Men. Take my Cap, Jupiter, and I thank theehoo, 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 faw't.

Ment. A Letter for me? it gives me an Eftate of seven Years health; in which time I will make a Lip at the Phyfician: The moft Sovereign Prefcription in Galen is but Emperi tick, and to this Prefervative, of no better report than a Horfe-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 Vi&tory 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 difciplin'd Aufidius fourdly?.

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 ftaid by him, I would not have been fo fidd:oufed for all the Chests in Coriolus, and the Gold that's in them. Is the Senate poffeft 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 Purchafing.

Vir. The Gods grant them true.

Vol. True? pow waw.

Men. True? I'll be fworn they are true, wounded, God fave your good Worships? ming home; he has more caufe to be proud: wounded?

where is he Martius is coWhere is he

Vol. I'th' Shoulder, and i' th' left Arm, there will be large Cicatrices to fhew the People, when he fhall ftand for his place, he receiv'd in the Repulfe of Tarquin feven 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 laft Expedition, twenty five Wounds upon him.

Men. Now 'tis twenty feven, every gafh was an Enemy's Grave. Hark, the Trumpets. [A Shout and Flourish. Vol. Thefe are the Ufhers of Martius;

Before him he carries Noife,

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.

All. Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus.

Flourifb.

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, petion'd all the Gods for

my Profperity.

Vol. Nay, my good Soldier, up:

My gentle Martius, worthy Caius,

And by deed-atchieving Honour newly nam'd,

What is it, Coriolanus, muft I call thee?

But oh, thy Wife,

Cor. My gracious filence, hail:

[Kneels.

Would'ft thou have laugh'd, had I come coffin'd home,
That weep'ft to fee me Triumph? Ah, my Dear,

Such Eyes the Widows in Coriolus wear,

And Mothers that lack Sons.

Men

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 fee thee.

You are three that Rome fhould 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 Houfe I do fhade my Head,
The good Patricians must be vifited,

From whom I have receiv'd not only Greetings,

But with them, change of Honours.

Vol. I have lived,

To fee inherited my very Wishes,
And the Buildings of my Fancy;
Only there's one thing wanting,

Which, I doubt not but that our Rome

Will caft upon thee.

Cor. Know, good Mother,

I had rather be their Servant in my way,.

Than fway with them in theirs.

Com. On, to the Capitol.

[Flourish.

Cornets.

[Exeunt in State, as befært

Enter Brutus and Sicinius.

Bra. All Tongues fpeak of him, and the bleated fights Are fpectacled to fee him. Your pratling Nurfe Into a Rapture lets her Baby cry,

While fhe chats him: The Kitchen Maukin pins

Her

Her richest Lockram 'bout her reechy Neck,
Clambring the Walls to eye him;
Stalls, Bulks, Windows, are fmother'd up,
Leads fill'd, and Ridges hors'd

With variable Complexions; all agreeing
In earnestnefs to fee him: Seld-fhown Flamins
Do prefs among the popular Throngs, and puff
To win a vulgar Station; our veil'd Dames
Cimmit the War of White and Damask

In their nicely gawded Cheeks, to th' wanton Spoil
Of Phabus burning Kiffes; fuch a pother,
As if that, whatfoever, God, who leads him,
Were flily crept into his human Powers,
And gave him graceful pofture.

Sic. On the fudden, I warrant him Conful.

Bru. Then our office may, during his Power, go fleep. Sic. He cannot temp'rately tranfport 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 ftand, but they
Upon their ancient Malice, will forger,

With the leaft Cause, these his new Honours ;
Which that he will give them, make I as little queftion
As he is proud to do't.

Bru. I heard him fwear,

Were he to stand for Conful, never would he
Appear i'th' Market-place, nor on him put

The Napless Vefture of humility,

Nor fhewing, as the manner is, his Wounds
To th'People, beg their flinking Breaths.
Sic. 'Tis right.

Bru. It was his word:

Oh he would mifs it, rather than carry it,

But by the fuit of the Gentry to him,

And the defire of the Nobles.

Sic. I with no better, than have him hold that purpose,

and to put it in Execution.

Bru. Tis moft like he will.

Sic. It shall be to him then, as our good wills; A fure Deftru&ion.

Bru. So it must fall out

To him, or our Authorities, for an end.
We must fuggeft the People, in what hatred
He ftill hath held them; that to's Power he would
Have made them Mules, filenc'd their Pleaders,
And difproportioned their Freedoms: holding them,
In human Action and Capacity,

Of no more Soul nor fitnefs for the World,

Than Camels in their War, who have their Provand
Only for bearing Burthens, and fore Blows
For finking under them.

Sic. This, as you fay, fuggefted,

At fome time, when his foaring Infolence
Shall teach the People; which time fhall not want,
If he be put upon't, and that's as eafie,

As to fet 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?

Mef. You are fent for to the Capitol:
'Tis thought that Martius fhall be Conful:

I have feen 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 faw 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 Confulfhips?

2 Off. Three, they fay; but 'tis thought of every one, Coriolanus will carry it.