Sicinius.
Men.
The Augurer tells me, we shall have News to Night.
Bru.
Good or bad?
Men.
Not according to the Prayer of the People, for they
love not Martius.
Sic.
Nature teaches Beasts to know their Friends.
Men.
Pray you, who does the Wolf love?
Stc.
The Lamb.
Men.
Ay, to devour him, as the hungry Plebeians would
the noble Martius.
Bru.
He's a Lamb indeed, that baes like a Bear.
Men.
He's a Bear indeed, that lives like a Lamb.
You two are old Men, tell me one thing that I shall ask
you.
Both.
Well, Sir.
Men.
In what Enormity is Martius poor in, that you two
have not in abundance?
Bru.
He's poor in no one Fault, but stor'd with all.
Sic.
Especially Pride.
-- 1930 --
Bru.
And topping all others in boast.
Men.
This is strange now! Do you two know how you
are censured here in the City, I mean of us o'th' right hand
File, do you?
Bru.
Why—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 of a great deal of Patience:—
Give your Dispositions 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 Martius 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 Actions 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!
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 to 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 Lycurgusses)
if the Drink you give me touch my Palate adversly,
I make a crooked Face at it. I can 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, yet they lye deadly that tell you have good
Faces; if you see this in the Map of my Microcosm, follows
it that I am known well enough too? What harm can
-- 1931 --
your Besom 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, your selves, nor any thing;
you are ambitious for poor Knaves Caps and Legs: You
wear out a good wholsom Forenoon, in hearing a Cause between
an Orange-wife and a Fauset-seller, and then rejourn
the Controversie of Three Pence to a second Day
of Audience.—When you are hearing a Matter between
a Party and Party, if you chance to be pinch'd with the
Cholick, you make Faces like Mummers, set up the bloody
Flag against all Patience—and in roaring for a Chamberpot,
dismiss the Controversie Bleeding, the more intangled
by your hearing: All 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 for the Table, than a necessary Bencher in the
Capitol.
Men.
Our very Priests must become Mockers, if they
shall encounter such 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, as to stuff a Botcher's Cushion, or to
be intomb'd in an Asses Pack-saddle. Yet you must be saying,
Martius is proud; who in a cheap Estimation, is
worth all your Prodecessors since Deucalion, though peradventure
some of the best of 'em were hereditary Hangmen.
Good-e'en to your Worships; more of your Conversation
would infect my Brain, being the Herdsmen of the beastly
Plebeians. I will be bold to take my leave of you.
[Exeunt Brutus and Sicinius.
Enter Volumnia, 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 Martius approaches;
for the love of Juno let's go.
Men.
Ha! Martius coming home?
Vol.
Ay, worthy Menenius, and with most prosperous Approbation.
-- 1932 --
Men.
Take my Cap, Jupiter, and I thank thee—hoo,
Martius 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 Emperictick,
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.
Has 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;
and he had staid by him, I would not have been so fiddioused
for all the Chests in Coriolus, and the Gold that's in them.
Is the Senate possest 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 out-done
his former Deeds doubly.
Val.
In troth, there's wondrous things spoke of him.
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? Martius is coming
home; he has more cause to be proud: Where is he
wounded?
-- 1933 --
Vol.
I'th' Shoulder, and i'th' left Arm, there will be
large Cicatrices to shew the People, when he shall stand for
his place; he receiv'd in the Repulse of Tarquin seven hurts
i'th' Body.
Men.
One i'th' Neck, and two i'th' Thigh; there's nine
that I know.
Vol.
He had, before his last Expedition, twenty five
Wounds upon him.
Men.
Now it's twenty seven, every gash was an Enemy's
Grave. Hark, the Trumpets.
[A Shout and Flourish.
Vol.
These are the Ushers of Martius;
Before him he carries Noise,
And behind him he leaves Tears:
Death, that dark Spirit, in's nervy Arm doth lye,
Which being advanc'd, declines, and then Men dye.
A Sonnet. Trumpets sound. Enter Cominius the General, and
Titus Lartius; between them Coriolanus, crown'd with an
Oaken Garland, with Captains and Soldiers, and a Herald.
Her.
Know, Rome, that all alone Martius did fight
Within Coriolus Gates, where he hath won,
With Fame, a Name to Caius Martius.
