COM.

Look, sir, your mother!

COR.

O!

You have, I know, petition'd all the gods

For my prosperity!

 

Kneels.

 

VOL.

Nay, my good soldier, up;

My gentle Martius, worthy Caius, and

By deed-achieving honor newly nam'd –

What is it? – Coriolanus must I call thee? –

But O, thy wife!

COR.

My gracious silence, hail!

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.

MEN.

Now the gods crown thee!

[COR.]

And live you yet?

[To Valeria.]

 

O my sweet lady, pardon.

VOL.

I know not where to turn. O, welcome home;

And welcome, general, and y' are welcome all.

MEN.

A hundred thousand welcomes! I could weep,

And I could laugh; I am light, and heavy. 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 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. [To Volumnia and Virgilia.]

Your hand, and yours!

Ere in our own house I do shade my head,

The good patricians must be visited,

From whom I have receiv'd not only greetings,

But with them change of honors.

VOL.

I have lived

To see inherited my very wishes

And the buildings of my fancy; only

There's one thing wanting, which I doubt not but

Our Rome will cast upon thee.

COR.

Know, good mother,

I had rather be their servant in my way

Than sway with them in theirs.

COM.

On, to the Capitol!

 

Flourish. Cornets. Exeunt in state, as before. Brutus and Sicinius [come forward].

 

BRU.

All tongues speak of him, and the bleared sights

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

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

Commit the war of white and damask in

Their nicely gawded cheeks to th' wanton spoil

Of Phoebus' burning kisses – such a poother

As if that whatsoever god who leads him

Were slily crept into his human powers,

And gave him graceful posture.

SIC.

On the sudden,

I warrant him consul.

BRU.

Then our office may,

During his power, go sleep.

SIC.

He cannot temp'rately transport his honors

From where 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 stand, but they

Upon their ancient malice will forget

With the least cause these his new honors, which

That he will give them make I as little question

As he is proud to do't.

BRU.

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

To th' people, beg their stinking breaths.

SIC.

'Tis right.

BRU.

It was his word. O, he would miss it rather

Than carry it but by the suit of the gentry to him

And the desire of the nobles.

SIC.

I wish no better

Than have him hold that purpose and to put it

In execution.

BRU.

'Tis most like he will.

SIC.

It shall be to him then as our good wills:

A sure destruction.

BRU.

So it must fall out

To him, or our authorities, for an end.

We must suggest the people in what hatred

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

Than camels in their war, who have their provand

Only for bearing burthens, and sore blows

For sinking under them.

SIC.

This, as you say, suggested

At some time when his soaring insolence

Shall teach the people – which time shall not want,

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.

 

BRU.

What's the matter?

MESS.

You are sent for to the Capitol. 'Tis thought

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,

As to Jove's statue, and the commons made

A shower and thunder with their caps and shouts.

I never saw the like.

BRU.

Let's to the Capitol,

And carry with us ears and eyes for th' time,

But hearts for the event.