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[They all shout, and wave their swords; take

him นา in their arms, and cast up their caps. O me, alone! Make you a sword of me? If these shows be not outward, which of you But is four Volces? None of you, but is Able to bear against the great Aufidius A shield as hard as his. A certain number, Though thanks to all, must I select the rest Shall bear the business in some other fight, As cause will be obey'd. Please you to march; And four shall quickly draw out my command, Which men are best inclin'd.

Com. Marci. on, my fellows: Make good this ostentation, and you shall Divide in all with us.

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Exeunt.

The Gates of Ccrioli.

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Alone I fought in your Corioli walls,

And made what work I pleas'd; 'Tis not my blood, Wherein thou seest me mask'd: for thy revenge, Wrench up thy power to the highest.

Auf.

Wert thou the Hector, That was the whip of your bragg'd progeny, Thou should'st not scape me here.

[They fight, and certain Volces come to the aid of AUFIDIUS.

Officious, and not valiant - you have sham'd me In your condemned seconds.

[Exeunt fighting, driven in by MARCIUS. SCENE IX.. -The Roman Camp.

Alarum. A retreat is sounded. Flourish. Enter at one side, CoMINIUS, and Romans; at the other side, MARCIUS, with his arm in a scarf, and other Romans.

Com. If I should tell thee o'er this thy day's work, Thou'lt not believe thy deeds: but I'll report it, Where senators shall mingle tears with smiles; Where great patricians shall attend, and shrug, I' the end, admire; where ladies shall be frighted, And, gladly quak'd, hear more; where the dull Tribunes,

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Mar. Pray now, no more: my mother, Who has a charter to extol her blood, When she does praise me, grieves me. I have done, As you have done that's what I can; indue'd As you have been; that's for my country: He, that has but effected his good will Hath overta'en mine act.

Com.

You shall not be The grave of your deserving: Rome must know The value of her own: 'twere a concealment Worse than a theft, no less than a traducement, To hide your doings; and to silence that, Which, to the spire and top of praises vouch'd, Would seem but modest: Therefore, I beseech you, (In sign of what you are, not to reward What you have done,) before our army near me. Mar. I have some wounds upon me, and they smart To hear themselves remember'd.

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profane,

Never sound more! When drums and trumpets shall
I' the field prove flatterers, let courts and cities be
Made all of false-fac'd soothing! When steel grows
Soft as the parasite's silk, let him be made
An overture for the wars! No more, I say;
For that I have not wash'd my nose that bled,
Or foil'd some debile wretch, which, without note,
Here's
many else have done, — you shout me forth
In acclamations hyperbolical;

As if I loved my little should be dieted
In praises sauc'd with lies.

Com.
Too modest are you;
More cruel to your good report, than grateful
To us that give you truly by your patience,
If 'gainst yourself you be incens'd, we'll put you
(Like one that means his proper harm,) in manacles,
Then reason safely with you. -Therefore, be it
known,

As to us, to all the world, that Caius Marcius
Wears this war's garland: in token of the which
My noble steed, known to the camp, I give him,
With all his trim belonging; and, from this time,
For what he did before Corioli, call him,
With all the applause and clamour of the host,
CAIUS MARCIUS CORIOLANUS.
Bear the addition nobly ever!

[Flourish. Trumpets sound, and drums.
All. Caius Marcius Coriolanus !
Cor. I will go wash;

And when my face is fair, you shall perceive
Whether I blush, or no : Howbeit, I thank you :
I mean to stride your steed; and, at all times,
To undercrest your good addition,

To the fairness of my power.

Com.

Where, ere we do repose us, we will write

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1 Sol.

He's the devil. Auf. Bolder, though not so subtle: My valour's poison'd,

With only suffering stain by him; for him
Shall fly out of itself: nor sleep, nor sanctuary,
Being naked, sick nor fane, nor Capitol,
The prayers of priests, nor times of sacrifice,
Embarquements all of fury, shall lift up
Their rotten privilege and custom 'gainst
My hate to Marcius: where I find him, were it
At home, upon my brother's guard, even there
Against the hospitable canon, would I

Wash my fierce hand in his heart.

city;

Go you to the

Learn, how 'tis held; and what they are, that must Be hostages for Rome.

So, to our tent:

You, Titus Lartius,

I

To Rome of our success.
Must to Corioli back: send us to Rome

The best, with whom we may articulate,
For their own good, and ours.

Lart.

I shall, my lord.

Cor. The gods begin to mock me. I that now Refus'd most princely gifts, am bound to beg Of my lord general.

1 Sol.

Will not you go?

Auf. I am attended at the cypress grove :

pray you,

('Tis south the city mills,) bring me word thither How the world goes; that to the pace of it

I may spur on my journey.

1 Sol.

I shall, sir. [Exeunt

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faces. If you see this in the map of my microcosm, follows it, that I am known well enough too? What harm can your bisson 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, yourselves, nor any

Men. Not according to the prayer of the people, thing. You are ambitious for poor knaves' caps and for they love not Marcius.

Sic. Nature teaches beasts to know their friends.
Men. Pray you, who does the wolf love?
Sic. The lamb.

Men. Ay, to devour him; as the hungry plebeians would the noble Marcius.

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 hall ask you.

Roth Trib. Well, sir.

Men. In what enormity is Marcius poor, that you two have not in abundance?

Bru. He's poor in no one fault, but stored with all. Sic. Especially, in pride.

Bru. And topping all others in boasting. Men. This is strange now: Do you two know how you are censured here in the city, mean of us o' the right hand file? Do you?