These in Honour follows, Caius Martius, Coriolanus.
Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus.
[Sound. Flourish.
All.
Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus.
Cor.
No more of this, it does offend my Heart; pray
now no more.
Com.
Look, Sir, your Mother.
Cor.
Oh! you have, I know, petition'd all the Gods for
my Prosperity.
[Kneels.
Vol.
Nay, my good Soldier, up:
My gentle Martius, worthy Caius,
And by deed-atchieving Honour newly nam'd,
What is it, Coriolanus, must I call thee?
But oh, thy Wife,
Cor.
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 Coriolus wear,
And Mothers that lack Sons.
-- 1934 --
Men.
Now the Gods crown thee.
Com.
And live you yet? Oh my sweet Lady, pardon.
Vol.
I know not where to turn.
Oh welcome home; and welcome General,
And y'are welcome all.
Men.
A hundred thousand welcomes:
I could weep, and I could laugh,
I am light and heavy; welcome:
A Curse begin at the 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 have
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.
Cor.
Menenius, ever, ever.
Her.
Give way there, and go on.
Cor.
Your Hand, and yours.
E'er 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, change of Honours.
Vol.
I have lived,
To see inherited my very Wishes,
And the Buildings of my Fancy;
Only there's one thing wanting,
Which, I doubt not but our Rome
Will cast upon thee.
Cor.
Know, good Mother,
I had rather be their Servant in my way,
Than sway with them in theirs.
Com.
On, to the Capitol,
[Flourish. Cornets.
[Exeunt in State, as before.
Enter Brutus and Sicinius.
Bru.
All Tongues speak of him, and the bleared sights
Are spectacled to see him. Your pratling Nurse
Into a Rapture lets her Baby cry,
While she chats him: The Kitchin Maukin pins
-- 1935 --
Her richest Lockram 'bout her reechy Neck,
Clambring the Walls to eye him;
Stalls, Bulks, Windows, are smother'd up,
Leads fill'd, and Ridges hors'd
With variable Complexions; all agreeing
In earnestness to see him: Seld-shown Flamins
Do press among the popular Throngs, and puff
To win a vulgar Station; our veil'd Dames
Commit the War of White and Damask
In their nicely gawded Cheeks, to th' wanton Spoil
Of Phœbus burning Kisses; such a pother,
As if that, whatsoever, God, who leads him,
Were slily crept into his human Powers,
And gave him graceful posture.
Sic.
On the sudden, I warrant him Consul.
Bru.
Then our Office may, during his Power, go sleep.
Sic.
He cannot temp'rately transport his Honours,
From where he should begin and end, but will
Lose those he hath won.
Bru.
In that there's Comfort.
Sic.
Doubt not,
The Commoners, for whom we stand, but they
Upon their ancient Malice. will forget,
With the least Cause, these his new Honours;
Which that he will give them, make I as little question
As he is proud to do't.
Bru.
I heard him swear
Were he to stand for Consul, never would he
Appear i'th' Market-place, nor on him put
The Napless Vesture of humility,
Nor shewing, as the manner is, his Wounds
To th' People, beg their stinking Breaths.
Sic.
'Tis right.
Bru.
It was his word:
Oh he would miss it, rather than carry it,
But by the suit of the Gentry to him,
And the desire of the Nobles.
Sic.
I wish no better, than have him hold that purpose,
and to put it in Execution.
Bru.
'Tis most like he will.
-- 1936 --
Sic.
It shall be to him then, as our good wills;
A sure Destruction.
Bru.
So it must fall out
To him, or our Authorities, for an end.
We must suggest the People, in what hatred
He still hath held them; that to's Power he would
Have made them Mules, silenc'd their Pleaders,
And disproportioned their Freedoms; holding them,
In human Action and Capacity,
Of no more Soul nor fitness for the World,
Than Camels in their War, who have their Provand
Only for bearing Burthens, and sore Blows
For sinking under them.
Sic.
This, as you say, suggested,
At some time, when his soaring Insolence
Shall teach the People; which time shall not want,
If he be put upon't, and that's as easie,
As to set Dogs on Sheep; we'll be his Fire
To kindle their dry Stubble; and their Blaze
Shall darken him for ever.
Enter a Messenger.
Bru.
What's the Matter?
Mes.
