a horse-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 he 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. Hath he difciplin'd Aufidius foundly?

Vol. Titus Lartius writes, they fought together, but Aufidius got off.

Men. And 'twas time for him too, I'll warrant him that: if he had ftaid by him, I would not have been so fidius'd for all the chefts in Corioli, 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 fon the whole name of the war: he hath in this action out-done his former deeds doubly.

Val. In troth, there's wondrous things fpoke of him. Men. Wondrous! ay, I warrant you, and not without his true purchasing.

Vir. The Gods grant them true!

Vol. True? pow waw.

Men. True? I'll be fworn they are true. Where is he wounded? God fave their good Worfhips a! Martius is coming home; he has more caufe to be proud:where is he wounded?

'Val. I' th' fhoulder, 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 th' neck, and one too' i'th' thigh; there's nine that I know.

Vol. He had, before his laft expedition, twenty five

wounds upon him.

VOL, V.

(a) Meaning the Tribunes. 4 Vol.

3 your

5 and two... old edit. Warb. emend.

Men. Now 'tis twenty feven: every gafh was an enemy's grave. Hark, the trumpets. [Afbout and flourish. Vol. These are th' ufhers of Martius; before him

6

He carries noise, " 'behind him he leaves tears:
Death, that dark fpirit, in's nervy arm doth lye,
Which being advanc'd declines, and then men die.

SCENE III.

Trumpets found. 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 Corioli gates, where he hath won,
With fame, a name to Caius Martius.
Welcome to Rome, renown'd Coriolanus!

[Sound. Flourish.

All. Welcome to Rome, renown'd Coriolanus! 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, petition'd all the Gods

For my profperity.

Vol. Nay, my foldier, up:

My gentle Martius, 7'my worthy Caius,
By deed-atchieved 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 see me triumph? ah, my dear,

Such eyes the widows in Corioli wear,

And mothers that lack fons.

Men. Now the Gods crown thee!

6 and behind 7 worthy

Cor

8 deed-atchieving

Cor. And live you yet?-O my fweet Lady, pardon. [To Val. Vol. I know not where to turn. O welcome home; And welcome, General! y' are welcome all.

Men. A hundred thoufand welcomes: I could weep, And I could laugh, I'm light and heavy; welcome! A curfe begin at 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've fome old crab-trees here at home, that will not Be grafted to your relish. 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.

Ere in our own house I do fhade my head,

The good Patricians must be vifited,

From whom I have receiv'd not only greetings,

9

But with them, 'charge of

Vol. I have lived,

honour.

To fee inherited my very wifhes,

And buildings of my fancy; only one thing
Is wanting, which I doubt not but our Rome

Will caft upon thee.

Cor. Know, good mother, I

Had rather be their fervant in my way,

Than fway with them in theirs.

Com. On, to the Capitol.

[Flourish. Cornets.

[Exeunt in ftate, as before.

Bru. ALL tongues fpeak of him, and the bleared fights Are fpectacled to fee him. Your pratling nurse

H 2

9 change... old edit. Theob, emend.

1 honours.

Into

Into a rapture lets her baby cry,'

While the chats him: the kitchen maukin pins
Her richeft lockram 'bout her reechy neck,

Clambring the walls to eye him; ftalls, bulks, windows,
Are fmother'd up, leads fill'd, and ridges hors'd
With variable complexions; all agreeing

In earneftness to fee him: feld-fhown Flamens
Do prefs among the popular throngs, and puff
To win a vulgar ftation; our veil'd dames
Commit 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 sleep.

Sic. He cannot temp'rately tranfport his honours,
From where he fhould begin and end, but will
Lofe thofe he'ath 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 least cause these his new honours; which
That he will give, make I as little queftion

As he is proud to do't.

Bru. I heard him fwear,

Were he to ftand for Conful, never would he
Appear i' th' market-place, nor on him put
The naplefs 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 o' th' Gentry,

And

And the defire o' th' Nobles.

Sic. I wifh no better,

Than have him hold that purpofe, and to put it
In execution.

Bru. 'Tis moft like he will.

Sic. It fhall be to him then, as our good wills; A fure deftruction.

Bru. So it must fall out

To him, or our authorities. For our 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
Difproperty'd their freedoms: holding them,
In human action and capacity,

Of no more foul nor fitnefs for the world,

Than camels in the war, who have their provender 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 'touch the people, (which time fhall not want, If he be put upon't, and that's as eafie,

As to fet dogs on fheep) will be the fire

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

Enter a Meffenger.

Bru. What's the matter?

Mef. You're fent for to the Capitol: 'tis thought
That Martius fhall be Conful: I have feen

The dumb men throng to fee him, and the blind
To hear him fpeak; the matrons flung their gloves,
Ladies and maids their scarfs and handkerchiefs,
Upon him as he pafs'd; the Nobles bended
As to Jove's ftatue, and the Commons made

A fhower and thunder with their caps and fhouts :
I never faw the like.

H 3

2 an

3 their

4 teach or reach

Bru.