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 Repulse of Tarquin seven hurts i' th' Bodv.

Mex. Óne 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. These 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 Martins Coriolanus.
Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus.

[Sound.

All. Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus.

Flourish.

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 Prosperity.

Vol. Nay, my good Soldier, up:

My gentle Martins, 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't 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 fweet 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 House I do fhade

my

The good Patricians must be vifited,

Head,

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 befart

Enter Brutus and Sicinius.

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

While the 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 posture.

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

Lofe thofe 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 forget,

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 swear,

Were he to ftand 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 ftinking 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 wish no better, than have him hold that purpose,

and to put it in Execution.

Bru, 'Tis moft like he will.

Sic

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

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 fame 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 Meffenger.

Bru. What's the matter?

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

I have feen the dumb Men throng to see him,
And the blind to hear him fpeak; Matrons flung Gloves,
Ladies and Maids their Scarfs and Handkerchiefs,

Upon him, as he pafs'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 almoft here; how many ftand for Confulfhips?

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

Of. That's a brave Fellow, but he's vengeance proud, and loves not the Common People.

2 Of. 'Faith, there have been many great Men that have flatter'd the People, who ne'er lov'd 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, manifefts the true Knowledge he has in their Difpofition, and out of his noble Careleffnefs lets them plainly fee't.

1 Of. If he did not care whether he had their love, or no, he waved indifferently, 'twixt doing them neither Good, nor Harm: But he feeks their Hate with greater Devotion, than they can render it him; and leaves nothing undone, that may fully discover him their Oppofite. Now to feem to affect the Malice and Displeasure of the People, is as bad as that which he diflikes, to flatter them for their love.

2 Of. He hath deferv'd worthily of his Country: And his Afcent is not by fuch eafie Degrees as thofe, who have been fupple and courteous to the People, Bonnetted, without any further Deed, to have them at all into their Eftimation and Report: But he hath fo planted his Honours in their Eyes, and his Actions in their Hearts, that for their Tongues to be filent, and not confefs fo much, were a kind of ingrateful Injury; to report otherwife, were a Malice that giving it felf the Lie, would pluck Reproof and Rebuke from ev'ry Ear that heard it.

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

A Sonnet. Enter the Patricians, and the Tribunes of the People, Litors before them; Coriolanus, Menenuis, Cominius the Conful Sicinius and Brutus take their Places by themselves.

Men. Having determin'd of the Volfcies,
And to fend for Titus Lartins; it remains,
As the main Point of this our after-meeting,
To gratifie his noble Service, that hath

Thus ftood for his Country. Therefore, please you,
Moft Reverend and Grave Elders, to defire

The prefent Conful, and last General,

VOL. IV.

Dd