that. If he had staid by him, I would not have been fo 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 outdone 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 purchafing.

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 your good Worfhips. [To the Tribunes.] Marcius is coming home. He has more cause to be proud.-Where is he wounded? Vol. 1' 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 i' th' neck, and one too i' th' thigh; there's nine, that I know.

Vol. He had, before this laft expedition, twenty five wounds upon him.

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

9 Poffeft, in our authour's language, is fully informed.

He receiv'd in the repulfe of Tarquin feven hurts i' th' body.

Men. One i' th' neck, and two ith' thigh: there's nine, that I know.] Seven,-one,-and two, and these make but nine? Sure ly, we may fafely affift Menenius in his Arithmetick. This is a

[Afhout and flourish.

Vol. Thefe are the ufhers of Marcius; before him he carries noife, 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 foldiers, 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. 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 profperity.

Vol. Nay, my good foldier, up.

My gentle Marcius, worthy Caius, and
By deed-atchieving honour newly nam'd;
What is it? Coriolanus, muft I call thee?
But oh, thy wife-

Cor. My gracious filence, hail!

Which being advanc'd, declines,-] Volumnia, in her boafting ftrain, fays, that her fon, to kill his enemy, has no thing to do but to lift his hand up and let it fall.

3 My gracious filence, bail!] The epithet to filence thews it not

Would't thou have laugh'd, had I come coffin'd

home,

That weep'ft to fee me triumph? ah, my Dear,

Such eyes the widows in Corioli wear,

And mothers that lack fons.

Men. Now the Gods crown thee!

Cor. And live you yet? O my fweet Lady, pardon.

Vol. I know not where to turn.

[To Valeria.

O welcome home;

And welcome, General! and y'are welcome all.
Men. A hundred thousand welcomes. I could weep,
And I could laugh, I'm light and heavy.-Wel-
come!

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. Yet 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 houfe I do fhade my head,
The good Patricians must be visited;
From whom I have receiv'd not only Greetings,
4 But, with them, Change of honours.

Vol. I have lived,

To fee inherited my very wishes,

4 But, with them, Change of bonours.] So all the Editions read. But Mr. Theobald has ventured (as he expreffes it) to fubftitute, charge. For change, he thinks, is a very poor expreffion, and communicates but a very poor idea. He had better have

told the plain truth, and confeffed that it communicated none at all to him: However, it has a very good one in itself; and fignifies variety of honours; change of rayment, amongst the writers of that time, fignified variety of rayment.

as

WARB.

And

And the buildings of my fancy; only there's one thing wanting,

Which, I doubt not, but our Rome 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. Cornet's." [Exeunt in State, as before.

Brutus, and Sicinius, come forward.

Bru. All tongues fpeak of him, and the bleared fights

Are fpectacled to fee him. Your pratling nurfe
5 Into a rapture lets her Baby cry,

While the chats him; the kitchen malkin pins
Her richest lockram 'bout her reechy neck,

Clambring the walls to eye him. 'Stalls, bulks, windows,

Are fmother'd up, leads fill'd, and ridges hors'd
With variable complexions; all agreeing
In earnestnefs to fee him; feld-fhown Flamins
Do prefs among the popular throngs, and puff
To win a vulgar ftation; our veil'd dames
• Commit the War of white and damafk, in

5 Into a rapture-] Rapture, a common term at that time ufed for a fit, fimply. So, to be rap'd fignified, to be in a fit. WARB. Commit the WAR of white and damask, in Their nicely gawded cheeks,-] This commixture of white and red could not, by any figure of fpeech, be called a war, because it is the agreement and union of the colours that make the beauty.

We should read,

—the WARE of white and damafk i. e. the commodity, the merWARBURTON. chandise.

Has the commentator never heard of rofes contending with lilies for the empire of a lady's cheek? The oppofition of colours, though not the commixture, may be called a war.

Their

Their nicely-gawded cheeks, to th' wanton fpoil
Of Phebus' burning kiffes; fuch a pother,
* As if that whatsoever God, who leads him,
Were flily crept into his human powers,
gave him graceful posture.

And

Sic. On the fudden,

I warrant him Conful.

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

529.

Sic. He cannot temp'rately transport his honours, 7 From whence 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 ftand, but they,
Upon their ancient malice, will forget,

With the least caufe, these his new honours; which

That he will give, make I as little question

As he is proud to do't.

Bru. I heard him swear,

Were he to stand for Conful, never would he

Appear i'th' market-place, nor on him

The napless Vefture of Humility;

put

Nor fhewing, as the manner is, his wounds
To th' people, beg their ftinking breaths.

Sic. 'Tis right.

Bru. It was his word. Oh, he would miss it, rather Than carry it, but by the fuit o' th' Gentry, And the defire o'th' Nobles.

Sic. I wifh no better,

As if that whatfoever God,] That is, as if that God who leads bim, whatfoever God he be.

7 From where he should begin
and end,1 Perhaps it

fhould be read,
From where he foould begin t'an
end,

VOL, VI.

As he is PROUD to do't.) I fhould rather think the author wrote PRONE: because the com mon reading is scarce sense or English. WARBURTON.

Proud to do, is the fame as proud of doing, very plain fenfe, and very common English.

Mm

Than