ARKCODEX
Act II, Scene 1
1Rome. A public place.
2Enter Menenius with the two Tribunes of the people, Sicinius and Brutus.
3MeneniusThe augurer tells me we shall have news to-night.
4BrutusGood or bad?
5MeneniusNot according to the prayer of the people, for they love not Marcius.
6SiciniusNature teaches beasts to know their friends.
7MeneniusPray you, who does the wolf love?
8SiciniusThe lamb.
9MeneniusAy, to devour him; as the hungry plebeians would the noble Marcius.
10BrutusHe’s a lamb indeed, that baes like a bear.
11MeneniusHe’s a bear indeed, that lives like a lamb. You two are old men: tell me one thing that I shall ask you.
12BothWell, sir.
13MeneniusIn what enormity is Marcius poor in, that you two have not in abundance?
14BrutusHe’s poor in no one fault, but stored with all.
15SiciniusEspecially in pride.
16BrutusAnd topping all others in boasting.
17MeneniusThis is strange now: do you two know how you are censured here in the city, I mean of us o’ the right-hand file? do you?
18BothWhy, how are we censured?
19MeneniusBecause you talk of pride now—will you not be angry?
20BothWell, well, sir, well.
21MeneniusWhy, ’tis no great matter; for a very little thief of occasion will rob you of a great deal of patience: give your dispositions the reins, and be angry at your pleasures; at the least, if you take it as a pleasure to you in being so. You blame Marcius for being proud?
22BrutusWe do it not alone, sir.
23MeneniusI know you can do very little alone; for your helps are many, or else your actions would grow wondrous single: your abilities are too infant-like for doing much alone. You talk of pride: O that you could turn your eyes toward the napes of your necks, and make but an interior survey of your good selves! O that you could!
24BrutusWhat then, sir?
25MeneniusWhy, then you should discover a brace of unmeriting, proud, violent, testy magistrates, alias fools, as any in Rome.
26SiciniusMenenius, you are known well enough too.
27MeneniusI 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; said to be something imperfect in favouring the first complaint; hasty and tinder-like upon too trivial motion; one that converses more with the buttock of the night than with the forehead of the morning: what I think I utter, and spend my malice in my breath. Meeting two such wealsmen as you are—I cannot call you Lycurguses—if the drink you give me touch my palate adversely, I make a crooked face at it. I can’t say your worships have delivered the matter well, when I find the ass in compound with the major part of your syllables: and though I must be content to bear with those that say you are reverend grave men, yet they lie deadly that tell you you have good faces. If you see this in the map of my microcosm, follows it that I am known well enough too? what harm can your bisson conspectuities glean out of this character, if I be known well enough too?
28BrutusCome, sir, come, we know you well enough.
29MeneniusYou 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 cause between an orange-wife and a fosset-seller; and then rejourn the controversy of three pence to a second day of audience. When you are hearing a matter between party and party, if you chance to be pinched with the colic, you make faces like mummers; set up the bloody flag against all patience; and, in roaring for a chamber-pot, dismiss the controversy bleeding, the more entangled by your hearing: all the peace you make in their cause is, calling both the parties knaves. You are a pair of strange ones.
30BrutusCome, come, you are well understood to be a perfecter giber for the table than a necessary bencher in the Capitol.
31MeneniusOur very priests must become mockers, if they shall encounter such ridiculous subjects as you are. When you speak best unto the purpose, it is not worth the wagging of your beards; and your beards deserve not so honourable a grave as to stuff a botcher’s cushion, or to be entombed in an ass’s pack-saddle. Yet you must be saying, Marcius is proud; who, in a cheap estimation, is worth predecessors since Deucalion, though peradventure some of the best of ’em were hereditary hangmen. God-den to your worships: more of your conversation would infect my brain, being the herdsmen of the beastly plebeians: I will be bold to take my leave of you. Brutus and Sicinius go aside.
32Enter Volumnia, Virgilia, and Valeria.
33How now, my as fair as noble ladies—and the moon, were she earthly, no nobler—whither do you follow your eyes so fast?
34VolumniaHonourable Menenius, my boy Marcius approaches; for the love of Juno, let’s go.
35MeneniusHa! Marcius coming home!
36VolumniaAy, worthy Menenius; and with most prosperous approbation.
37MeneniusTake my cap, Jupiter, and I thank thee. Hoo! Marcius coming home!
38Volumnia
Virgilia Nay, ’tis true.
39VolumniaLook, here’s a letter from him: the state hath another, his wife another; and, I think, there’s one at home for you.
40MeneniusI will make my very house reel to-night: a letter for me!
41VirgiliaYes, certain, there’s a letter for you; I saw’t.
42MeneniusA letter for me! it gives me an estate of seven years’ health; in which time I will make a lip at the physician: the most sovereign prescription in Galen is but empiricutic, and, to this preservative, of no better report than a horse-drench. Is he not wounded? he was wont to come home wounded.
43VirgiliaO, no, no, no.
44VolumniaO, he is wounded; I thank the gods for’t.
45MeneniusSo do I too, if it be not too much: brings a’ victory in his pocket? the wounds become him.
46VolumniaOn’s brows: Menenius, he comes the third time home with the oaken garland.
47MeneniusHas he disciplined Aufidius soundly?
