| [Enter MENENIUS with the two Tribunes of the people,
SICINIUS and BRUTUS. MENENIUS
| The augurer tells me we shall have news to-night.
| BRUTUS
| Good or bad?
| MENENIUS
| Not according to the prayer of the people, for they
| love not Marcius. SICINIUS
| Nature teaches beasts to know their friends.
| MENENIUS
| Pray you, who does the wolf love?
| SICINIUS
| The lamb.
| MENENIUS
| Ay, to devour him; as the hungry plebeians would the
| noble Marcius. BRUTUS
| He's a lamb indeed, that baes like a bear.
| MENENIUS
| He's a bear indeed, that lives like a lamb. You two
| are old men: tell me one thing that I shall ask you. Both
| Well, sir.
| MENENIUS
| In what enormity is Marcius poor in, that you two
| have not in abundance? BRUTUS
| He's poor in no one fault, but stored with all.
| SICINIUS
| Especially in pride.
| BRUTUS
| And topping all others in boasting.
| MENENIUS
| This is strange now: do you two know how you are
| censured here in the city, I mean of us o' the right-hand file? do you? Both
| Why, how are we censured?
| MENENIUS
| Because you talk of pride now,--will you not be angry?
| Both
| Well, well, sir, well.
| MENENIUS
| Why, 'tis no great matter; for a very little thief of
| occasion will rob you of a great deal of patience: give your dispositions the reins, and be angry at your pleasures; at the least if you take it as a pleasure to you in being so. You blame Marcius for being proud? BRUTUS
| We do it not alone, sir.
| MENENIUS
| I know you can do very little alone; for your helps
| are many, or else your actions would grow wondrous single: your abilities are too infant-like for doing much alone. You talk of pride: O that you could turn your eyes toward the napes of your necks, and make but an interior survey of your good selves! O that you could! BRUTUS
| What then, sir?
| MENENIUS
| Why, then you should discover a brace of unmeriting,
| proud, violent, testy magistrates, alias fools, as any in Rome. SICINIUS
| Menenius, you are known well enough too.
| MENENIUS
| 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; said to be something imperfect in favouring the first complaint; hasty and tinder-like upon too trivial motion; one that converses more with the buttock of the night than with the forehead of the morning: what I think I utter, and spend my malice in my breath. Meeting two such wealsmen as you are--I cannot call you Lycurguses--if the drink you give me touch my palate adversely, I make a crooked face at it. I can't say your worships have delivered the matter well, when I find the ass in compound with the major part of your syllables: and though I must be content to bear with those that say you are reverend grave men, yet they lie deadly that tell you you have good faces. If you see this in the map of my microcosm, follows it that I am known well enough too? what barm can your bisson conspectuities glean out of this character, if I be known well enough too? BRUTUS
| Come, sir, come, we know you well enough.
| MENENIUS
| You know neither me, yourselves 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 fosset-seller; and then rejourn the controversy of three pence to a second day of audience. When you are hearing a matter between party and party, if you chance to be pinched with the colic, you make faces like mummers; set up the bloody flag against all patience; and, in roaring for a chamber-pot, dismiss the controversy bleeding the more entangled by your hearing: all the peace you make in their cause is, calling both the parties knaves. You are a pair of strange ones. BRUTUS
| Come, come, you are well understood to be a
| perfecter giber for the table than a necessary bencher in the Capitol. MENENIUS
| Our very priests must become mockers, if they shall
| encounter such ridiculous subjects as you are. When you speak best unto the purpose, it is 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 predecessors since Deucalion, though peradventure some of the best of 'em were hereditary hangmen. God-den to your worships: more of your conversation would infect my brain, being the herdsmen of the beastly plebeians: I will be bold to take my leave of you. [BRUTUS and SICINIUS go aside]
| [Enter VOLUMNIA, VIRGILIA, and VALERIA]
| How now, my as fair as noble ladies,--and the moon,
| were she earthly, no nobler,--whither do you follow your eyes so fast? VOLUMNIA
| Honourable Menenius, my boy Marcius approaches; for
| the love of Juno, let's go. MENENIUS
| Ha! Marcius coming home!
