Vol. These are the ufhers of Marcius; before him he carries noife, and behind him he leaves tears : Death, that dark Spirit, in's nervy arm doth lie; * Which being advanc'd, declines, and then men die.

SCENE III.

Trumpets found. Enter Cominius the General, and Titus Lartius; between them Coriolanus crown'd with an oaken garland, with Captains and foldiers,

and a herald.

Her. Know, Rome, that all alone Marcius did fight Within Corioli's gates, where he hath won, With fame, a name to Caius Marcius. Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus!

[Sound. Flourish.

All. Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus! Cor. No more of this. It does offend my heart. Pray, now, no more.

Com. Look, Sir, your mother,

Cor. Oh!

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

For my prosperity.

Vol. Nay, my good foldier, up.

My gentle Marcius, worthy Caius, and
By deed atchieving honour newly nam'd;
What is it? Coriolanus, muft I call thee?
But oh, thy wife-

Cor. My gracious filence, hail!

2 Which being advanc'd, declines,- Volumnia, in her boafting ftrain, fays, that her fon, to kill his enemy, has nothing to do but to lift his hand up and let it fall,

3 My gracious filence, buil!] The epithet to filence thews it not

2

[Kneels.

Would't thou have laugh'd, had I come coffin'd

home,

That weep'ft to fee me triumph? ah, my Dear,
Such eyes the widows in Corioli wear,

And mothers that lack fons.

Men. Now the Gods crown thee!

Cor. And live you yet? O my fweet Lady, pardon.

[To Valeria. Vol. I know not where to turn. O welcome home; And welcome, General! and y'are welcome all. Men. A hundred thoufand welcomes. I could weep, And I could laugh, I'm light and heavy.come!

A curfe begin at very root on's heart,

That is not glad to fee thee.-You are three,

Wel

That Rome fhould dote on; yet, by the faith of men, We've some old crab-trees here at home, that will not Be grafted to your relifh. 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. Your hand, and yours.

Ere in our own honfe I do fhade my head,
The good Patricians must be vifited;
From whom I have receiv'd not only Greetings,
But, with them, Change of honours.

Vol. I have lived,

To fee inherited my very wishes,

4 But, with them, Change of bonours. So all the Editions read. But Mr. Theobald has ventured (as he expreffes it) to fubftitute, charge. For change, he thinks, is a very poor expreffion, and communicates but a very He had better have poor idea.

told the plain truth, and confeffed that it communicated none at all to him: However it has a very good one in itself, and fignifies variety of honours; as change of rayment, amongst the writers of that time, fignified variety of rayment.

WARB.

And

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 fervant in my way,

Than fway with them in theirs.

Com. On, to the Capitol.

[Flourish. Cornets. [Exeunt in State, as before.

Brutus, and Sicinius, come forward.

Bru. All tongues fpeak of him, and the bleared fights

Are spectacled to fee him. Your pratling nurfe
Into a rapture lets her Baby cry,

While fhe chats him; the kitchen malkin pins
Her richest lockram 'bout her reechy neck,

Clambring the walls to eye him. Stalls, bulks, windows,

Are fmother'd up, leads fill'd, and ridges hors'd
With variable complexions; all agreeing
In earneftness to fee him; feld-fhown Flamins
Do prefs among the popular throngs, and puff
To win a vulgar station; our veil'd dames
"Commit the War of white and damask, in

s Into a rapture-] Rapture, a common term at that time used for a fit, fimply. So, to be rap'd fignified, to be in a fit. WARB. Commit the WAR of white and damask, in Thir nicely garded cheeks,-] This commixture of white and red could not, by any figure of fpeech, be called a war, because it is the agreement and union of the colours that make the beauty.

We should read,

-the WARE of white and damafk i. e. the commodity, the merchandise. WARBURTON.

Has the commentator never heard of rofes contending with lillies for the empire of a lady's cheek? The oppofition of colours, though not the commixture, may be called a war.

Their nicely gawded cheeks, to th' wanton spoil
Of Phabus' burning kiffes; fuch a pother,
* As if that whatfoever God, who leads him,
Were flily crept into his human powers,
And gave him graceful posture.

Sic. On the fudden,

I warrant him Conful.

Bru. Then our Office may, During his Power, go fleep.

Sic. He cannot temp'rately transport his honours, 7 From where he fhould begin and end, but will Lose those he hath won.

Bru. In That there's comfort.

Sic. Doubt not,

The Commoners, for whom we ftand, but they,
Upon their ancient malice, will forget,

With the least cause, these his new honours; which

That he will give, make I as little question

As he is proud to do't.

Bru. I heard him fwear,

Were he to ftand for Conful, never would he
Appear i'th' market-place, nor on him put
The napless Vesture of Humility;

Nor fhewing, as the manner is, his wounds
To th' people, beg their stinking breaths.

Sic. 'Tis right.

Bru. It was his word. Oh, he would miss it, rather Than carry it, but by the fuit o' th' Gentry, And the defire o' th' Nobles.

Than have him hold that purpose, and to put it
In execution.

Bru. 'Tis moft like, he will.

Sic. It fhall be to him then, as our good will's, A fure deftruction.

Bru. So it must fall out

To him, or our authorities. For an end,
We mult fuggeft the people, in what hatred
He ftill hath held them; that to's power he would
Have made them mules, filenc'd their Pleaders, and
Difproperty'd their freedoms, holding them,
In human action and capacity,

Of no more foul nor fitnefs for the world,
Than camels in their war; who have their provender
Only for bearing burthens, and fore blows
For finking under them.

Sic. This, as you fay, fuggefted

At fome time, when his foaring infolence
Shall reach the people, which time shall not want,
If he be put upon't; and that's as eafy,

As to fet dogs on fheep, will be the fire

To kindle their dry ftubble; and their blaze
Shall darken him for ever.

Enter a Messenger.

Bru. What's the matter?

Mef. You're fent for to the Capitol. 'Tis thought,

That Marcius fhall be Conful; I have seen

The dumb men throng to fee him, and the blind
To hear him fpeak; the Matrons flung their gloves,
Ladies and Maids their fcarfs and handkerchiefs,
Upon him as he pafs'd; the Nobles bended,
As to Jove's Statue; and the Commons made

A fhower and thunder with their caps and fhouts :
I never faw the like.

Bru. Let's to the Capitol,

And