Men.
Having determin'd of the Volscians, and
To send for Titus Lartius, it remains,
As the main point of this our after-meeting,
To gratify 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,
In our well-found successes, to report
A little of that worthy Work perform'd
By Caius Marcius 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
^{7 note}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 would, 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 bed-fellow:
Worthy Cominius, speak. [Coriolanus rises, and offers to go away.
Nay, keep your place.

1 Sen.
Sit, Coriolanus; never shame 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 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 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.

Men.
Masters of the People,
Your multiplying spawn how can he flatter,
That's thousand to one good one? when you see,
He had rather venture all his limbs for honour,
Than one of's ears to hear't. 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 th' best Man i'th' field, and for his meed
Was brow-bound with the oak. His pupil-age
Man-entred thus, he waxed like a Sea;
And, in the brunt of seventeen battles since,
He lurcht all swords o'th' garland. For this last,
Before and in Corioli, 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 stern: 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 tim'd with dying cries: alone he enter'd
The mortal Gate o'th' City, which he painted
With shunless destiny: aidless came off,
And with a sudden re-enforcement struck
Corioli, like a planet. Nor all's this;
For by and by the din of war 'gain ^note pierce
His ready sense, when straight his doubled spirit
Requicken'd what in flesh was fatigate,
And to the battle 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
^{8 note}Than Misery itself would give, rewards
His deeds with doing them ^{9 note}

Men.
To end it, He's right Noble.
Let him be called for.

Sen.
Call Coriolanus.

Off.
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.
^{1 note}
It then remains,
That you do speak to th' People.

Cor.
I beseech you,
Let me o'er-leap 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,
Nor will they bate one jot of ceremony.

Men.
Put them not to't: pray, fit you to the Custom,

And take t'ye, 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—

Men.
Do not stand upon't:—
We recommend t'ye, 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 Cornet. 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.

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