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 een to your worships; more of your conversation would infect my brain, being the herds. men of the beastly plebeians: I will be bold to take my leave of you.

(Bru. and Sic. 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 apo proaches ; for the love of Juno, let's go.

Men. Ha! Marcius coming home?

Vol. Ay, worthy Menenius; and with most pros. perous 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 vot wounded? he was wont to come liome 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 : 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 disciplined 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: 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.

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. l' 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 Tarquiv, seven hurts i' the body.

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

Vol. He had, before this last expedition, twentyfive wounds upon him.

Men, Now it's twenty-seven: every gash was an enemy's grave: (A shout, and flourish.] Hark! the trurapets.

Vol. These are the ushers of Marcius: before him

• Fully informed.

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 sennet*. 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's gates: where he hath won, With fame, a name to Caius Marcius; these In honour follows, Coriolanus: Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus !

(Flourish. Al. 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.
You have, I know, petition'd all the gods
For my prosperity.

[Kneels. Vol.

Nay, my good soldier, up;
My gentle Marcius, worthy Caius, and
By deed-achieving honour newly nam'd,
What is it? Coriolanus, must I call thee?
But O, 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 Corioli wear,
And mothers that lack sons.
Men.

Now the gods crown thee! Cor. And live you yet?-O my sweet lady, par. don.

(To Valeria. Vol. I know not where to turn :- welcome

home; 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

come: A curse begin at very root of his 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. Menenias, ever, ever.
Her. Give way there, and go on.
Cor.

Your hand, and yours:

[To his wife and mother.
Ere in our own house I do shade my head,
The good patricians must be visited ;
From whom I have received 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
Is 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.

The Tribunes remain.
Bru. All tongues speak of him, and the bleared

sights
Are spectacled to see him: Your prattling ourse
Into a rapture* lets her baby cry,
While she chats him : the kitchen mal

lin

Ons

Her richest lockram* 'bout her reechyt neck,
Clambering the walls to eye him: stalls, bulks, win.

dows,
Are smother'd up, leads fill'd, and ridges hors'd,
With variable complexions; all agreeing
In earuesiness to see him: seld t-shown flamens
Do press among the popular throngs, and puff
To win a vulgar station ll. our veil'd dames
Commit the war of white and damask, in
Their nicely-gawded cheeks, to the wanton spoil
Of Phebus' 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 temperately transport bis honours From wliere 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, upou their ancient malice, will
Forget, with the least cause, these his new honours;
Which that he'll give them, make 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'the market-place, nor on him put
The napless** vesture of humility;
Nor, showing (as the mauner is) his wounds
To the people, beg their stinking breaths.

• Best linen.
+ Soiled with sweat and smoke.

Seldom. Priests.
Il Common standing-place. [ Adoro'd.
** Thread-bare.