48VolumniaTitus Lartius writes, they fought together, but Aufidius got off.
49MeneniusAnd ’twas time for him too, I’ll warrant him that: an he had stayed by him, I would not have been so fidiused for all the chests in Corioli, and the gold that’s in them. Is the senate possessed of this?
50VolumniaGood ladies, let’s go. Yes, yes, yes; the senate has letters from the general, wherein he gives my son the whole name of the war: he hath in this action outdone his former deeds doubly
51ValeriaIn troth, there’s wondrous things spoke of him.
52MeneniusWondrous! ay, I warrant you, and not without his true purchasing.
53VirgiliaThe gods grant them true!
54VolumniaTrue! pow, wow.
55MeneniusTrue! I’ll be sworn they are true. Where is he wounded? To the Tribunes. God save your good worships! Marcius is coming home: he has more cause to be proud. Where is he wounded?
56VolumniaI’ the shoulder and i’ the left arm: there will be large cicatrices to show the people, when he shall stand for his place. He received in the repulse of Tarquin seven hurts i’ the body.
57MeneniusOne i’ the neck, and two i’ the thigh—there’s nine that I know.
58VolumniaHe had, before this last expedition, twenty-five wounds upon him.
59MeneniusNow it’s twenty-seven: every gash was an enemy’s grave. A shout and flourish. Hark! the trumpets.
60VolumniaThese are the ushers of Marcius: before him he carries noise, and behind him he leaves tears:
Death, that dark spirit, in’s nervy arm doth lie;
Which, being advanced, declines, and then men die.
61A sennet. Trumpets sound. Enter Cominius the general, and Titus Lartius; between them, Coriolanus, crowned with an oaken garland; with Captains and Soldiers, and a Herald.
62HeraldKnow, Rome, that all alone Marcius did fight
Within Corioli gates: where he hath won,
With fame, a name to Caius Marcius; these
In honour follows Coriolanus.
Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus! Flourish.
63AllWelcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus!
64CoriolanusNo more of this; it does offend my heart:
Pray now, no more.
65CominiusLook, sir, your mother!
66CoriolanusO,
You have, I know, petition’d all the gods
For my prosperity! Kneels.
67VolumniaNay, my good soldier, up;
My gentle Marcius, worthy Caius, and
By deed-achieving honour newly named—
What is it?—Coriolanus must I call thee?—
But O, thy wife!
68CoriolanusMy gracious silence, hail!
Wouldst thou have laugh’d had I come coffin’d home,
That weep’st to see me triumph? Ay, my dear,
Such eyes the widows in Corioli wear,
And mothers that lack sons.
69MeneniusNow, the gods crown thee!
70CoriolanusAnd live you yet? To Valeria.
O my sweet lady, pardon.
71VolumniaI know not where to turn: O, welcome home:
And welcome, general: and ye’re welcome all.
72MeneniusA 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.
73CominiusEver right.
74CoriolanusMenenius ever, ever.
75HeraldGive way there, and go on!
76CoriolanusTo 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 received not only greetings,
But with them change of honours.
77VolumniaI 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.
78CoriolanusKnow, good mother,
I had rather be their servant in my way
Than sway with them in theirs.
79CominiusOn, to the Capitol! Flourish. Cornets. Exeunt in state, as before. Brutus and Sicinius come forward.
80BrutusAll 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,
Clambering the walls to eye him: stalls, bulks, windows,
Are smother’d up, leads fill’d, and ridges horsed
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: or veil’d dames
Commit the war of white and damask in
Their nicely-gawded cheeks to the wanton spoil
Of Phoebus’ burning kisses: such a pother
As if that whatsoever god who leads him
Were slily crept into his human powers
And gave him graceful posture.
81SiciniusOn the sudden,
I warrant him consul.
82BrutusThen our office may,
During his power, go sleep.
83SiciniusHe cannot temperately transport his honours
From where he should begin and end, but will
Lose those he hath won.
84BrutusIn that there’s comfort.
85SiciniusDoubt not
The commoners, for whom we stand, but they
Upon their ancient malice will forget
With the least cause these his new honours, which
That he will give them make I as little question
As he is proud to do’t.
86BrutusI heard him swear,
Were he to stand for consul, never would he
Appear i’ the market-place nor on him put
The napless vesture of humility;
Nor, showing, as the manner is, his wounds
To the people, beg their stinking breaths.
87Sicinius’Tis right.
88BrutusIt 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.
89SiciniusI wish no better
Than have him hold that purpose and to put it
In execution.
90Brutus’Tis most like he will.
91SiciniusIt shall be to him then as our good wills,
A sure destruction.
92BrutusSo 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, silenced 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 the war, who have their provand
Only for bearing burdens, and sore blows
For sinking under them.
93SiciniusThis, as you say, suggested
At some time when his soaring insolence
Shall touch 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.
94Enter a Messenger.
95BrutusWhat’s the matter?
96MessengerYou are sent for to the Capitol. ’Tis thought
That Marcius shall be consul:
I have seen the dumb men throng to see him and
The blind to bear him speak: matrons flung gloves,
Ladies and maids their scarfs and hand kerchers,
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.
97BrutusLet’s to the Capitol;
And carry with us ears and eyes for the time,
But hearts for the event.
98SiciniusHave with you. Exeunt.