1 Lord.
Let Justice, Lords, reward his Services,
Far as his Conduct shall be worthy found:
'Tis not unknown what Deeds he has perform'd,
Since first he had the Leading of our Pow'rs;
Molesting hourly Romes confed'rate Citties;
Restoring our lost Fields made rich with Blood;
Our burden'd Souldiers groan'd beneath the Spoil:
Yet—there to make a Hault in's Action,
Where most his Resolution was requir'd;
To flinch our Service at the Gates of Rome,
And make a Treaty where he shou'd have Storm'd;
Admits of no excuse, and I propose it
To your impartial Censures—See he comes. Enter Coriolanus; Aufidius on the other side.

Cor.
Hail Lords, I am return'd your Souldier;
No more infected with my Countries Love,
Than when I parted hence: be pleas'd to know,

That prosperously I have attempted, and
With bloody passage Led your War,
Ev'n to the Gates of Rome; our Spoils brought home,
Ten times o're pay the Charges of the Action:
The Peace which with the Romans we have made,
Brings no less honour to Corioles,
Than shame to Rome. Behold their Consul's Hand,
With the Patricians, and the Seal o'th' Senate
To Composition, such as ne're was gain'd
By proudest Conquerour from the pettyest State:
Peruse it, and approve my Services.

Auf.
Ha! that again: Lords, heard you what he said?

Cor.
I say, I'll have my Services approv'd.

Auf.
Wrong not so much your Patience Lords, to Read
That fabulous Commentary, but forthwith
Give Sentence on his most apparent—

Cor.
Ha!
May I believe my Sense? Down swelling Heart,
Thou wert my Partner, Tullus; but take heed,
No more I say, and thank me for this warning.

Auf.
O Vanity!

Cor.
I say let me be Calm.

Auf.
Out Blast—Read not the Paper, Lords,
But tell the Traytor—

Cor.
Traytor!

Auf.
That, Martius.

Cor.
Martius?

Auf.
I, Martius, Caius Martius, Dost thou think,
I'll grace thee with thy Robbery, thy stoln Name—
Coriolanus in Corioles.
Most awful Lords o'th' State, perfidiously
He has betray'd your Business, and giv'n up,
(For certain drops of Dew) your Citty Rome;
I say your Citty to his Wife and Mother,
Breaking his Oath of Service; call'd no Councel
Of War on This; but at his Nurses Tears,
He whin'd and roar'd away your Victory:
For a few Tears, sold all our Blood and Labour,
Whilst Pages blush't at him, and Men of heart,
Look't wond'ring at each other.

Cor.
Hear'st thou Mars!

Auf.
Name not the fiery God, thou Boy of Tears.

Cor.
Scorpions and Basilisks!

All Lords.
Silence on your Lives.

Cor.
Measureless Lyar, thou hast made my Heart,
Too big for what contains it: Boy? Oh Slave!
Carrion-breed, creeping Insect: Lords your Pardon;
'Tis the first time I e're was forc't to Brawl,
But your grave Judgment will consent with me,
To give this Fiend the Lye: Nay, his own Brawn,
That wears my Stripes, his Vassal Body, that
Must bear my Beatings with it to the Grave—
Cut me to pieces Volsces, Pound, Calcine me,
And throw my Dust to the Wind; yet when yo've done;
If you have Writ your Annals true, 'tis there,
There Registred to all Posterity,
That, as an Eagle in a Dove-coat, so
Was Martius Slaught'ring in Corioles.

Auf.
Dye Insolent. Stamps with his Foot, the Conspirators Enter, and help him to Wound Martius, who kills some, and hurts Aufidius. The Lords rise, and come forward.

1 Lord.
Guards, Guards, secure 'em both.
Tread not upon him; off:
O Tullus, thou hast done a deed, at which,
Valour will Weep.

Auf.
Pray give me hearing, [A confus'd Noise heard from abroad.

2 Lord.
Heark what Confusion storms without. Enter Nigridius hastily.

Nigr.
Hast, hast my Lords, disperse to every Quarter,
Our City's up in Arms, Aufidius Legions
Oppos'd by those were led by Caius Martius.
Prepare for dreadful Battle in our Streets,
Unless your speedy presence quell their Fury.

1 Lord.
Disperse my Lords, each to a several Quarter,
With your best skill, to quench these threatning Flames. [Exeunt Lords severally.

Nigr.
Curst chance! Why bought you your Revenge so dear?

Auf.
There's Blood upon thee.

Nigr.
Blood long Thirsted for. [The Noise continues

Cor.
'Tis just you Gods, to give my Death this Pomp;
'Tis fit, that when Coriolanus Dies,
Corioles shall fall their Sacrifice;
Ev'n thou my Bond-slave follow'st in the Tryumph;
Hast then, and wait me to the nether World.

