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Menen. And 'twas time for him too, Ile warrant him that: and he had stay'd by him, I would not haue been so fiddious'd, for all the Chests in Carioles, and the Gold that's in them. Is the Senate possest of this?
Volum. Good Ladies let's goe. Yes, yes, yes: The Senate ha's Letters from the Generall, wherein hee giues my Sonne the whole Name of the Warre: he hath in this action out-done his former deeds doubly
Valer. In troth, there's wondrous things spoke of him
Menen. Wondrous: I, I warrant you, and not without his true purchasing
Virgil. The G.o.ds graunt them true
Volum. True? pow waw
Mene. True? Ile be sworne they are true: where is hee wounded, G.o.d saue your good Worships? Martius is comming home: hee ha's more cause to be prowd: where is he wounded?
Volum. Ith' Shoulder, and ith' left Arme: there will be large Cicatrices to shew the People, when hee shall stand for his place: he receiued in the repulse of Tarquin seuen hurts ith' Body
Mene. One ith' Neck, and two ith' Thigh, there's nine that I know
Volum. Hee had, before this last Expedition, twentie fiue Wounds vpon him
Mene. Now it's twentie seuen; euery gash was an Enemies Graue. Hearke, the Trumpets.
A showt, and flourish.
Volum. These are the Vshers of Martius: Before him, hee carryes Noyse; And behinde him, hee leaues Teares: Death, that darke Spirit, in's neruie Arme doth lye, Which being aduanc'd, declines, and then men dye.
A Sennet. Trumpets sound. Enter Cominius the Generall, and t.i.tus Latius: betweene them Coriola.n.u.s, crown'd with an Oaken Garland, with Captaines and Souldiers, and a Herauld.
Herauld. Know Rome, that all alone Martius did fight Within Corioles Gates: where he hath wonne, With Fame, a Name to Martius Caius: These in honor followes Martius Caius Coriola.n.u.s.
Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriola.n.u.s.
All. Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriola.n.u.s
Coriol. No more of this, it does offend my heart: pray now no more
Com. Looke, Sir, your Mother
Coriol. Oh! you haue, I know, pet.i.tion'd all the G.o.ds for my prosperitie.
Volum. Nay, my good Souldier, vp: My gentle Martius, worthy Caius, And by deed-atchieuing Honor newly nam'd, What is it (Coriola.n.u.s) must I call thee?
But oh, thy Wife
Corio. My gracious silence, hayle: Would'st thou haue laugh'd, had I come Coffin'd home, That weep'st to see me triumph? Ah my deare, Such eyes the Widowes in Carioles were, And Mothers that lacke Sonnes
Mene. Now the G.o.ds Crowne thee
Com. And liue you yet? Oh my sweet Lady, pardon
Volum. I know not where to turne.
Oh welcome home: and welcome Generall, And y'are welcome all
Mene. A hundred thousand Welcomes: I could weepe, and I could laugh, I am light, and heauie; 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 haue Some old Crab-trees here at home, That will not be grafted to your Rallish.
Yet welcome Warriors: Wee call a Nettle, but a Nettle; And the faults of fooles, but folly
Com. Euer right
Cor. Menenius, euer, euer
Herauld. Giue way there, and goe on
Cor. Your Hand, and yours?
Ere in our owne house I doe shade my Head, The good Patricians must be visited, From whom I haue receiu'd not onely greetings, But with them, change of Honors
Volum. I haue liued, To see inherited my very Wishes, And the Buildings of my Fancie: Onely there's one thing wanting, Which (I doubt not) but our Rome Will cast vpon thee
Cor. Know, good Mother, I had rather be their seruant in my way, Then sway with them in theirs
Com. On, to the Capitall.
Exeunt. in State, as before.
Enter Brutus and Scicinius
Bru. All tongues speake of him, and the bleared sights Are spectacled to see him. Your pratling Nurse Into a rapture lets her Baby crie, While she chats him: the Kitchin Malkin pinnes Her richest Lockram 'bout her reechie necke, Clambring the Walls to eye him: Stalls, Bulkes, Windowes, are smother'd vp, Leades fill'd, and Ridges hors'd With variable Complexions; all agreeing In earnestnesse to see him: seld-showne Flamins Doe presse among the popular Throngs, and puffe To winne a vulgar station: our veyl'd Dames Commit the Warre of White and Damaske In their nicely gawded Cheekes, toth' wanton spoyle Of Phoebus burning Kisses: such a poother, As if that whatsoeuer G.o.d, who leades him, Were slyly crept into his humane powers, And gaue him gracefull posture
Scicin. On the suddaine, I warrant him Consull
Brutus. Then our Office may, during his power, goe sleepe
Scicin. He cannot temp'rately transport his Honors, From where he should begin, and end, but will Lose those he hath wonne
Brutus. In that there's comfort
Scici. Doubt not, The Commoners, for whom we stand, but they Vpon their ancient mallice, will forget With the least cause, these his new Honors, Which that he will giue them, make I as little question, As he is prowd to doo't
Brutus. I heard him sweare, Were he to stand for Consull, neuer would he Appeare i'th' Market place, nor on him put The Naples Vesture of Humilitie, Nor shewing (as the manner is) his Wounds Toth' People, begge their stinking Breaths
Scicin. 'Tis right
Brutus. It was his word: Oh he would misse it, rather then carry it, But by the suite of the Gentry to him, And the desire of the n.o.bles
Scicin. I wish no better, then haue him hold that purpose, and to put it in execution
Brutus. 'Tis most like he will
Scicin. It shall be to him then, as our good wills; a sure destruction