Enter VOLUMNIA, and VIRGILIA. They sit down on two low Stools, and sew.

Vol. I pray you, daughter, sing; or express yourself in a more comfortable sort. If my son were my husband, I should freelier rejoice in that absence wherein he won honour, than in the embracements of his bed, where he would show most love. When yet he was but tender-bodied, and the only son of my womb; when youth with comeliness plucked all gaze his way; when, for a day of king's entreaties, a mother should not sell him an hour from her beholding; I,-considering how honour would become such a person; that it was no better than picture-like to hang by the wall, if renown made it not stir,-was pleased to let him seek danger

where he was like to find fame. To a cruel war I sent him; from whence he returned, his brows bound with oak. I tell thee, daughter, I sprang not more in joy at first hearing he was a man-child, than now in first seeing he had proved himself a man.

Vir. But had he died in the business, madam? how

then?

Vol. Then, his good report should have been my son: I therein would have found issue. Hear me profess sincerely-had I a dozen sons,-each in my love alike, and none less dear than thine and my good Marcius,-I had rather had eleven die nobly for their country, than one voluptuously surfeit out of action. Enter a Gentlewoman.

Gent. Madam, the lady Valeria is come to visit you.
Vir. 'Beseech you, give me leave to retire myself.
Vol. Indeed, you shall not.

Methinks, I hear hither your husband's drum,
See him pluck Aufidius down by the hair;

As children from a bear the Volsces shunning him:
Methinks, I see him stamp thus, and call thus,—
"Come on, you cowards! you were got in fear,
Though you were born in Rome." His bloody brow
With his mail'd hand then wiping, forth he goes,
Like to a harvest-man, that's task'd to mow
Or all, or lose his hire.

Vir. His bloody brow? O, Jupiter! no blood.
Vol. Away, you fool! it more becomes a man,
Than gilt his trophy: the breasts of Hecuba,
When she did suckle Hector, look'd not lovelier
Than Hector's forehead, when it spit forth blood,
At Grecian swords contemning.-Tell Valeria,
We are fit to bid her welcome.

[Exit Gent.

Vir. Heavens bless my lord from fell Aufidius!
Vol. He'll beat Aufidius' head below his knee,
And tread upon his neck.

Re-enter Gentlewoman, with VALERIA and her Usher.
Val. My ladies both, good day to you.
Vol. Sweet madam.

Vir. I am glad to see your ladyship.

Val. How do you both? you are manifest housekeepers. What are you sewing here? A fine spot, in good faith.-How does your little son?

Vir. I thank your ladyship; well, good madam.

Vol. He had rather see swords, and hear a drum, than look upon his school-master.

Val. O' my word, the father's son: I'll swear, 'tis a very pretty boy. O' my troth, I looked upon him o' Wednesday half an hour together: he has such a confirmed countenance. I saw him run after a gilded butterfly; and when he caught it, he let it go again; and after it again; and over and over he comes, and up again; catched it again or whether his fall enraged him, or how 'twas, he did so set his teeth, and tear it; O! I warrant, how he mammocked it!

Vol. One of his father's moods.
Val. Indeed la, 'tis a noble child.
Vir. A crack, madam.

Val. Come, lay aside your stitchery; I must have
you play the idle huswife with me this afternoon.
Vir. No, good madam; I will not out of doors.
Val. Not out of doors?
Vol. She shall, she shall.

Vir. Indeed, no, by your patience: I will not over the threshold, till my lord return from the wars. Vol. Fie! you confine yourself most unreasonably. Come; you must go visit the good lady that lies in. Vir. I will wish her speedy strength, and visit her with my prayers; but I cannot go thither. Vol. Why, I pray you?

Vir. "Tis not to save labour, nor that I want love. Val. You would be another Penelope; yet, they say, all the yarn she spun in Ulysses' absence did but fill Ithaca full of moths. Come: I would, your cambric were sensible as your finger, that you might leave pricking it for pity. Come, you shall go with us.

Vir. No, good madam, pardon me; indeed, I will not forth.

Val. In truth, la, go with me; and I'll tell you excellent news of your husband.

Vir. O! good madam, there can be none yet. Val. Verily, I do not jest with you, there came news from him last night.

Vir. Indeed, madam?

Val. In earnest, it's true; I heard a senator speak it. Thus it is:-The Volsces have an army forth, against whom Cominius the general is gone, with one part of our Roman power: your lord, and Titus Lartius, are set down before their city Corioli; they nothing doubt prevailing, and to make it brief wars. This is true on mine honour; and so, I pray, go with us.

Vir. Give me excuse, good madam; I will obey you in every thing hereafter.

Vol. Let her alone, lady as she is now, she will but disease our better mirth.

Val. In troth, I think, she would.-Fare you well then.-Come, good sweet lady.-Pr'ythee, Virgilia, turn thy solemnness out o' door, and go along with us. | Vir. No, at a word, madam; indeed, I must not. I wish you much mirth.

Val. Well then, farewell.

SCENE IV.-Before Corioli.

