In acclamations hyperbolical;

As if I lov'd my little should be dieted
In praises fauc'd with lies.

Com.
Too modest are you;
More cruel to your good report, than grateful
To us that give you truly: by your patience,
If 'gainst yourself you be incens'd, we'll put you
(Like one that means his proper harm,) in manacles,
Then reason fafely with you.-Therefore, be it known,
As to us, to all the world, that Caius Marcius
Wears this war's garland: in token of the which,
My noble steed, known to the camp, I give him,
With all his trim belonging; and, from this time,
For what he did before Corioli, call him,

With all the applause and clamour of the host,
Caius Marcius Coriolanus.-Bear

The addition nobly ever!

And when my face is fair, you shall perceive

Whether I blush, or no : Howbeit, I thank you:

I mean to ftride your steed; and, at all times,

To undercreft your good addition,

To the fairness of my power.

Com.

So, to our tent:

Where, ere we do repofe us, we will write

To Rome of our fuccefs.-You, Titus Lartius,
Muft to Corioli back: fend us to Rome
The beft, with whom we may articulate,
For their own good, and ours.

Lart.

I fhall, my lord.

I that now

Refus'd

Cor. The gods begin to mock me.

Refus'd most princely gifts, am bound to beg
Of my lord general.

Com.

Take it: 'tis yours.-What is't?

Cor. I fometime lay, here in Corioli,

At a poor man's house; he us'd me kindly:

He cry'd to me; I saw him prisoner;

But then Aufidius was within my view,

And wrath o'erwhelm'd my pity: I request you
To give my poor host freedom.

Com.

O, well begg'd!
Were he the butcher of my fon, he should
Be free, as is the wind. Deliver him, Titus.
Lart. Marcius, his name?

Cor.

By Jupiter, forgot:

I am weary; yea, my memory is tir'd.

Have we no wine here?

Com.

Go we to our tent:

The blood upon your visage dries: 'tis time
It should be look'd to: come.

[Exeunt.

SCENE X.

The Camp of the Volces.

A flourish. Cornets. Enter TULLUS AUFIDIUS bloody, with two or three foldiers.

Auf. The town is ta'en!

1 Sol. 'Twill be deliver'd back on good condition. Auf. Condition ?

I would, I were a Roman; for I cannot,

Being a Volce, be that I am.-Condition!
What good condition can a treaty find

I' the part that is at mercy? Five times, Marcius,

I have fought with thee; so often hast thou beat me;
And would't do so, I think, fhould we encounter
As often as we eat.-By the elements,

If e'er again I meet him beard to beard,
He is mine, or I am his: Mine emulation
Hath not that honour in't, it had; for where
I thought to crush him in an equal force,

(True fword to fword), I'll potch at him some way;
Or wrath, or craft, may get him.

1 Sol.

He's the devil.

Auf. Bolder, though not fo fubtle: My valour's poi

fon'd,

With only fuffering ftain by him; for him
Shall fly out of itself: nor fleep, nor sanctuary,
Being naked, fick; nor fane, nor Capitol,
The prayers of priests, nor times of facrifice,
Embarquements all of fury, fhall lift up
Their rotten privilege and custom 'gainst
My hate to Marcius: where I find him, were it
At home, upon my brother's guard, even there

Against the hofpitable cannon, would I

Wash my fierce hand in his heart. Go you to the city; Learn how 'tis held; and what they are, that must

Be hoftages for Rome.

1 Sol.

Will not you go?

Auf. I am attended at the cypress grove:

I pray you,

('Tis fouth the city mills,) bring me word thither

How the world goes; that to the pace of it

I may spur on my journey.

I Sol.

I fhall, fir.

[Exeunt.

ACT

ACT II. SCENE I.

Rome. A public Place.

Enter MENENIUS, SICINIUS, and BRUTUS.

Men. The augurer telis me, we fhall have news to-night. Bru. Good, or bad?

Men. Not according to the prayer of the people, for they love not Marcius.

Sic. Nature teaches beafts to know their friends.

Men. Pray you, who does the wolf love?

Sic. The lamb.

Men. Ay, to devour him; as the hungry plebeians would the noble Marcius.

Bru. He's a lamb indeed, that baes like a bear.

Men. 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 Trib. Well, fir.

Men. In what enormity is Marcius poor, that you too have not in abundance?

Bru. He's poor in no one fault, but ftor'd with all.

Sic. Efpecially, in pride.

Bru. And topping all others in boasting.

Men. This is ftrange now: Do you two know how

you are cenfured here in the city, I mean of us o' the righthand file? Do you?

Both Trib. Why, how are we cenfured?

Men. Because you talk of pride now,-Will you not be angry?

Both Trib. Well, well, fir, well.

Men. Why, 'tis no great matter; for a very little thief of occafion will rob you of a great deal of patience: give

your disposition the reins, and be angry at your pleasures; at the leaft, if you take it as a pleasure to you, in being so. You blame Marcius for being proud?

Bru. We do it not alone, fir.

Men. I know, you can do very little alone; for your helps are many; or else your actions would grow wondrous fingle: your abilities are too infant-like, for doing much alone. You talk of pride: 0, that you could turn your eyes towards the napes of your necks, and make but an interior survey of your good felves! O, that you could!

Bru. What then, fir?

Men. Why, then you should discover a brace of 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 tinder-like, 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 spend my malice in my breath: Meeting two fuch weals-men as you are, (I cannot call you Lycurgufes) if the drink you give me, touch my palate adversely, I make a crooked face at it. I cannot fay, your worthips have deliver'd the matter well, when I find the afs in compound with the major part of your fyllables and though I must be content to bear with those that fay you are reverend grave men; yet they lie deadly, that tell, you have good faces. If you see this in the map of my microcofm, follows it, that I am known well enough too? What harm can your bisson confpectuities glean out of this character, if I be known well enough too?