Both Trib.. Why, how are we censured? Men. Because you talk of pride now,· not be angry?

Will you

Both Trib. Well, well, sir, weli. Men. Why, 'tis no great matter: for a very little thief of occasion will rob you of a great deal of patience: give your disposition 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 Marcius 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 infantlike, for doing much alone. You talk of pride: O, that you could turn your eyes towards the napes of your necks, and make but an interior survey of your good selves! O, that you could!

Bru. What then, sir?

Men. Why, then you should discover a brace of 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 Tyber in't; said to be something imperfect, in favouring the first complaint: hasty, and tinder-like, upon too 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 Lycurguses) if the drink you give me, touch my palate adversely, I make a crooked face at it. I cannot say, your worships have delivered the matter well, wher. I find the ass in compound with the major part of your syllables: and though I must be content to bear with those that say you are reverend grave men; yet they lie deadly, that tell, you have good

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legs; you wear out a good wholesome forenoon, in hearing a cause between an orange-wife and a fossetseller; and then rejourn the controversy of threepence to a second day of audience. . When you are hearing a matter between party and party, if you chance to be pinched with the cholick, you make faces like mummers; set up the bloody flag against all patience; and, in roaring for a chamber-pot, dismiss the controversy bleeding, the more entangled 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 giber 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 entombed in an ass's pack-saddle. Yet you must be saying, Marcius is proud; who, in a cheap estimation, is worth all your predecessors, since Deucalion; though, peradven ture, some of the best of them 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.

[BRUTUS and SICINIUS retire to the back of the scene.

Enter VOLUMNIA, Virgilia, and Valeria, &c. 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 Marcius approaches; for the love of Juno, let's go. Men. Ha! Marcius coming home? Vol. Ay, worthy Menenius; and with most prosperous approbation.

Men. Take my cap, Jupiter, and I thank thee: Hoo! Marcius coming home!

Two Ladies. 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 it. 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 empiricutick, and, to this preservative, of no better report than a horse-drench. Is he not wounded? he was wont to come home wounded. Vir. O, no, no, no.

Vol. O, he is wounded, I thank the gods for't. Men. So do I too, if it be not too much : -

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Men. And 'twas time for him too, I'll warrant him that an he had staid by him, I would not have been so fidiused for all the chests in Corioli, and the gold that's in them. Is the senate possessed 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 outdone 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, wow.

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Men. True? I'll be sworn they are true: Where is he wounded?. God save your good worships! [To the Tribunes, who come forward.] Marcius is coming home: he has more cause to be proud. Where is he wounded?

Vol. I' the shoulder, and i' the left arm: There will be large cicatrices to show the people, when he shall stand for his place. He received in the repulse of Tarquin, seven hurts i' the body.

Men. One in the neck, and two in the thigh, there's nine that I know.

Vol. He had, hefore this last expedition, twentyfive wounds upon nim.

Men. Now it's twenty-seven: every gash was an enemy's grave: [a shout and flourish.] Hark! the trumpets.

Vol. These are the ushers of Marcius: before him He carries noise, and behind him he leaves tears; Death, that dark spirit, in's nervy arm doth lie; Which being advanc'd, declines; and then men die. A senet. Trumpets sound. Enter COMINIUS and TITUS LARTIUS; between them, CORIOLANUS, crowned with an oaken garland; with Captains, Soldiers, and a Herald.

Her. Know, Rome, that all alone Marcius did fight Within Corioli' gates: where he hath won, With fame, a name to Caius Marcius; these In honour follows, Coriolanus: Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus!

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Now the gods crown thee! O my sweet lady, par

Men. Cor. And live you yet? don.

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Vol. I know not where to turn;

home;

[TO VALERIA. O welcome

And welcome, general; —And you are welcome all. Men. A hundred thousand welcomes: I could weep,

And I could laugh; I am light and heavy: Wel

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Are spectacled to see him; Your pratling nurse Into a rapture lets her baby cry,

While she chats him; the kitchen malkin pins
Her richest lockram 'bout her reechy neck,
Clambering the walls to eye him: Stalls, bu
windows,

Are smother'd up, leads fill'd, and ridges hors'd
With variable complexions; all agreeing
In earnestness to see him seld-shown flamens
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 the wanton spoil
Of Phoebus' 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.

I warrant him consul.

Bru.

On the sudden,

Then our office may,

During his power, go sleep.

Sic. He cannot temperately transport his honours From where he should begin, and end; but will Lose those that 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 10-

nours;

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To him, or our authorities. For an end,
We must suggest the people, in what hatred

He still hath held them; that, to his power, he would

Have made them mules, silenc'd their pleaders, and
Dispropertied 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 burdens, 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 easy,
As to set dogs on sheep,) will be his fire

To kindle their dry stubble; and their blaze
Shall darken him for ever.

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Enter Two Officers, to lay cushions.

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.

1 Off. That's a brave fellow; but he's vengeance proud, and loves not the common people.

2 Off. 'Faith, there have been many great men that have flattered the people, who ne'er loved 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, let's them plainly see't.

1 Off. 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 Off. He hath deserved worthily of his country: And his ascent is not by such easy degrees as those, who, having been supple and courteous to the people, bonnetted, without any further deed to heave 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 itself the lie, would pluck reproof and rebuke from every ear that heard it.

1 Off. No more of him: he is a worthy man: Make way, they are coming.

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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 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; and have hearts Inclinable to honour and advance

The theme of our assembly.

Bru.

Which the rather

We shall be bless'd 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 the him not to be their bedfellow. Worthy Cominius, speak. - Nay, keep your place. CORIOLANUS rises, and offers to go ony,

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