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eyes so fast?

to be intomb’d 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 them were hereditary hangmen. Good-e'en 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 fand afide.
As Menenius is going out, Enter Volumnia, Virgilia,

and Valeria.
How now my (as fair as noble) ladies, and the moon,
were she earthly, no nobler ; whither do


Vel. Honourable Menenius, my boy Marcius ap-
proaches ; for the love of Juno, let's go.

Mex. Ha! Marcius coming home?

Vol. Ay, worthy Menenius, and with most profpe-. rous approbation.

Men. Take my cap, Jupiter, and I thank thee hoo, 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

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't.

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 Emperic, and to this preservative of no better re-
port 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.

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Vol. On's brows, Menenius; he comes the third time, home with the oaken garland.

Men. Hath he disciplin'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 staid by him, I would not have been so fidius'd for all the cheits in Corioli, and the gold that's in them. Is the Senate poffest 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 with out his true purchasing.

Vir. The Gods grant them true !
Vol. True? pow, waw,
Men. True ? I'll be sworn, they are true.

Where is he wounded? God save your good Worships ;- Marcius is coming home; he has more cause to be proud : where is he wounded ?

[To the Tribunes. Vol. I'th' shoulder, and i' th' left arm; there will be large cicatrices to thew the people, when he shall stand for his place. He receiv'à in the repulse of Tarquir seven hurts i'th' body. (10)

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




M Bu W Bu

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

Body. Men. One i'rb' Neck, and two i'th' Thigh: there's Nine, that I know.] Seven, one, and two, and these make but nine? Surely, we may safely affift Menenius in his Arithmetick. This is a stupid Blunder; but wherever we can account by a probable Reason for the Cause of it, That dilects the Emendation. Here it was easy for a negligent Transcriber to omit the second One as a needless Repetition of the first, and to make a Numeral Word of too.

Ms. Warburton.

Su Ar

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


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

[A poout and flourish. Vol. These are the ūshers 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 soldiers, 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 prosperity.

Vol. Nay, my good soldier, up:
My gentle Marcius, worthy Caius, and
By deed-atchieving honour newly nam'd,
What is it, Coriolanus, must I call thee?
But oh, thy wife

Cor. My gracious silence, hail!
Would'At 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 sons.

Men. Now the Gods crown thee!
Cor. And live you yet? O my sweet Lady, pardon.

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


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And welcome, General! y'are welcome all.

Men. A hundred thousand welcomes : I could weep,
And I could laugh, I'm 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've some 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.

Cor. Your hand, and yours.
Ere in our own house I do fhade my head,
The good Patricians must be visited;
(11) From whom I have receiv'd not only Greetings,
But, with them, Charge of honours.

Vol. I have lived,
To see inherited my very wishes,
And buildings of my fancy; only one thing
Is wanting, which, I doubt not, but our Rome
Will cast


Cor. Know, good Mother, I
Had rather be their servant in my way,
Than sway with them in theirs.
Com. On, to the Capitol. Flourish. Cornets.

[Exeunt in State, as before.
Brutus, and Sicinius, come forward.
Bru. All tongues speak of him, and the bleared fights
Are spectacled to see him. Your pratling nurse
Into a rapture lets her Baby cry,

(1) From whom I have receiv'd not only Greetings,

But, with them, Change of Honours.] Change of HoAours is a very poor Expression, and communicates but a very poor Idea. I have ventur'd to substitute, Charge; i. e. a fresh Charge or Commission. These Words are frequently mistaken for each other.

While the chats him: the kitchen malkin pins
Her richest lockram 'bout her reechy neck,
Clambring the walls to eye him ; ftalls, bulks, win.

Are smother'd up, leads fill'd, and ridges hors’d
With variable complexions ; all agreeing
In earneftness to see him: feld-shown Flamins
Do press among the popular throngs, and puff
To win a vulgar station ; our veil'd dames
Commit the war of white and damask, in
Their nicely-gawded cheeks, to th' wanton spoil
Of Phoebus' burning kisses ; such a pother,
As if that whatsoever God, who leads him,
Were slily crept into his human powers,
And gave him graceful posture. .

Sic. On the sudden,
I warrant him Consul.

Bru. Then our Office may,
During his Power, go sleep.

Sic. He cannot temp'rately transport his honours,
From where he should begin and end, but will
Lose those he hath won.

Bru. In That there's comfort.

Sic. Doubt not,
The Commoners, for whom we stand, but they,
Upon their ancient malice, will forget,
With the least cause, these his new honours; which
That he will give, make I as little question
As he is proud to do't.

Brų. I heard him swear,
Were he to stand for Consul, never would he
Appear i'th' market-place, nor on him put
The napless Vesture of Humility;
Nor shewing, as the manner is, his wounds
To th’ people, beg their stinking breaths.

Sic. 'Tis right.

Bru. It was his word: oh, he would miss it, rather
Than carry it, but by the suit o'th' Gentry,
And the desire o'th' Nobles.
Sic. I wish no better,


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