make but an interior survey of your good selves! O, that you could! Bru. What then, sir? Men. Why, then you should discover a brace of unmeriting, proud, violent, testy magistrates, (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 Tyber 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 weals-men 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 cannot say3, 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 have good faces. If you see this in the map of my microcosm, follows it, that I am known well enough, too? What harm can your bisson conspectuities 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, 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 fossetseller, 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 3 I CANNOT say,] In the old copies, "I can say." 4 - BISSON Conspectuities,] "Bisson," blind; from the Sax. bison. In the old copies it is beesome: Theobald made the change. 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. Bru. Come, come, you are well understood to be a perfecter giber for the table, than a necessary bencher in the Capitol. Men. 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 all your predecessors since Deucalion, though, peradventure, some of the best of 'em were hereditary hangmen. Good den to your worships: more of your conversation would infect my brain, being the herdsman of the beastly plebeians. I will be bold to take my leave of you. [BRUTUS and SICINIUS retire to the back of the Scene. Enter VOLUMNIA, VIRGILIA, and VALERIA, &c. How now, my as fair as noble ladies, (and the moon, were she earthly, no nobler) whither do you follow your eyes so fast? Vol. Honourable Menenius, my boy Marcius approaches; for the love of Juno, let's go. Men. Ha! Marcius coming home? Vol. Ay, worthy Menenius, and with most prosperous approbation. Men. Take my cap, Jupiter, and I thank thee.-Ho! Marcius coming home? 5 GOOD DEN to your worships :] i. e. Good even, properly; but it was also used for good day. See Vol. ii. p. 229. 319; Vol. iv. P. 14. Two Ladies. 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 house reel to-night.-A letter for me? Vir. Yes, certain, there's a letter for you; I saw it. Men. 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. Vir. O! no, no, no. Vol. O! he is wounded; I thank the gods for't. Men. So do I too, if it be not too much.-Brings '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. Has he disciplined Aufidius soundly? Vol. Titus Lartius writes, they fought together, but Aufidius got off. Men. And 'twas time for him too; I'll warrant him that: an he had stay'd 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? Vol. 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. Val. In troth, there's wondrous things spoke of him. Men. Wondrous: ay, I warrant you, and not without his true purchasing. On's brows:] This is Volumnia's answer to the question, "Brings 'a victory in his pocket?" It is clear from what is said subsequently that Coriolanus was not wounded on his brows. Vir. The gods grant them true! Vol. True! pow, wow. Men. True! I'll be sworn they are true.-Where is he wounded?-God save your good worships! [To the Tribunes, who come forward.] Marcius is coming home: he has more cause to be proud. Where is he wounded? Vol. 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. Men. One i' the neck, and two i' the thigh,—there's nine that I know. Vol. He had, before this last expedition, twenty-five wounds upon him. Men. Now it's twenty-seven: every gash was an enemy's grave. [A Shout and Flourish.] Hark! the trumpets. 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. A Sennet. Trumpets sound. Enter COMINIUS and TITUS LARTIUS; between them, CORIOLANUS, crowned with an oaken Garland; with Captains, Soldiers, and a Herald. Her. Know, Rome, that all alone Marcius did fight Within Corioli's gates: where he hath won, With fame, a name to Caius Marcius; these In honour follows, Coriolanus':— Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus! [Flourish. 7 In honour follows, Coriolanus:] The folio gives this line erroneously, by reading, "In honour follows Marcius Caius Coriolanus." In the preceding line, instead of Caius Marcius, it has Marcius Caius. From henceforward he is called Coriolanus in the prefixes of the old editions. All. Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus! Pray now, no more. Look, sir, your mother,— Com. Cor. O! You have, I know, petition'd all the gods For my prosperity. [Kneels. Vol. Nay, my good soldier, up; My gentle Marcius, worthy Caius, and By deed-achieving honour newly nam'd, What is it? Coriolanus, must I call thee? But O! thy wife— Cor. My gracious silence, hail! Would'st thou have laugh'd, had I come coffin'd home, That weep'st to see me triumph? Ah! my dear, Such eyes the widows in Corioli wear, And mothers that lack sons. Men. Vol. I know not where to turn:-O! welcome home; And welcome, general;—and you 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 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 |