Bear the addition nobly ever!

[Flourish. Trumpets found, and Drums.

Omnes. Caius Marcius Coriolanus!

Cor. I will go wafh;

And when my face is fair, you fhall perceive Whether I blufh or no: Howbeit, I thank you:I mean to ftride your steed; and, at all times, To undercrest 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 best with whom we may articulate,
For their own good, and curs.

Lart. I fhall, my lord.

I that now

Cor. The gods begin to mock me.
Refus'd moll 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 houfe; he us'd me kindly:

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

But then Aufidius was within my view,

And wrath o'erwhelm'd my pity: I requeft 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

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

[Exeunt.

SCENE X. The Camp of the Volfces.

A Flourish. Cornets. Enter TULLUS AUFIDIUS bloody, with two or three Soldiers.

Auf. The town is ta'en!

Sol. 'Twill be deliver'd back on good condition.
Auf. Condition !—

I would, I were a Roman; for I cannot,
Being a Volfce, 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; fo often haft 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 fome way;
Or wrath, or craft, may get him.

Sol. He's the devil.

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

With only fuffering ftain by him; for him
Shall fly out of itself: nor fleep, nor fanctuary,
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 cuftom 'gainst
My hate to Marcius: where I find him, were it
At home, upon my brother's guard, even there,
Against

Against the hofpitable canon, would I

Wafh 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.

I

Sol. Will not you go?

Auf. I am attended at the cyprefs-grove :

pray you

('Tis fouth the city mills), bring me word thither How the world goes; that to the pace of it I may fpur on my journey.

Sol. I fhall, fir.

[Exeunt.

ACT II.

SCENE I. Rome.

Enter MENENIUS, with SICINIUS and BRUTUS.

Menenius.

THE augurer tells 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 beasts to know their friends.
Men. Pray you, who does the wolf love?
Sic. The lamb.

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

Bru. He's a lamb indeed, that baâs 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 afk you.

Both. Well, fir.

Both

Men. In what enormity is Marcius poor, that you two 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 boafting.

Men. This is strange now: Do you two know how you are cenfur'd here in the city, I mean of us o' the right hand file? Do you?

Bru. Why, how are we cenfur'd?

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

Both. 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 difpofitions the reins, and be angry at your pleasures; at the leaft, if you take it as a pleafure to you, in being fo. 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 elfe your actions would grow wondrous fingle: your abilities are too infant-like, for doing much alone. You talk of pride: Oh, that you could turn your eyes towards the napes of your necks, and make but an interior furvey of your good felves! O, that you could!

Bru. What then, fir?

Men. Why, then you should discover a brace of as 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 Tiber in't: faid to be fomething imperfect,

D

Aa II. 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 Lycurguffes), if the drink you give me, touch my palate adversely, I make a crooked face at it. I can't fay, your worships 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 thofe that fay you are reverend grave men; yet they lie deadly, that tell you, you have good faces. If you fee this in the map of my microcofm, follows it, that I am known well enough too? What harm can your biffon confpectuities glean out of this character, if I be known well enough too?

Bru. Come, fir, 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 wholefome forenoon, in hearing a caufe between an orange wife and a foffet-feller; and then rejourn the controverfy of three-pence to a fecond day of audience.-When you are hearing a matter between party and party, if you chance to be pinch'd with the cholick, you make faces like mummers; fet up the bloody flag against all patience, and, in roaring for a chamberpot, difmifs the controverfy bleeding, the more entangled by your hearing: all the peace you make in their caufe, is, calling both the parties knaves: You are a pair of strange ones.

Bru. Come, come, you are well understood to

be