You are sent for to the Capitol:
'Tis thought that Martius shall be Consul:
I have seen the dumb Men throng to see him,
And the blind to hear him speak; Matrons flung Gloves,
Ladies and Maids their Scarfs and Handkerchiefs,
Upon him, as he pass'd; the Nobles bended
As to Jove's Statue, and the Commons made
A Shower and Thunder, with their Caps and Shouts:
I never saw the like.
Bru.
Let's to the Capitol,
And carry with us Ears and Eyes for th' time,
But Hearts for the Event.
Sic.
Have with you.
[Exeunt.
Enter two Officers, to lay Cushions, as in the Capitol.
1 Off.
Come, come, they are almost here; how many stand
for Consulships?
2 Off.
Three, they say; but 'tis thought of every one,
Coriolanus will carry it.
-- 1937 --
1. Of.
That's a brave Fellow, but he's vengeance proud,
and loves not the Common People.
2. Of.
'Faith, there have been many great Men that have
flatter'd the People, who ne'er lov'd them, and there be
many that they have loved, they know not wherefore; so that
if they love they know not why, they hate upon no better
a Ground. Therefore, for Coriolanus neither to care whether
they love, or hate him, manifests the true Knowledge he
has in their Disposition, and out of his noble Carelessness lets
them plainly see't.
1. Of.
If he did not care whether he had their love, or no,
he waved indifferently, 'twixt doing them neither Good,
nor Harm: But he seeks their Hate with greater Devotion,
than they can render it him; and leaves nothing undone, that
may fully discover him their Opposite. Now to seem to
affect the Malice and Displeasure of the People, is as bad as
that which he dislikes, to flatter them for their love.
2. Of.
He hath deserv'd worthily of his Country: And
his Ascent is not by such easie Degrees as those, who have
been supple and courteous to the People, Bonnetted, without
any further Deed, to have them at all into their Estimation
and Report: But he hath so planted his Honours in
their Eyes, and his Actions in their Hearts, that for their
Tongues to be silent, and not confess so much, were a
kind of ingrateful Injury; to report otherwise, were a
Malice, that giving it self the Lie, would pluck Reproof
and Rebuke from ev'ry Ear that heard it.
1. Of.
No more of him, he is a worthy Man: Make
way, they are coming.
A Sonnet. Enter the Patricians, and the Tribunes of the People,
Lictors before them; Coriolanus, Menenius, Cominius
the Consul: Sicinius and Brutus take their Places by themselves.
Men.
Having determin'd of the Volscies,
And to send for Titus Lartius; it remains,
As the main Point of this our after-meeting,
To gratifie his noble Service, that hath
Thus stood for his Country. Therefore, please you,
Most Reverend and Grave Elders, to desire
The present Consul, and last General,
-- 1938 --
In our well-found Successes, to report
A little of that worthy Work perform'd
By Caius Martius Coriolanus; whom
We met here, both to thank, and to remember
With Honours like himself.
1 Sen.
Speak, good Cominius:
Leave nothing out for length, and make us think
Rather our State's defective for Requital,
Than we to stretch it out. Masters o' th' People,
We do request your kindest Ear, and after,
Your loving Motion toward the common Body,
To yield what passes here.
Sic.
We are convented upon a pleasing Treaty, and
have Hearts inclinable to Honour, and advance the Theam
of our Assembly.
Bru.
Which the rather we shall be blest to do, if he remember
a kinder Value of the People, than he hath hitherto
priz'd them at.
Men.
That's off, that's off: I wou'd you rather had been
silent: Please you to hear Cominius speak?
Bru.
Most willingly: But yet my Caution was more pertinent
than the Rebuke you give it.
Men.
He loves your People, but tye him not to be their
Bedfellow: Worthy Cominius, speak.
[Coriolanus rises, and offers to go away.
Nay, keep your Place.
1 Sen.
Sir Coriolanus, never shame to hear
What you have nobly done.
Cor.
Your Honour's Pardon:
I had rather have my Wounds to heal again,
Than hear say how I got them.
Bru.
Sir, I hope my Words dis-bench'd you not?
Cor.
No, Sir; yet oft,
When Blows have made me stay, I fled from Words.
You sooth'd not, therefore hurt not: But your People,
I love them as they weigh—
Men.
