the peace you make in their cause is calling both the
parties knaves. You are a pair of strange ones.
BRUTUS Come, come, you are well understood to be a
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perfecter giber for the table than a necessary bencher
in the Capitol.
MENENIUS 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
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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 Martius is proud: who,
in a cheap estimation, is worth all your predecessors
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since Deucalion, though peradventure some of the
best of ’em were hereditary hangmen. God-den 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.
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[Brutus and Sicinius aside.]
Enter VOLUMNIA, VIRGILIA and VALERIA.
How now, my as fair as noble ladies – and the moon,
were she earthly, no nobler – whither do you follow
your eyes so fast?
VOLUMNIA Honourable Menenius, my boy Martius
approaches; for the love of Juno, let’s go.
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Menenius Ha? Martius coming home?
VOLUMNIA Ay, worthy Menenius, and with most
prosperous approbation.
MENENIUS Take my cap, Jupiter, and I thank thee. Hoo!
MARTIUS coming home?
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VIRGILIA, VALERIA Nay, ’tis true.
VOLUMNIA Look, here’s a letter from him; the state
hath another, his wife another; and I think there’s one
at home for you.
MENENIUS I will make my very house reel tonight. A
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letter for me?
VIRGILIA Yes, certain, there’s a letter for you; I saw’t.
MENENIUS 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
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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.
VIRGILIA Oh no, no, no.
VOLUMNIA Oh, he is wounded; I thank the gods for’t.
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MENENIUS So do I too, if it be not too much. Brings a
victory in his pocket? The wounds become him.
VOLUMNIA On’s brows: Menenius, he comes the third
time home with the oaken garland.
MENENIUS Has he disciplined Aufidius soundly?
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VOLUMNIA Titus Lartius writes, they fought together,
but Aufidius got off.
MENENIUS And ’twas time for him too, I’ll warrant him
that: and he had stayed by him, I would not have been
so ’fidiussed for all the chests in Corioles and the gold
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that’s in them. Is the senate possessed of this?
VOLUMNIA 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.
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VALERIA In troth, there’s wondrous things spoke of
him.
MENENIUS Wondrous! Ay, I warrant you, and not
without his true purchasing.
VIRGILIA The gods grant them true.
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VOLUMNIA True? pow, waw!
MENENIUS True? I’ll be sworn they are true. Where is
he wounded? [to the tribunes] God save your good
worships! Martius is coming home: he has more
cause to be proud. [to Volumnia] Where is he
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wounded?
VOLUMNIA I’th’ shoulder, and i’th’ 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’th’ body.
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MENENIUS One i’th’ neck, and two i’th’ thigh – there’s
nine that I know.
VOLUMNIA He had, before this last expedition, twenty-
five wounds upon him.
MENENIUS Now it’s twenty-seven: every gash was an
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enemy’s grave. [A shout and flourish.] Hark, the
trumpets!
VOLUMNIA These are the ushers of Martius: before him
he carries noise, and behind him he leaves tears:
Death, that dark spirit, in’s nervy arm doth lie,
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Which, being advanc’d, declines, and then men die.
A sennet. Trumpets sound. Enter COMINIUS the General, and TITUS LARTIUS: between them CORIOLANUS, crowned with an oaken garland; with captains and soldiers, and a Herald.
HERALD Know, Rome, that all alone Martius did fight
Within Corioles gates: where he hath won,
With fame, a name to Martius Caius. These
In honour follows Coriolanus.
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Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus!
[Sound flourish.]
ALL Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus!
CORIOLANUS No more of this; it does offend my heart.
Pray now, no more.
COMINIUS Look, sir, your mother.
CORIOLANUS Oh!
You have, I know, petition’d all the gods
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For my prosperity. [Kneels.]
VOLUMNIA Nay, my good soldier, up;
My gentle Martius, worthy Caius, and
By deed-achieving honour newly nam’d –
What is it? – Coriolanus, must I call thee?
But oh, thy wife –
CORIOLANUS My gracious silence, hail!