Auf.
No, I have yet a pleasant Scene to Act;
My Bliss; but Fiend, thy Hell; bring in Virgilia.

Cor.
Virgilia?

Auf.
Yes, she's here, here in the Palace;
Out of her Roman Virtue come to seek you,
And spy those dangers out, which you were blind to;
Thou'lt not believe thy Foe, but heark, she comes;
I charge thee Dye not yet, till thou hast seen
Our Scene of Pleasures; to thy Face I'll Force her;
Glut my last Minuits with a double Ryot;
And in Revenges Sweets and Loves, Expire. Virgilia brought in wounded.
In Blood? Nigridius look! Behold a sight,
Wou'd turn the Gorgon-Snakes—my Rage is gone,
And I am touch't with Sorrow—my faint Nerves
Refuse my Weight, and hasty Death invades
At ev'ry Pore—Oh Dark! dark! O, O. [Dies.

Virg.
Betray me not thou sluggish Blood, stream faster,
I, now the stubborn Heart resigns, and takes
The proud Destroyer to her inmost Courts.

Cor.
O Heav'n!

Virg.
'Tis near, for that was Martius Voice;
My Eyes are dim; but that dear Sound agen;
O where, my dear Lord? Speak!

Cor.
If I do wake,
And that bright dismal Object be Virgilia,
Tell me what Sacrilegious Hand has stain'd,
The whitest Innocence that Heav'n e're form'd:
What Rage cou'd hurt a Gentleness like thine,
Whose tender-Soul cou'd weep
O're dying Roses, and at Blossoms fall?
Tell me thou Turtle, ruffled in a Storm;
What chance seduc'd thee to these Caves of Slaughter?
What means that purple Dew upon thy Breast?

Virg.
My Noble Martius, 'tis a Roman Wound,
Giv'n by Virgilia's Hand, that rather chose
To sink this Vessel in a Sea of Blood,
Than suffer its chast Treasure, to become
Th'unhallowed Pyrates Prize; but Oh the Gods,
The indulgent Gods have lodg'd it in thy Bosome!
The Port, and Harbour of eternal Calms:
O Seal with thy dear Hand these dying Eyes;
To these cold Cheeks lay thine; and to thy Breast
Take my unspotted Soul, in this last Sigh. [Dyes.

Cor.
Make way ye Stars, a nobler Brightness comes:
Ariadne shall to thee resign her Crown;
Yet my Virgilia mount not to thy Merit,
But grace the Orb thy Martius shall attain:
My Grief talks Idlely—Cold my Love? She's gone;
And on her Cheeks a scatter'd Purple smiles,
Like streaks of Sun-shine from a setting Day:
But Oh my Heart! My Fears expire not here!
Volumnia, and my little darling Boy;
Where are they? Some kind God descend t' inform me.

Nigr.
Trouble not Heav'n for your Intelligence.

Cor.
Nigridius here? Then Heav'n indeed is distant!

Nigr.
With silent Transport, Martius, I have stood
To see thy Pangs; to have hasten'd on thy Death,
Had been too poor Revenge; remember Martius,
The Stripes, and foul disgrace thou laid'st upon me,
When once I bear Commission under thee:
Thou mad'st me pass the Fork before my Souldiers,
Discarded, Branded, Hooted from the Camp.

Cor.
I do remember thy unequall'd Villany:
Had exemplary Punishment.

Nigr.
That day
Thou drew'st this Blood from thy own Vitals, Martius:
'Tis thy young Boys, whom I this Hour have Mangled,
Gash't, Rack't, Distorted.

Cor.
O this Tale of Horrour,
Wou'd rouse the sleeping Father from his Grave!
Yet Strength forsakes me for the dear Revenge.
Well, Cerberus, How then didst thou dispose him?
Didst eat him?

Nigr.
Having kill'd your old Menenius,
Off'ring his feeble Vengeance, streight I threw
The Tortur'd Brat, with Limbs all broke (yet living
In quickest Sense of Pain) I say, I threw him
Into Volumnia's Arms, who still retain'd
Her Roman Temper; till with bitter Language,
And most insulting, added to her Suff'rings;
I rous'd her silent Grief, to loud Disorder;
Then left her to the Tempest of her Fury,
To Act my Part, and be her own Tormenter.

Cor.
Convultions! Feavers! blewest Pestilence!
Sleep on Virgilia, Wake not to a Story,
Whose Horrour wou'd exceed the Force of Death,
And turn thee into Stone. Enter Volumnia Distracted, with young Martius under her Arm.

