Men.
Having determin'd of the Volsces, 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^{5 note}; whom
We meet 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' the people,
We do request your kindest ears; and, after,
Your loving motion toward the common body,
To yield what passes here.

Sic.
We are convented
Upon a pleasing treaty; 11Q0872 and have hearts
Inclinable to honour and advance
The theme of our assembly.

Bru.
Which the rather
We shall be blessed to do, if he remember
A kinder value of the people, than
He hath hereto 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 tie him not to be their bedfellow.—
Worthy Cominius, speak.—Nay, keep your place. [Coriolanus rises, and offers to go away.

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'd not, therefore hurt not^{6 note}. But, your people,
I love them as they weigh.

Men.
Pray now, sit down.

Cor.
I had rather have one scratch my head i' the sun,
When the alarum were struck, than idly sit
To hear my nothings monster'd. [Exit.

Men.
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 on's ears to hear it?—Proceed, Cominius.

Com. 11Q0873
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 counterpois'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-pressed Roman, and i' the 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' the field; and for his meed
Was brow-bound with the oak. His pupil age
Man-enter'd thus, he waxed like a sea;
And in the brunt of seventeen battles since,
He lurch'd all swords of the garland^{7 note}. For this last,
Before and in Corioli, let me say,
I cannot speak him home: he stopp'd the fliers,
And by his rare example made the coward

Turn terror into sport. As weeds 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 timed with dying cries. Alone he enter'd
The mortal gate of the city, which he painted
With shunless destiny, aidless came off,
And with a sudden re-enforcement struck
Corioli like a planet. Now all's his;
When by and by the din of war 'gan pierce
His ready sense: then, straight his doubled spirit
Re-quicken'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' the world: he covets less
Than misery itself would give, rewards
His deeds with doing them, and is content
To spend the time to end it.

Men.
He's right noble:
Let him be called for.

1 Sen.
Call Coriolanus.

Off.
He doth appear. Re-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 suffrage: 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;—
Show them th' unaching scars which I should hide,
As if I had receiv'd them for the hire
Of their breath only.—

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. Exeunt Senators.

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 the market-place,
I know they do attend us. [Exeunt.

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