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Wouldst 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 Corioles wear,
And mothers that lack sons.
MENENIUS Now the gods crown thee!
CORIOLANUS And live you yet?
[to Valeria] O my sweet lady, pardon.
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VOLUMNIA
I know not where to turn: O welcome home!
And welcome, general; and y’are welcome all.
MENENIUS
A hundred thousand welcomes. I could weep,
And I could laugh, I am light and heavy. Welcome!
A curse begnaw at very root on’s heart,
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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 crabtrees here at home that will
not
Be grafted to your relish. Yet welcome, warriors!
We call a nettle but a nettle, and
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The faults of fools but folly.
COMINIUS Ever right.
CORIOLANUS Menenius, ever, ever.
HERALD Give way there, and go on.
CORIOLANUS [to Volumnia and Virgilia]
Your hand, and yours!
Ere in our own house I do shade my head,
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The good patricians must be visited,
From whom I have receiv’d not only greetings,
But with them change of honours.
VOLUMNIA I have liv’d
To see inherited my very wishe
s,
And the buildings of my fancy: only
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There’s one thing wanting, which I doubt not but
Our Rome will cast upon thee.
CORIOLANUS Know, good mother,
I had rather be their servant in my way
Than sway with them in theirs.
COMINIUS On, to the Capitol.
Flourish. Cornets. Exeunt in state, as before.
[Brutus and Sicinius come forward.]
BRUTUS
All tongues speak of him, and the bleared sights
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Are spectacled to see him. Your prattling nurse
Into a rapture lets her baby cry
While she chats him. The kitchen malkin pins
Her richest lockram ’bout her reechy neck,
Clamb’ring the walls to eye him; stalls, bulks,
windows,
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Are smother’d up, leads fill’d and ridges hors’d
With variable complexions, all agreeing
In earnestness to see him. Seld-shown flamens
Do press among the popular throngs, and puff
To win a vulgar station. Our veil’d dames
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Commit the war of white and damask in
Their nicely gauded 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,
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And gave him graceful posture.
SICINIUS On the sudden,
I warrant him consul.
BRUTUS Then our office may,
During his power, go sleep.
SICINIUS He cannot temp’rately transport his honours
From where he should begin and end, but will
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Lose those he hath won.
BRUTUS In that there’s comfort.
SICINIUS 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 them make I as little question
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As he is proud to do’t.
BRUTUS 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 showing (as the manner is) his wounds
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To th’ people, beg their stinking breaths.
SICINIUS ’Tis right.
BRUTUS It was his word. Oh, he would miss it rather
Than carry it but by the suit of the gentry to him
And the desire of the nobles.
SICINIUS I wish no better
Than have him hold that purpose, and to put it
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In execution.
BRUTUS ’Tis most like he will.
SICINIUS It shall be to him then, as our good wills,
A sure destruction.
BRUTUS So it must fall out
To him; or our authority’s for an end;
We must suggest the people in what hatred
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He still hath held them: that to’s power he would
Have made them mules, silenc’d their pleaders, and
Dispropertied their freedoms; holding them,
In human action and capacity,
Of no more soul nor fitness for the world
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Than camels in their war, who have their provand
Only for bearing burthens, and sore blows
For sinking under them.
SICINIUS This (as you say) suggested
At some time when his soaring insolence
Shall touch the people – which time shall not want,
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If he be put upon’t, and that’s as easy
As to set dogs on sheep – will be his fire
To kindle their dry stubble; and their blaze
Shall darken him for ever.
Enter a Messenger.
BRUTUS What’s the matter?
MESSENGER
You are sent for to the Capitol. ’Tis thought
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That Martius shall be consul.
I have seen the dumb men throng to see him, and
The blind to hear him speak. Matrons flung gloves,
Ladies and maids their scarfs and handkerchers,
Upon him as he pass’d; the nobles bended
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As to Jove’s statue, and the commons made
A shower and thunder with their caps and shouts:
I never saw the like.
BRUTUS Let’s to the Capitol,
The Arden Shakespeare Complete Works Page 90
