Cor. 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.

Men.

Masters of 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.
Com. 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'er-pressed 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 prov'd best man i' the field; and for his meed
Was brow-bound with the oak. His pupil age
Man-enter'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

[Exit.

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-quicken'd what in flesh was fatigate,
And to the battle came he; where he did
Run reeking o'er the lives of men, as if
'T were a perpetual spoil; and till we call'd
Both field and city ours, he never stood
To ease his breast with panting.

Men.

Worthy man!

1 Sen. He cannot but with measure fit the honours Which we devise him.

Com.

Our spoils he kick'd at;

And look'd upon things precious, as they were
The common muck o' 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.

Men. The senate, Coriolanus, are well pleas'd

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,

It is a part

That I shall blush in acting, and might well

Be taken from the people.

thus I did, and thus;

Cor. To brag unto them,

-

Show them th' unaching scars which I should hide,

As if I had receiv'd them for the hire

Of their breath only.

Men.

Do not stand upon 't..

We recommend to you, tribunes of the people,

Our purpose:

to them, and to our noble consul

Wish we all joy and honour.

Sen. To Coriolanus come all joy and honour!

[Flourish. Exeunt Senators.

Bru. You see how he intends to use the people.

Sic. May they perceive 's intent! He will require them, As if he did contemn what he requested

Should be in them to give.

Bru.

Come; we'll inform them

Of our proceedings here: on the market-place,
I know they do attend us.

SCENE III.

The Same. The Forum.

Enter several Citizens.

[Exeunt.

1 Cit. Once, if he do require our voices, we ought not to

deny him.

2 Cit. We may, Sir, if we will.

3 Cit. We have power in ourselves to do it, but it is a power that we have no power to do: for if he shows us his wounds, and tell us his deeds, we are to put our tongues into those wounds, and speak for them; so, if he tell us his noble deeds, we must also tell him our noble acceptance of them. Ingratitude is monstrous, and for the multitude to be ingrateful were to make a monster of the multitude; of the which we, being members, should bring ourselves to be monstrous members.

1 Cit. And to make us no better thought of, a little help will serve: for once we stood up about the corn, he himself stuck not to call us the many-headed multitude.

3 Cit. We have been called so of many; not that our heads are some brown, some black, some auburn, some bald, but that our wits are so diversely coloured: and truly, I think, if all our wits were to issue out of one skull, they would fly east, west, north, south; and their consent of one direct way should be at once to all the points o' the compass.

2 Cit. Think you so? Which way, do you judge, my wit would fly?

3 Cit. Nay, your wit will not so soon out as another man's will: 't is strongly wedged up in a block-head; but if it were at liberty, 't would, sure, southward.

2 Cit. Why that way?

3 Cit. To lose itself in a fog; where, being three parts melted away with rotten dews, the fourth would return, for conscience sake, to help to get thee a wife.

2 Cit. You are never without your tricks: you may.

--

you may,

3 Cit. Are you all resolved to give your voices? But that's no matter; the greater part carries it. I say, if he would incline to the people, there was never a worthier man.

Enter CORIOLANUS and MENENIUS.

Here he comes, and in the gown of humility: mark his behaviour. We are not to stay all together, but to come by him where he stands, by ones, by twos, and by threes. He's to make his requests by particulars; wherein every one of us has a single honour,

in giving him our own voices with our own tongues: therefore, follow me, and I'll direct you how you shall go by him.

All. Content, content.

Men. O Sir, you are not right: have you not known The worthiest men have done 't?

[Exeunt.

What must I say?

my wounds;

Look, Sir;

I got them in my country's service, when
Some certain of your brethren roar'd, and ran
From the noise of our own drums.

Men.

O me, the gods! You must not speak of that: you must desire them

To think upon you.

Cor.
I would they would forget me, like the virtues

Think upon me? Hang 'em!

You'll mar all:

Which our divines lose by 'em.

Men.

I'll leave you. Pray you, speak to them, I pray you,
In wholesome manner.

[Exit.

Cor.

Enter two Citizens.

Bid them wash their faces,

And keep their teeth clean. So, here comes a brace.
You know the cause, Sir, of my standing here.

1 Cit. We do, Sir: tell us what hath brought you to 't.
Cor. Mine own desert.

How! not your own desire?

Cor. No, Sir: 't was never my desire yet,

To trouble the poor with begging.

1 Cit. You must think, if we give you any thing, we hope to

gain by you.

Cor. Well then, I pray, your price o' the consulship?

1 Cit. The price is, to ask it kindly.