Or fol'd fome debile wretch, which, without note
Here's many elfe have done; you shout me forth
In acclamations hyperbolical;

As if I lov'd, my little fhould be dieted
In praises, fauc'd with lies.

Com. Too modeft 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,
For what he did before Corioli, call him,

With all th' applause and clamour of the hoft,

Caius Marcius Coriolanus. Bear th' addition nobly ever. [Flourish. Trumpets found and drums.

Omnes. Caius Marcius Coriolanus !

Mar. I will go wash :

And when my face is fair, you shall perceive
Whether I blush, or no. Howbeit, I thank
I mean to ftride your fteed, and at all time
To undercrest your good addition,
To th' fairness of my power.

Com. So, to our tent:

Where, ere we do repofe us, we will write
To Rome of our fuccefs: you, Titus Lartius,
Muft to Corioli back; fend us to Rome
The beft, with whom we may articulate,
For their own good, and ours.
Lart. I fhall, my Lord,

Mar. The gods begin to mock me:
I, that but now refus'd moft princely gifts,
Am bound to beg of my Lord General.
Com. Take't, 'tis yours: what is't?
Mar. Ifometime lay here in Corioli,
At a poor man's houfe: he us'd me kindly.
He cry'd to me. I faw him prifoner:

you.

But

But then Aufidius was within my view,

And wrath o'erwhelm'd my pity: I request you
To give my poor hoft freedom.

Com. O, well begg'd!

Were he the butcher of my fon, he should
Be free as is the wind: deliver him, Titus.
Lart. Marcius, his name?

Mar. 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 vifage dries; 'tis time
It should be look'd to: come.

[Exeunt.

SCENE changes to the Camp of the Volfci.

A flourish. Cornets. Enter Tullus Aufidius bloody, with tavo or three Soldiers.

Auf. T

HE town is ta'en.

Sol. "Twill be deliver'd back on good condition. Auf. Condition!

I would, I were a Roman; for I cannot,

Being a Volfcian, be that I am.

Condition ?

What good condition can a treaty find

I' th' part that is at mercy? Five times, Marcius,
I have fought with thee, so often haft thou beat me:
And would't do fo, I think, fhould we encounter
As often as we eat. By th' elements,

If e'er again I meet him beard to beard,
He's 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 fword to fword; I'll potch at him fome way,
Or wrath, or craft may get him.

Sol. He's the devil.

Auf. Bolder, tho' not fo fubtle: my valour (poifon'd, With only fuffering ftain by him) for him

Shall fly out of itfelf: not fleep, nor fanctuary,
Being naked, fick, nor fane, nor capitol,
The prayers of priests, nor times of sacrifice,

Embark

up

Embarkments all of fury, fhall lift
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,
Against the hofpitable canon, would I

Wash my fierce hand in's heart. Go you to th' city; Learn, how 'tis held; and what they are, that must Be hoftages for Rome.

Sol. Will not you go?

Auf. I am attended at the cyprefs grove. I pray you, ("Tis fouth the city mills) bring me word thither How the world goes, that to the pace of it

I may fpur on my journey.

Sol. I fhall, Sir.

[Exeunt.

THE augur tells me, we shall have news to-night.

or

Men. Not according to the prayer of the people, for they love not Marcius.

Sic. Nature teaches beafts 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 fhall ask you.

Both. Well, Sir ;

Men. In what enormity is Marcius have not in abundance ?

poor, that you two

Bru.

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

Bru. And topping all others in boafting.

Men. This is ftrange now; do you two know how you are cenfur'd 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 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 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 elfe your actions would grow wondrous fingle; 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 fhould difcover 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: faid to be fomething imperfect, in favouring the firft complaint; hafty and tinderlike, upon too trivial motion: one that converfes more with the buttock of the night, than with the fore-head of the morning. What I think, I utter; and fpend my malice in my breath. Meeting 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't fay, your worships have deliver'd

the

the matter well, when I find the afs in compound with the major part of your fyllables; and tho' I must be content to bear with thofe, that fay, you are reverend grave men; yet they lie deadly, that tell you, you have good faces; if you fee this in the map of my microcofm, follows it, that I am known well enough too? (11) what harm can your biffon confpectuities 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 caufe between an orange-wife and a fossetfeller, and then adjourn a controverfy of three-pence to a fecond day of audience.-When you are hearing a matter between 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 chamber-pot, difmifs the controverfy bleeding, the more intangled by your hearing: all the peace you make in their caufe, is calling both the par-. ties knaves. You are a pair of ftrange ones.

Bru. Come, come, you are well understood to be a

(11) What barm can your befom confpe&tuities glean out of this character, &c.] If the editors have form'd any conftruction to themfelves, of this epithet befom, that can be a propos to the fenfe of the context;-Davus fum, non Oedipus: it is too hard a riddle for me to expound. Menenius, 'tis plain, is abufing the tribunes, and bantering them ironically. By confpectuities he must mean, their fagacity, clear fightedness; and that they may not think he's complimenting them, he tacks an epithet to it, which quite undoes that character; i. e. biffon, blind, bleer-ey'd. Skinner, in his Etymologicon, explains this word, cæcus; vox agro lincoln. ufitatiffima. Ray concurs, in his north and fouth country words. And our author gives us this term again in his Hamlet, where the fenfe exactly correfponds with this interpretation.

Run barefoot up and down, threatning the flames,
With biffon rheum.

i. e. blinding. It is fpoken of Hecuba, whofe eyes o'erflow and are blinded, both with tears, and the rheums of age,

perfecter