Bru. And topping all others in boast.

Men. This is ftrange now! Do you two know how you are cenfured here in the City, I mean of us o'th' 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, Sir, 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 pleasure to you, in being fo -you blame Martius for being proud.

Bru. We do it not alone, Sir.

Men. I know you can do very little alone, for your helps are many, or else your Actions would grow wondrous single; 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, Oh that you could!

Bru. What then, Sir?

Men. Why then you should discover a brace of as unmeriting, proud, violent, tefty Magiftrates, 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 Said to be fomething imperfect in favouring the firft Complaint, hafty and Tinder-like, upon to 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. Meetting two fuch Weals-men as you are (I cannot call you Lycurguffes) if the Drink you give me touch my Palate adverfly, I make a crooked Face at it. I can fay, your Worships have deliver'd the Matter well, when I find the Afs in compound with the Major part of your Syllables. And tho' I must be content to bear with those that fay you are Reverend Grave, yet they lye deadly that tell 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

your Befom Confpe&uities glean out of this Character, if I be known well enough too?

Bru. Come, Sir, come, we know you well enough.

Men. You know neither me, your felves, nor any thing; you are ambitious for poor Knaves Caps and Legs: You wear out a good wholfom Forenoon, in hearing a Caufe between an Orange-wife and a Faufet-feller, and then rejourn the Controverfie of Three Pence to a fecond Day of Audience.When you are hearing a Matter between a 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 Controverfie Bleeding, the more intang led by your hearing: All the Peace you make in their Caufe, is calling both the Parties Knaves. You are a pair of ftrange Ones.

Bru. Come, come, you are well understood to be a perfecter Gyber for the Table, than a neceffary Bencher in the Capitol.

Men. Our very Priests must become Mockers, if they fhall encounter fuch ridiculous Subjects as you are; when you speak beft unto the Purpose, it is not worth the wagging of your Beards, and your Beards deferve not fo honourable a Grave, as to ftuff a Botcher's Cushion, or to be intomb'd in an Affes Pack-faddle. Yet you must be faying, Martins is proud; who in a cheap Eftimation, is worth all your Prodeceffors fince Deucalion, though peradventure fome of the beft of 'em were hereditary Hangmen. Good-e'en to your Worships; more of your Converfation would infect my Brain, being the Herdsmen of the beastly Plebeians. I will be bold to take my leave of you.

[Exeunt Brutus and Sicinius. Enter Volumnia, Virgilia and Valeria. How now (my as fair as noble) Ladies, and the Moon were The Earthly, no Nobler; whither do you follow your Eyes

fo faft?

Vol. Honourable Menenius, my Boy Martins approaches; for the love of Juno let's go.

Men. Ha! Martius coming home?

Vol. Ay, worthy Menenius, and with most profperous Approbation.

Men.

Men. Take my Cap, Jupiter, and I thank thee-hoo Martius coming home?

Both. Nay, 'tis true.

Val. Look, here's a Letter from him, the State hath ano, ther, his Wife another, and, I think, there's one at home

for you.

Men. I will make my very House reel to Night:

A Letter for me?

Vir. Yes, certain, there's a Letter for

you, I faw'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 Phyfician: The most Sovereign Prescription in Galen is but Emperictick, and to this Prefervative, of no better report than å Horfe-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 Vi&tory in his Pocket? the Wounds become him.

Vol. On's Brows; Menenius, he comes the third time home with the Oaken Garland.

Men. Has he difciplin'd Aufidius foundly?

Vol. Titus Lartius writes, they fought together, but Anfidius got off,

Men. And 'twas time for him too, I'll warrant him that; and he had staid by him, I would not have been fo fiddioufed for all the Chefts in Coriolus, 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 Son 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 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 Worships? Martius is coming home; he has more caufe to be proud: Where is he wounded?

Vol. I'th' Shoulder, and i'th' left Arm, there will be large Cicatrices to fhew the People, when he shall stand for his place; he receiv'd in the Repulfe of Tarquin seven hurts i'th' Body.

Men. One i'th' Neck, and two i'th' Thigh; there's nine that I know.

Vol. He had, before his laft Expedition, twenty five Wounds upon him.

Men. Now it's twenty feven, every gafh was an Enemy's Grave. Hark, the Trumpets. [A Shout and Flourish. Vol. Thefe are the Ufhers of Martius;

Before him he carries Noise,

And behind him he leaves Tears:

Death, that dark Spirit, in's nervy Arm doth lye,
Which being advanc'd, declines, and then Men dye.

A Sonnet. 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 Martins did fight Within Coriolus Gates, where he hath won,

With Fame, a Name to Caius Martius.

Thefe in Honour follows, Caius Martius, Coriolanus.
Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus.

[Sound.

All. Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus.

Flourish.

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 Soldier, up:

My gentle Martius, 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 :

[Kneels.

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 Coriolus wear,

And Mothers that lack Sons.

Men

Men. Now the Gods crown thee.

Com. And live you yet? Oh my fweet Lady, pardon.
Vol. I know not where to turn.

Oh welcome home; and welcome General,
And y'are welcome all.

Men. A hundred thoufand welcomes:
I could weep, and I could laugh,
I am light and heavy; welcome:
A Curfe begin at the 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 have
Some 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.

E'er in our own Houfe I do fhade my Head,
The good Patricians must be vifited,

From whom I have receiv'd not only Greetings,

But with them, change of Honours.

Vol. I have lived,

To fee inherited my very Wishes,
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 Servant in my way,

Than fway with them in theirs.

Com. On, to the Capitol,

[Flourish.

Cornets.

[Exeunt in State, as before.

Enter Brutus and Sicinius.

Bru. All Tongues fpeak of him, and the bleared fights Are fpectacled to fee him. Your pratling Nurfe Into a Rapture lets her Baby cry,

While fhe chats him: The Kitchin Maukin pins

Her