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the people,

       We do request your kindest ears; and, after,

       Your loving motion toward the common body,

       To yield what passes here.

       SICINIUS.

       We are convented

       Upon a pleasing treaty; and have hearts

       Inclinable to honour and advance

       The theme of our assembly.

       BRUTUS.

       Which the rather

       We shall be bless’d to do, if he remember

       A kinder value of the people than

       He hath hereto priz’d them at.

       MENENIUS.

       That’s off, that’s off;

       I would you rather had been silent. Please you

       To hear Cominius speak?

       BRUTUS.

       Most willingly.

       But yet my caution was more pertinent

       Than the rebuke you give it.

       MENENIUS.

       He loves your people;

       But tie him not to be their bedfellow.—

       Worthy Cominius, speak.

       [CORIOLANUS rises, and offers to go away.]

       Nay, keep your place.

       FIRST SENATOR.

       Sit, Coriolanus; never shame to hear

       What you have nobly done.

       CORIOLANUS.

       Your Honours’ pardon:

       I had rather have my wounds to heal again

       Than hear say how I got them.

       BRUTUS.

       Sir, I hope

       My words disbench’d you not.

       CORIOLANUS.

       No, sir; yet oft,

       When blows have made me stay, I fled from words.

       You sooth’d not, therefore hurt not: but your people,

       I love them as they weigh.

       MENENIUS.

       Pray now, sit down.

       CORIOLANUS.

       I had rather have one scratch my head i’ the sun

       When the alarum were struck, than idly sit

       To hear my nothings monster’d.

       [Exit.]

       MENENIUS.

       Masters o’ the people,

       Your multiplying spawn how can he flatter,—

       That’s thousand to one good one,—when you now see

       He had rather venture all his limbs for honour

       Than one on’s ears to hear it?—Proceed, Cominius.

       COMINIUS.

       I shall lack voice: the deeds of Coriolanus

       Should not be utter’d feebly.—It is held

       That valour is the chiefest virtue, and

       Most dignifies the haver: if it be,

       The man I speak of cannot in the world

       Be singly counterpois’d. At sixteen years,

       When Tarquin made a head for Rome, he fought

       Beyond the mark of others; our then dictator,

       Whom with all praise I point at, saw him fight,

       When with his Amazonian chin he drove

       The bristled lips before him: he bestrid

       An o’erpress’d Roman and i’ the consul’s view

       Slew three opposers: Tarquin’s self he met,

       And struck him on his knee: in that day’s feats,

       When he might act the woman in the scene,

       He proved best man i’ the field, and for his meed

       Was brow-bound with the oak. His pupil age

       Manenter’d thus, he waxed like a sea;

       And in the brunt of seventeen battles since

       He lurch’d all swords of the garland. For this last,

       Before and in Corioli, let me say,

       I cannot speak him home: he stopp’d the fliers;

       And by his rare example made the coward

       Turn terror into sport: as weeds before

       A vessel under sail, so men obey’d,

       And fell below his stem: his sword,—death’s stamp,—

       Where it did mark, it took; from face to foot

       He was a thing of blood, whose every motion

       Was timed with dying cries: alone he enter’d

       The mortal gate of the city, which he painted

       With shunless destiny; aidless came off,

       And with a sudden re-enforcement struck

       Corioli like a planet. Now all’s his:

       When, by and by, the din of war ‘gan pierce

       His ready sense; then straight his doubled spirit

       Re-quick’ned what in flesh was fatigate,

       And to the battle came he; where he did

       Run reeking o’er the lives of men, as if

       ‘Twere a perpetual spoil: and till we call’d

       Both field and city ours he never stood

       To ease his breast with panting.

       MENENIUS.

       Worthy man!

       FIRST SENATOR.

       He cannot but with measure fit the honours

       Which we devise him.

       COMINIUS.

       Our spoils he kick’d at;

       And looked upon things precious as they were

       The common muck of the world: he covets less

       Than misery itself would give; rewards

       His deeds with doing them; and is content

       To spend the time to end it.

       MENENIUS.

       He’s right noble:

       Let him be call’d for.

       FIRST SENATOR.

       Call Coriolanus.

       OFFICER.

       He doth appear.

       [Re-enter CORIOLANUS.]

       MENENIUS.

       The Senate, Coriolanus, are well pleas’d

       To make thee consul.

       CORIOLANUS.

       I do owe them still

       My life and services.

       MENENIUS.

       It then remains

       That you do speak to the people.

       CORIOLANUS.

       I do beseech you

       Let me o’erleap that custom; for I cannot

       Put on the gown, stand naked, and entreat them,

       For my wounds’ sake to give their suffrage: please you

      

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