[Exeunt.

Mar.

Let him alone,

He did inform the truth: but for our gentlemen, The common file, (A plague !--Tribunes for them?) The mouse ne'er shunn'd the cat, as they did budge From rascals worse than they.

Com. But how prevail'd you? Mar. Will the time serve to tell? I do not think it. Where is the enemy? Are you lords o' the field? If not, why cease you till you are so?

Com. Marcius, we have at disadvantage fought, And did retire to win our purposes.

Mar. How lies their battle? Know you on which side They have plac'd their men of trust?

Com.

As I guess, Marcius,

you

[They all shout, and wave their Swords; take
him up in their arms, and cast up their Caps.
O me, alone! Make you a sword of me?
If these shows be not outward, which of
But is four Volsces? None of you, but is
Able to bear against the great Aufidius
A shield as hard as his. A certain number,
Though thanks to all, must I select from all: the rest
Shall bear the business in some other fight,

As cause will be obey'd. Please you, march before,
And I shall quickly draw out my command,
Which men are best inclin'd.

SCENE VII.-The Gates of Corioli. TITUS LARTIUS, having set a Guard upon Corioli, going with Drum and Trumpet toward COMINIUS and CAIUS MARCIUS, enters with a Lieutenant, a party of Soldiers, and a Scout.

Lart. So; let the ports be guarded: keep your duties, As I have set them down. If I do send, despatch Those centuries to our aid; the rest will serve For a short holding: if we lose the field, We cannot keep the town.

Lieu.

Fear not our care, sir. Lart. Hence, and shut your gates upon us.Our guider, come; to the Roman camp conduct us. [Exeunt.

SCENE VIII.-A Field of Battle between the Roman and the Volscian Camps.

Alarum. Enter MARCIUS and AUFIDIUS.
Mar. I'll fight with none but thee; for I do hate thee
Worse than a promise-breaker.
Auf.
We hate alike:

Not Afric owns a serpent I abhor
More than thy fame I envy. Fix thy foot.

Mar. Let the first budger die the other's slave,
And the gods doom him after!

Auf.

Halloo me like a hare.

If I fly, Marcius,

Mar. Within these three hours, Tullus, Alone I fought in your Corioli walls,

And made what work I pleas'd. 'Tis not my blood, Wherein thou seest me mask'd: for thy revenge, Wrench up thy power to the highest.

Auf.

Were thou the Hector,

That was the whip of your bragg'd progeny, ·
Thou should'st not scape me here.-

[They fight, and certain Volsces come to the aid of
AUFIDIUS.

Officious, and not valiant-you have sham'd me
In your condemned seconds.

[Exeunt fighting, all driven in by MARCIUS. SCENE IX.-The Roman Camp.

Alarum. A Retreat sounded. Flourish. Enter at one side, COMINIUS, and Romans; at the other side, MARCIUS, with his Arm in a Scarf, and other Romans.

Com. If I should tell thee o'er this thy day's work, Thou'lt not believe thy deeds; but I'll report it,

Where senators shall mingle tears with smiles,
Where great patricians shall attend, and shrug,
I' the end, admire; where ladies shall be frighted,
And, gladly quak'd, hear more; where the dull Tribunes,
That with the fusty plebeians hate thine honours,
Shall say, against their hearts,—

"We thank the gods our Rome hath such a soldier!”—
Yet cam'st thou to a morsel of this feast,
Having fully dined before.

For what he did before Corioli, call him,
With all th' applause and clamour of the host,
CAIUS MARCIUS CORIOLANUS.-

Bear the addition nobly ever!

[Flourish. Trumpets sound, and Drums.

All. Caius Marcius Coriolanus !
Cor. I will go wash;

And when my face is fair, you shall perceive
Whether I blush, or no: howbeit, I thank you.—

Lar.

O general,

Here is the steed, we the caparison: Hadst thou beheld

At your only choice. Mar.

I thank you, general;
But cannot make my heart consent to take
A bribe to pay my sword: I do refuse it;
And stand upon my common part with those
That have beheld the doing.

[A long Flourish. They all cry, MARCIUS! MARCIUS! cast up their Caps and Lances: COMINIUS and LARTIUS stand bare.

Mar. May these same instruments, which you profane,
Never sound more: when drums and trumpets shall
I' the field prove flatterers, let courts and cities be
Made all of false-fac'd soothing;

When steel grows soft as the parasite's silk,
Let it be made a coverture for the wars.

No more, I say. For that I have not wash'd
My nose that bled, or foil'd some debile wretch,
Which without note here's many else have done,
You shout me forth

In acclamations hyperbolical;

As if I loved my little should be dieted
In praises sauc'd with lies.

Com.

Too modest are you: More cruel to your good report, than grateful To us that give you truly. By your patience, If 'gainst yourself you be incens'd, we'll put you (Like one that means his proper harm) in manacles, Then reason safely with you. Therefore, be it known, As to us, to all the world, that Caius Marcius Wears this war's garland: in token of the which My noble steed, known to the camp, I give him, With all his trim belonging; and, from this time,

To undercrest your good addition To the fairness of my power.