Vol.
Soft, soft; steal but the Watch word whilst they Sleep,
And we pass Free.

Cor.
Furies! The Fiend spoke Truth.
O my poor Boy! Most wretched Mother, Oh!

Vol.
Strike, strike your Torches, bid the Stars descend!
We wander in the Dark.
Heark! Boreas musters up his roaring Crew;
My Wings, and I'll among 'em; wreath my Head
With flaming Meteors; load my Arm with Thunder;
Which as I nimbly cut my cloudy Way,
I'll hurl on the ingrateful Earth, and laugh
To hear the Mortals Yelling.

Nigr.
Mark you this?

Vol.
I, there's th' Hesperian Dragon, I must pass him,
Before I reach the golden Bough; there Cerberus,
'Gorge thy curst Maw with that, and cease thy Barking;
'Tis a delicious Morsel.

Cor.
Earth and Heav'n!
Is this Volumnia? Martius awful Mother,
And Romes Minerva.

Boy.
Dear Sir speak to my Grand Mother,
Perhaps she'll answer you.

Vol.
Ha! What a merry World is this Elizium!
See how the youthful Sheepherds trip to the Pipe,
And fat Silenus waddles in the Round.

Beware thy Horns, Pan, Cupid's with their Bow-strings
Have ty'd 'em fast to th'Tree! Ah, ha! ha! ha!
What's that?—a Summons to me from the Gods?
Back Mercury, and tell 'em I'll appear.
All Heav'n shall know how much I have been wrong'd:
They tore my little Martius from my Arms;
Broke all his innocent Limbs before my Face.
Indeed I never did deserve this usage;
For I was always Kind and Charitable;
For Virtue fam'd; and as I do remember,
'Twas I sav'd Rome, preserv'd ten thousand Infants,
From being Massacred like my poor Boy!
How? Juno dead! The Thunderer then is mine,
And I'll have more than Juno's priviledge:
See how the Æther smoaks, the Christaline
Falls clatt'ring down! This giddy Phaeton
Will set the World on Fire! Down with him Jove:
Wilt thou not Bolt him?—Then I'll Act thy Part,
Force from thy slothful Hand the flaming Dart;
And thus I strike my Thunder through his Heart. Snatches a Partizan from the foremost of the Guards, and strikes Nigridius through, as she runs off.

Cor.
There struck the Gods.

Boy.
Look where my Mother sleeps, pray wake her Sir;
I have heard my Nurse speak of a dying Child,
And fancy it is now just so with me;
I fain wou'd hear my Mother bless me first.

Cor.
My pretty Innocence, she do's not sleep.

Boy.
Perhaps then I have done some Fault, makes her
Not speak to me.

Cor.
O Gods! may this be born!

Boy.
I fain wou'd clasp you too; but when I try
To lift my Arms up to your Neck,
There's something holds 'em.

Cor.
Thy Torturers my Boy have crippled 'em,
And gash't thy pretty Cheeks.

Boy.
I know you Lov'd 'em;
But truly 'twas no fault of mine; they did it
Because I wou'd not cry; and I have heard
My Grand-Mother say, a Roman General's Son:
Shou'd never cry.

Cor.
O Nature! A true Breed!

Boy.
'Tis grown all Dark o'th sudden, and we sink
I know not whether; good Sir hold me fast. [Dies.

Cor.
Fast as the Arms of Death: Now come my Pangs,
The chilling Damp prevails upon my Heart.
Thus, as th'Inhabitant of some sack't Town,
The Flames grown near, and Foe hard pressing on,
In hast lays hold on his most precious Store:
Then to some peaceful Country takes his Flight:
So, grasping in each Arm my Treasure, I
Pleas'd with the Prize, to Deaths calm Region Fly. [Dies. FINIS.

EPILOGUE Spoken by Valeria.
What? No Attendance in this World?—make way:
Where are our noisy Bullying Criticks? They
That heard no Scene, and Yet damn all the Play!
Run down by Masques; to their old Shift they flee,
And Rail at us, for want of Repertee!
Well Gentlemen, how e're you doom to Night,
Methinks this Company's a blessed Sight,
And shews the Realm's disorder coming Right.
As we Thrive, with the Publick it do's pass:
The Play-House is the Nation's Weather-Glass;
Where like to th' Quick-Silver the Audience, still
As the State goes, is found to Ebb or Fill.
Shall I Inform you one thing Gallants? We
In our Vocation with the Saints agree:
For as their Holders-forth, their Flock enchant,
So we our Audience charm with Noise and Rant:
'Tis thus we Please; and I dare take my Oath,
That Decency and Sence, wou'd Break us Both.

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