Pray now, sit down.
Cor.
I had rather have one scratch my Head i'th' Sun,
When the Alarum were struck, than idly sit
To hear my Nothings monster'd
[Exit Coriolanus.
-- 1939 --
Me.
Masters of the People,
Your multiplying Spawn how can he flatter,
That's thousand to one good one? when you now see
He had rather venture all his Limbs for Honour,
Than one of's Ears to hear it. Proceed, Cominius.
Com.
I shall lack Voice: The Deeds of Coriolanus
Should not be utter'd feebly. It is held
That Valour is the chiefest Virtue, and
Most dignifies the Haver: If it be,
The Man I speak of cannot in the World
Be singly counter-pois'd. At sixteen Years,
When Tarquin made a Head for Rome, he fought
Beyond the Mark of others: Our then Dictator,
Whom with all Praise I point at, saw him fight,
When with his Amazonian Chin he drove
The bristled Lips before him: He bestrid
An o'er-prest Roman, and i'th' Consul's view
Slew three Opposers: Tarquin's self he met,
And struck him on his Knee: In that Day's Feats,
When he might act the Woman in the Scene,
He prov'd best Man i'th Field, and for his Meed
Was Brow-bound with the Oak. His Pupil-age
Man-enter'd thus, he waited like a Sea,
And in the Brunt of seventeen Battels since,
He lurcht all Swords o'th' Garland. For this last,
Before, and in Coriolus, let me say
I cannot speak him home: He stopt the Fliers,
And by his rare Example, made the Coward
Turn Terror into Sport: As Waves before
A Vessel under Sail, so Men obey'd,
And fell below his Stem: His Sword (Death's Stamp)
Where it did mark, it took from Face to Foot:
He was a thing of Blood, whose every Motion
Was trimm'd with dying Cries: Alone he entred
The mortal Gate o'th' City, which he painted
With shunless Defamy: Aidless came off,
And with a sudden Re-enforcement struck
Coriolus, like a Planet. Nor all's this;
For by and by the Din of War 'gan pierce
His ready Sense, when streight his doubled Spirit
Requickn'd what in Flesh was fatigate,
-- 1940 --
And to the Battel came he; where he did
Run reeking o'er the Lives of Men, as if
'Twere a perpetual Spoil; and 'till we call'd
Both Field and City ours, he never stood
To ease his Breast with panting.
Men.
Worthy Man!
1 Sen.
He cannot but with measure fit the Honours
Which we devise him.
Com.
Our Spoils he kick'd at,
And look'd upon things precious, as they were
The common Muck o'th' World: He covets less
Than Misery it self would give, rewards his Deeds
With doing them, and is content
To spend his Time to end it.
Men.
He's right Noble, let him be call'd for.
Sen.
Call Coriolanus.
Of.
He doth appear.
Enter Coriolanus.
Men.
The Senate, Coriolanus, are well pleas'd to make thee
Consul.
Cor.
I do owe them still my Life, and Services.
Men.
It then remains that you do speak to the People.
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:
Please you that I may pass this doing.
Sic.
Sir, the People must have their Voices,
Neither will they Bate one jot of Ceremony.
Men.
Put them not to't:
Pray you go fit you to the Custom,
And take to you, as your Predecessors have,
Your Honour with your Form.
Cor.
It is a Part that I shall blush in Acting,
And might well be taken from the People.
Bru.
Mark you that.
Cor.
To brag unto them, thus I did, and thus,
Shew them th' unaking Scars, which I would hide,
As if I had receiv'd them for the Hire
Of their Breath only.
-- 1941 --
Men.
Do not stand upon't:
We recommend to you, Tribunes of the People,
Our purpose to them, and to our noble Consul
Wish we all Joy and Honour.
Sen.
To Coriolanus come all Joy and Honour.
[Flourish Cornets. Then Exeunt.
Manent Sicinius and Brutus.
Bru.
You see how he intends to use the People.
Sic.
May they perceive's Intent: He will require them
As if he did contemn, what he requested,
Should be in them to give.
Bru.
Come, we'll inform them
Of our proceedings here on th' Market-place,
I know they do attend us.
[Exeunt.
Enter seven or eight Citizens.
1 Cit.
Once if he do require our Voices, we ought not
to deny him.