| VOLUMNIA
| Ay, worthy Menenius; and with most prosperous
| approbation. MENENIUS
| Take my cap, Jupiter, and I thank thee. Hoo!
| Marcius coming home! VOLUMNIA
| VIRGILIA |
| | Nay,'tis true. | VOLUMNIA
| Look, here's a letter from him: the state hath
| another, his wife another; and, I think, there's one at home for you. MENENIUS
| I will make my very house reel tonight: a letter for
| me! VIRGILIA
| Yes, certain, there's a letter for you; I saw't.
| MENENIUS
| 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 empiricutic, and, to this preservative, of no better report than a horse-drench. Is he not wounded? he was wont to come home wounded. VIRGILIA
| O, no, no, no.
| VOLUMNIA
| O, he is wounded; I thank the gods for't.
| MENENIUS
| So do I too, if it be not too much: brings a'
| victory in his pocket? the wounds become him. VOLUMNIA
| On's brows: Menenius, he comes the third time home
| with the oaken garland. MENENIUS
| Has he disciplined Aufidius soundly?
| VOLUMNIA
| Titus Lartius writes, they fought together, but
| Aufidius got off. MENENIUS
| And 'twas time for him too, I'll warrant him that:
| an he had stayed 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? VOLUMNIA
| 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 VALERIA
| In troth, there's wondrous things spoke of him.
| MENENIUS
| Wondrous! ay, I warrant you, and not without his
| true purchasing. VIRGILIA
| The gods grant them true!
| VOLUMNIA
| True! pow, wow.
| MENENIUS
| True! I'll be sworn they are true.
| Where is he wounded? [To the Tribunes]
| God save your good worships! Marcius is coming
| home: he has more cause to be proud. Where is he wounded? VOLUMNIA
| I' 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 Tarquin seven hurts i' the body. MENENIUS
| One i' the neck, and two i' the thigh,--there's
| nine that I know. VOLUMNIA
| He had, before this last expedition, twenty-five
| wounds upon him. MENENIUS
| Now it's twenty-seven: every gash was an enemy's grave.
| [A shout and flourish]
| Hark! the trumpets.
| VOLUMNIA
| 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 advanced, declines, and then men die. [A sennet. Trumpets sound. Enter COMINIUS the
| general, and TITUS LARTIUS; between them, CORIOLANUS, crowned with an oaken garland; with Captains and Soldiers, and a Herald] Herald
| Know, Rome, that all alone Marcius did fight
| Within Corioli gates: where he hath won, With fame, a name to Caius Marcius; these In honour follows Coriolanus. Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus! [Flourish]
| All
| Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus!
| CORIOLANUS
| No more of this; it does offend my heart:
| Pray now, no more. COMINIUS
| Look, sir, your mother!
| CORIOLANUS
| O,
| You have, I know, petition'd all the gods For my prosperity! [Kneels]
| VOLUMNIA
| Nay, my good soldier, up;
| My gentle Marcius, worthy Caius, and By deed-achieving honour newly named,-- What is it?--Coriolanus must I call thee?-- But O, thy wife! CORIOLANUS
| My gracious silence, hail!
| Wouldst thou have laugh'd had I come coffin'd home, That weep'st to see me triumph? Ay, my dear, Such eyes the widows in Corioli wear, And mothers that lack sons. MENENIUS
| Now, the gods crown thee!
| CORIOLANUS
| And live you yet?
| [To VALERIA]
| O my sweet lady, pardon. VOLUMNIA
| I know not where to turn: O, welcome home:
| And welcome, general: and ye're welcome all. MENENIUS
| A hundred thousand welcomes. I could weep
| And I could laugh, I am light and heavy. Welcome. A curse begin at very root on's 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. COMINIUS
| Ever right.
| CORIOLANUS
| Menenius ever, ever.
| Herald
| Give way there, and go on!
| CORIOLANUS
| [To VOLUMNIA and VIRGILIA] Your hand, and yours:
| 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. VOLUMNIA
| I have lived
| To see inherited my very wishes And the buildings of my fancy: only There's one thing wanting, which I doubt not but Our Rome will cast upon thee. |