'em not to't, my Lord, but stoop to th' Custom,
And take t' you, as your Predecessors have,
This Dear-bought Honour, with the usual Forms.

Cor.
It is a Part, that I shall Blush in Acting;
Methinks the People well might spare this Method;
Better Constrain'd to do it.

Sic.
Mark you That?

Cor.
To Brag to 'em, that I did Thus and Thus,
Shew 'em unaking Scars, which I shou'd Hide,
As if I had Receiv'd 'em for the Hire
Of their vile Breath!

Men.
Pray do not stand upon't.

1 Sen.
Tribunes by You, we Recommend to the People,
Our Noble Choice, and to our worthy Consul,
We Wish all Joy and Honour. Call the Lictors,
And Bid the Fasces move. [Exeunt.

Sic.
You see how he intends to Treat the Commons.

Bru.
May they perceive's Intent; He'll Beg of 'em,
As if he did Contemn, what he Requested,
And Scorn the Givers.

Sic.
We'll Inform 'em so;
Let's Hasten to the Forum, where I know,
They Wait Us with Impatience. [Exeunt.

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