2 Cit.
We may, Sir, if we will.
3 Cit.
We have power in our selves to do it, but it is a
power that we have no power to do: For, if he shew us his
Wounds, and tell us his Deeds, we are to put our Tongues
into those Wounds, and speak for them: So, if he tells us
his noble Deeds, we must also tell him of our noble Acceptance
of them. Ingratitude is monstrous, and for the Multitude
to be ingrateful, were to make a Monster of the Multitude;
of the which, we being Members, should bring our
selves to be monstrous Members.
1 Cit.
And to make us no better thought of, a little help
will serve: For once when we stood up about the Corn,
he himself stuck not to call us the many-headed Multitude.
3 Cit.
We have been call'd so of many, not that our Heads
are some Brown, some Black, some Auburn, some Bald;
but that our Wits are so diversly Colour'd; and truly, I
think, if all our Wits were to issue out of one Scull, they
would flye East, West, North, South, and their Consent
of one direct Way, would be at once to all Points o'th'
Compass.
2 Cit.
Think you so? Which Way do you judge my
Wit would flye?
-- 1942 --
3 Cit.
Nay, your Wit will not so soon out as another
Man's will, 'tis strongly wedg'd up in a Block-head: But
if it were at Liberty, 'twould sure Southward.
2 Cit.
Why that way?
3 Cit.
To lose it self in a Fog, where being three parts
melted away with rotten Dews, the fourth would return
for Conscience sake, to help to get thee a Wife.
2 Cit.
You are never without your Tricks,—you may,
you may.—
3 Cit.
Are you all resolved to give your Voices? But
that's no matter, the greater part carries it, I say. If he
would incline to the People, there was ne er a worthier Man.
Enter Coriolanus in a Gown of Humility, with Menenius.
Here he comes, and in the Gown of Humility, mark his
behaviour: We are not to stay all together, but to come by
him where he stands, by ones, by twos, and by threes.
He's to make his requests by Particulars, where every one
of us has a single Honour, in giving him our own Voices
with our own Tongues: therefore follow me, and I'll direct
you how you shall go by him.
All.
Content, content.
[Exeunt.
Men.
Oh, Sir, you are not right; have you not known
The worthiest Men have done't?
Cor.
What must I say, I pray, Sir?
Plague upon't, I cannot bring
My Tongue to such a pace. Look, Sir—my Wounds—
I got them in my Country's Service, when
Some certain of your Brethren roar'd, and ran
From the noise of our own Drums.
Men.
Oh me the Gods! you must not speak of that,
You must desire them to think upon you.
Cor.
Think upon me? Hang 'em.
I wou'd they wou'd forget me, like the Virtues
Which our Divines lose by 'em.
Men.
You'll mar all.
I'll leave you: Pray you speak to 'em, I pray you,
In wholesome manner.
[Exit.
Enter two of the Citizens.
Cor.
Bid them wash their Faces,
And keep their Teeth clean—So, here comes a brace:
You know the Cause, Sirs, of my standing here.
-- 1943 --
1 Cit.
We do, Sir; tell us what hath brought you to't.
Cor.
Mine own Desert.
2 Cit.
Your own Desert?
Cor.
Ay, not mine own Desire.
1 Cit.
How, not your own Desire?
Cor.
No, Sir, 'twas never my desire yet to trouble the
Poor with Begging.
1 Cit.
You must think, if we give you any thing, we hope
to gain by you.
Cor.
Well then I pray, your Price o'th' Consulship?
1 Cit.
The Price is, to ask it kindly.
Cor.
Kindly, Sir, I pray let me ha't: I have Wounds to
shew you, which shall be yours in private: Your good Voice,
Sir; what say you?
2 Cit.
You shall ha't, worthy Sir.
Cor.
A Match, Sir; there's in all two worthy Voices
begg'd: I have your Alms, Adieu.
1 Cit.
But this is something odd.
2 Cit.
And 'twere to give again:—But 'tis no matter.
[Exeunt.
Enter two other Citizens.
Cor.
Pray you now, if it may stand with the tune of your
Voices, that I may be Consul, I have here the customary
Gown.
1 Cit.
You have deserved Nobly of your Country, and you
have not deserved Nobly.
Cor.
Your Ænigma?
