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: SCENE III. Trumpets found. Enter Cominius the General and Titus Her. Know, Rome, that all alone Martius did fight [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, 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. 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 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 Clambring the walls to eye him; ftalls, bulks, windows, In earneftness to fee him: feld-fhown Flamens 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, 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 As he is proud to do't. Bru. I heard him fwear, Were he to ftand for Conful, never would he Nor fhewing, as the manner is, his wounds 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 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, 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 Enter a Meffenger. Bru. What's the matter? Mef. You're fent for to the Capitol: 'tis thought The dumb men throng to fee him, and the blind A fhower and thunder with their caps and fhouts : H 3 2 an 3 their 4 teach or reach Bru. |