Men. Why, 'tis no great matter; for a very little thief of occafion will rob you of a great deal of patience give your difpofitions the reins, and be angry at your pleasures; at the least, if you take it as a pleasure to you, in being fo: 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 elfe your actions would grow wondrous fingle; your abilities are too infant-like, for doing much alone. You talk of pride oh, that you could turn your eyes towards the napes of your necks, and make but an interior furvey of your good felves! Oh, that you could!

Bru. What then, Sir?

Men. Why, then you should discover a brace of as unmeriting, proud, violent, tefty magiftrates,, 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 Tiber in't: "faid to be fomething imperfect, in favouring the first complaint; hafty and tinderlike, upon too trivial motion: one that converfes more with the buttock of the night, than with the forehead of the morning. What I think, I utter; and fpend my malice in my breath. Meeting two fuch weals-men as you are, (I cannot call you Lycurgues) if the drink you give me touch my palate adverfly, I make a crooked face at it. I can't fay, your Worfhips have deliver'd the matter well, when I find the afs in compound with the major part of your fyllables; and tho' I must be content to bear with thofe, that fay, you are reverend grave men; yet they lye deadly, that tell you, you have good faces; if you fee this in the map of my microcofm, follows it, that I am known well enough too? (9) what

harm

(9) What barm can your befom Confpe&tuities glean out of this Character, &c.] If the Editors have form'd any Conftruction

to

harm can your biffon Confpectuities 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, your felves, nor any thing; you are ambitious for poor knaves' caps and legs: you wear out a good wholesome forenoon, in hearing a Cause between an orange-wife and a foffet-feller, and then adjourn a controverfy of three-pence to a fecond day of audience. When you are hearing a matter between party and party, if you chance to be pinch'd with the cholick, you make faces like mummers, fet up the bloody flag against all patience, and, in roaring for a chamber-pot, difmifs the controverfie bleeding, the more intangled by your hearing: all the peace you make in their caufe, is calling both the parties knaves. You are a pair of strange ones.

Bru. Come, come, you are well understood to be a perfecter gyber for the Table, than a neceffary bencher in the Capitol.

Men. Our very priests must become mockers, if they fhall encounter fuch ridiculous fubjects as you are; when you speak beft unto the purpose, it is not worth the wagging of your beards; and your beards deferve not fo honourable a Grave, as to ftuff a botcher's cushion, or

to themselves, of this Epithet befom, that can be à propos to the Sense of the Context; Davus fum, non Oedipus: it is too hard a Riddle for Me to expound. Menenius, 'tis plain, is abufing the Tribunes, and bantering them Ironically. By Confpectuities he must mean, their Sagacity, Clearfightedness: and that they may not think he's Complimenting them, he tacks an Epithet to it, which quite undoes that Character; i. e. bisson, blind, bleer-ey'd. Skinner, in his Etymologicon, explains this Word, Cacus; vox agro Lincoln. ufitatiffima, Ray concurs, in his North and South Country Words. And our Author gives us this Term again in his Hamlet, where the Senfe exactly correfponds with this Interpretation.

Run barefoot up and down, threatning the Flames,
With biffon Rheum.

i. e. blinding. It is fpoken of Hecuba, whofe Eyes o'erflow and are blinded, both with Tears, and the Rheums of Age.

to

2

to be intomb'd in an afs's pack-faddle. Yet you must be
faying, Marcius is proud; who, in a cheap eftimation,
is worth all your predeceffors, fince Deucalion; though,
peradventure, fome of the best of them were hereditary
hangmen. Good-e'en to your Worships; more of your
conversation would infect my brain, being the herdimen
of the beaftly Plebeians. I will be bold to take my leave
of you.
[Brutus and Sicinius ftand afide.

As Menenius is going out, Enter Volumnia, Virgilia,
and Valeria.

How now my (as fair as noble) ladies, and the moon,
were the earthly, no nobler; whither do you follow your
eyes fo faft?

Vol. Honourable Menenius, my boy Mancius approaches; for the love of Juno, let's go.

Men, Ha! Marcius coming home?

Val Ay, worthy Menenius, and with most profperous approbation.

Men. Take my cap, Jupiter, and I thank theehoo, Marcius 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 houfe reel to night: A letter for me!

Vir. Yes, certain, there's a letter for you, I faw't. Men. A letter for me! it gives me an eftate of feven year's health; in which time I will make a lip at the phyfician; the moft fovereign prescription in Galen is but Emperic, and to this prefervative of no better report than 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 a' victory in his pocket? the wounds become him.

1

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 fo 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 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 purchafing.

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 your good Worships; -Marcius is coming home; he has more caufe to be proud: where is he wounded?

[To the Tribunes.

Vol. I' th' fhoulder, and i' th' left arm; there will be large cicatrices to fhew the people, when he shall stand for his place. He receiv'd in the repulfe of Tarquin feven hurts i' th' body. (10)

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

(10) He receiv'd, in the Repulse of Tarquin, Seven Hurts i'tb' Body,

Men. One i'th' Neck, and two i’tb' Thigh; there's Nine, that I know.] Seven,- -one,and two, and thefe make but nine? Surely, we may fafely affist Menenius in his Arithmetick. This is a stupid Blunder; but wherever we can account by a probable Reason for the Cause of it, That directs the Emendation. Here it was easy for a negligent Transcriber to omit the fecond One as a needlefs Repetition of the first, and to make a Numeral Word of too. Mr. Warburton.

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

Men. Now 'tis twenty feven; every gafh was an enemy's Grave. Hark, the trumpets.

[Afbout and flourish. 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.

Trumpets found. Enter Cominius the General, and Titus Lartius; between them Coriolanus, crown'd with an oaken garland, with Captains and foldiers, 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. Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus. !

[Sound. Flourish.

All. 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. Oh!

You have, I know, petition'd all the Gods

For my profperity.

Vol. Nay, my good foldier, up:

My gentle Marcius, 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 Corioli wear,

And mothers that lack fons.

Men. Now the Gods crown thee!

Cor. And live you yet? O my fweet Lady, pardon.

[To Valeria.

Vol. I know not where to turn. O welcome home;

And