1 Cit.
You have been a Scourge to her Enemies; you have
been a Rod to her Friends; you have not indeed loved the
Common People.
Cor.
You should account me the more Virtuous, that I
have not been common in my Love; I will, Sir, flatter my
sworn Brother, the People, to earn a dearer estimation of them,
'tis a condition they account gentle: And since the wisdom
of their Choice, is rather to have my Hat, than my Heart, I
will practise the insinuating Nod, and be off to them most counterfeitly;
that is, Sir, I will counterfeit the bewitchment
of some popular Man, and give it bountiful to the desirers:
Therefore, beseech you I may be Consul.
2 Cit.
We hope to find you our Friend; and therefore give
you our Voices heartily.
-- 1944 --
1 Cit.
You have received many Wounds for your Country.
Cor.
I will not seal your Knowledge with shewing them.
I will make much of your Voices, and so trouble you no
further.
Both.
The Gods give you Joy, Sir, heartily.
[Exeunt.
Cor.
Most sweet Voices—
Better it is to die, better to starve,
Than crave the Hire, which first we do deserve.
Why in this Woolvish Gown should I stand here,
To beg of Hob and Dick, that do appear,
Their needless Voucher? Custom calls me to't—
What Custom wills in all things, should we do't?
The Dust on antique Time would lye unswept,
And mountainous Error be too highly heapt,
For Truth to o'er-peer. Rather than fool it so,
Let the high Office and the Honour go,
To one that would do thus. I am half through,
The one part suffer'd, the other will I do.
Enter three Citizens more,
Here come more Voices.
Your Voices—For your Voices I have fought,
Watch'd for your Voices; for your Voices, bear
Of Wounds, two dozen and odd: Battels, thrice six
I have seen, and heard of: For your Voices,
Have done many things, some less, some more:
Your Voices:—For indeed I would be Consul.
1 Cit.
He has done nobly, and cannot go without any
honest Man's Voice.
2 Cit.
Therefore let him be Consul: The Gods give him
Joy, and make him a good Friend to the People,
All.
Amen, Amen. God save thee, Noble Consul.
[Exeunt.
Cor.
Worthy Voices—
Enter Menenius, with Brutus, and Sicinius.
Men.
You have stood your Limitation:
And the Tribunes endue you with the Peoples Voice.
Remains, that in th' Official Marks invested,
You anon do meet the Senate.
Cor.
Is this done?
Sic.
The Custom of Request you have discharg'd:
The People do admit you, and are summon'd
-- 1945 --
To meet anon upon your Approbation.
Cor.
Where? at the Senate-house?
Sic.
There, Coriolanus.
Cor.
May I change these Garments?
Sic.
You may, Sir.
Cor.
That I'll strait do: And knowing my self again,
Repair to th' Senate-House.
Men.
I'll keep you company. Will you along?
Bru.
We stay here for the People.
Sic.
Farewell,
[Exeunt Coriol. and Men.
He has it now, and by his Looks, methinks
'Tis warm at's Heart.
Bru.
With a proud Heart he wore his humble Weeds:
Will you dismiss the People?
Enter the Plebeians.
Sic.
How now, my Masters, have you chose this Man?
1 Cit.
He has our Voices, Sir.
Bru.
We pray the Gods he may deserve your Loves.
2 Cit.
Amen, Sir: To my poor unworthy notice,
He mock'd us, when he begg'd our Voices.
3 Cit.
Certainly he flouted us down-right.
1 Cit.
No, 'tis his kind of Speech, he did not mock us.
2 Cit.
Not one amongst us, save your self, but says
He us'd us scornfully: He shou'd have shew'd us
His Marks of Merit, Wounds receiv'd for's Country.
Sic.
Why so he did, I am sure.
All.
No, no; no Man saw 'em.
3 Cit.
He said he had Wounds,
Which he could shew in private:
And with his Hat, thus waving it in Scorn,
I would be Consul, says he: Aged Custom,
But by your Voices, will not so permit me;
Your Voices therefore: When we granted that,
Here was—I thank you for your Voices—thank you—
Your most sweet Voices—Now you have left your Voices,
I have nothing further with you. Was not this Mockery?
Sic.
Why, either were you ignorant to see't?
Or seeing it of such childish Friendliness,
To yield your Voices?
Bru.