Com.

So, to our tent;
Where, ere we do repose us, we will write
To Rome of our success.-You, Titus Lartius,
Must to Corioli back: send us to Rome
The best, with whom we may articulate,
For their own good, and ours.

Lart.
I shall, my lord.
Cor. The gods begin to mock me. I, that now
Refus'd most princely gifts, am bound to beg
Of my lord general.
Com.

Take it 'tis yours.-What is't?
Cor. I sometime lay, here in Corioli,
At a poor man's house; he us'd me kindly:
He cried to me; I saw him prisoner;
But then Aufidius was within my view,
And wrath o'erwhelm'd my pity. I request you
To give my poor host freedom."

Com.
O, well-begg'd!
Were he the butcher of my son, 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 blood upon your visage dries; 'tis time
It should be look'd to. Come.

[Exeunt.

SCENE X.-The Camp of the Volsces. A Flourish. Cornets. Enter TULLUS AUFIDIUS, bloody, with two or three Soldiers.

Auf. The town is ta'en.

1 Sold. 'Twill be deliver'd back on good condition. Auf. Condition!

I would I were a Roman; for I cannot,
Being a Volsce, 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: so often hast thou beat me;
And would'st do so, I think, should 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 sword to sword, I'll potch at him some way,
Or wrath, or craft, may get him.

1 Sold.

He's the devil. Auf. Bolder, though not so subtle. My valour's poison'd,

With only suffering stain by him: for him
"Tshall fly out of itself: nor sleep, nor sanctuary,
Being naked, sick; nor fane, nor Capitol,
The prayers of priests, nor times of sacrifice,
Embargments all of fury, shall lift up
Their rotten privilege and custom 'gainst
My hate to Marcius. Where I find him, were it
At home, upon my brother's guard, even there,

the major part of your syllables; and though I must be content to bear with those that say you are reverend grave men, yet they lie deadly, that tell you, you have good faces. If you see this in the map of my micro

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, whom does the wolf love?
Sic. The lamb.

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

Bru. He's a lamb, indeed, that baes 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 ask you. Both Trib. Well, sir.

Men. In what enormity is Marcius poor in, that you two have not in abundance?

Bru. He's poor in no one fault, but stor'd with all.
Sic. Especially in pride.

Bru. And topping all others in boasting.
Men. This is strange now.

Do you two know how you are censured here in the city, I mean of us o' the right-hand file? Do you?

Both Trib. Why, how are we censured?

What harm can your bisson conspectuities 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, yourselves, nor any thing. You are ambitious for poor knaves' caps and legs you wear out a good wholesome forenoon in hearing a cause between an orange-wife and a fossetseller, and then adjourn the controversy of three-pence to a second day of audience.-When you are hearing a matter between party and party, if you chance to be pinched with the colic, you make faces like mummers, set up the bloody flag against all patience, and, in roaring for a chamber-pot, dismiss the controversy pleading, the more entangled by your hearing: all the peace you make in their cause is calling both the parties knaves. You are a pair of strange ones.

Bru. Come, come, you are well understood to be a perfecter giber for the table, than a necessary bencher in the Capitol.

Men. 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

Both Trib. Well, well, sir; well.

Men. Why, 'tis no great matter; for a very little thief of occasion will rob you of a great deal of patience: give your dispositions the reins, and be angry at your pleasures; at the least, if you take it as a pleasure to you, in being so. You blame Marcius 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: O! that you could turn your eyes toward the napes of your necks, and make but an interior survey of your good selves! O, that you could!

Bru. What then, sir?

Men. Why, then you should discover a brace of 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, without a drop of allaying Tiber in't: said to be something imperfect in favouring the thirst complaint; hasty, and tinder-like, upon too trivial motion: one that converses 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 such weals-men as you are, (I cannot call you Lycurguses) if the drink you give me touch my palate adversely, I make a crooked face at it. I cannot say, your worships have delivered the matter well, when I find the ass in compound with

serve 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, Marcius is proud; who, in a cheap estimation, is worth all your predecessors since Deucalion, though, peradventure, some of the best of 'em were hereditary hangmen. Good den to your worships: more of your conversation would infect my brain, being the herdsman of the beastly plebeians. I will be bold to take my leave of you.

[BRUTUS and SICINIUS stand back. Enter VOLUMNIA, VIRGILIA, VALERIA, &c. How now, my as fair as noble ladies, (and the moon, were she earthly, no nobler) whither do you follow your eyes so fast?

Vol. Honourable Menenius, my boy Marcius approaches: for the love of Juno, let's go. Men. Ha! Marcius coming home?

Vol. Ay, worthy Menenius, and with most prosperous approbation.

Men. Take my cap, Jupiter, and I thank thee.-Ho! Marcius coming home? [Throwing up his Cap.

Both Ladies. Nay, 'tis true. Vol. Look, here's a letter from him: the state hath another, 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 saw it. Men. 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 is but empiric physic, and, to this preservative,