Could you not have told him,
As you were lesson'd; when he had no Power,
-- 1946 --
But was a petty Servant to the State,
He was your Enemy, ever spake against
Your Liberties, and the Charters that you bear
I'th' Body of the Weal: And now arriving
At place of Potency, and sway o'th' State,
If he should still malignantly remain
Fast Foe to th' Plebeians, your Voices might
Be Curses to your selves. You should have said,
That as his worthy Deeds did claim no less
Than what he stood for; so his gracious Nature
Would think upon you for your Voices, and
Translate his Malice towards you, into Love,
Standing your friendly Lord.
Sic.
Thus to have said,
As you were fore-advis'd, had touch'd his Spirit,
And try'd his Inclination; from him pluckt,
Either his gracious Promise, which you might,
As cause had call'd you up, have held him to;
Or else it would have gall'd his surly Nature;
Which easily endures not Article,
Tying him to ought; so putting him to Rage,
You should have ta'en th' advantage of his Choler,
And pass'd him unelected.
Bru.
Did you perceive,
He did sollicit you in free Contempt,
When he did need your Loves? And do you think
That his Contempt shall not be bruising to you,
When he hath power to crush? Why had your Bodies
No Heart among you? Or had you Tongues, to cry
Against the Rectorship of Judgment?
Sic.
Have you, e'er now, deny'd the Asker:
And, now again of him that did not ask, but mock,
Bestow your su'd-for Tongues?
3 Cit.
He's not confirm'd, we may deny him yet.
2 Cit.
And will deny him:
I'll have five hundred Voices of that Sound.
1 Cit.
Ay, twice five hundred, and their Friends to piece 'em.
Bru.
Get you hence instantly, and tell those Friends,
They have chose a Consul that will from them take
Their Liberties, make them of no more Voice
Than Dogs, that are as often beat for Barking,
As therefore kept to do so.
-- 1947 --
Sic.
Let them assemble; and on a safer Judgment,
All revoke your ignorant Election: Enforce his Pride,
And his old Hate unto you; besides, forget not,
With what Contempt he wore the humble Weed,
How in his Suit he scorn'd you: But your Loves,
Thinking upon his Services, took from you
Th' Apprehension of his present portance.
Which most gibingly, ungravely, he did fashion
After the inveterate Hate he bears you.
Bru.
Lay a fault on us, your Tribunes,
That we labour'd (no impediment between)
But that you must cast your Election on him.
Sic.
Say, you chose him, more after our Commandment,
Than as guided by your own true Affections, and that
Your Minds, pre-occupied with what you rather must do,
Than what you should, made you against the grain
To Voice him Consul. Lay the fault on us.
Bru.
Ay, spare us not: Say, we read Lectures to you,
How youngly he began to serve his Country,
How long continued, and what Stock he springs of,
The Noble House o'th' Martians; from whence came
That Ancus Martius, Numa's Daughter's Son,
Who after great Hostilius here was King:
Of the same House Publius and Quintus were,
That our best Water brought by Conduits hither,
And, nobly nam'd Martius, so, twice being Censor,
Was his great Ancestor.
Sic.
One thus descended,
That hath beside well in his Person wrought,
To be set high in Place, we did commend
To your remembrances; but you have sound,
Scaling his present bearing with his past,
That he's your fixed Enemy, and revoke
Your sudden Approbation.
Bru.
Say, you ne'er had don't,
(Harp on that still) but by our putting on;
And presently, when you have drawn your Number,
Repair to th' Capitol.
All.
We will so; almost all repent in their Election.
[Exeunt Plebeians.
-- 1948 --
Bru.
Let them go on:
This Mutiny were better put in hazard,
Than stay past doubt for greater:
If, as his Nature is, he fall in rage
With their refusal, both observe and answer
The vantage of his anger.
Sic.
To th' Capitol, come:
We will be there before the stream o'th' People:
And this shall seem, as partly 'tis, their own,
Which we have goaded onward.
[Exeunt.
Charles Gildon [1709–1710], The works of Mr. William Shakespear; in six [seven] volumes. Adorn'd with Cuts. Revis'd and Corrected, with an Account of the Life and Writings of the Author. By N. Rowe ([Vol. 7] Printed for E. Curll... and E. Sanger [etc.], London) [word count] [S11401].
