Act II.]

CORIOLANUS.

277

cian, and one that loves a cup of hot wine withnot a drop of allaying Tyber in’t; said to besomething imperfect, in favouring the first com-plaint : hasty, and tinder-like, upon too trivialmotion: one that converses more with the but-tock of the night, than with the forehead of themorning. What I think, I utter ; and spendmy malice in my breath : Meeting two suchweals-men as you are, (I cannot call you Ly-curguses) if the drink you give me touch mypalate adversely, I make a crooked face at it.

I cannot say, your worships have deliveredthe matter well, when I find the ass in com-pound with the major part of your syllables:and though I must be content to bear withthose that say you are reverend grave men ; yetthey lie deadly, that tell, 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 gleanout of this character, if I be known well enoughtoo ?

Bru. Come, sir, come, we know you wellenough.

Men. You know neither me, yourselves, norany thing. You are ambitious for poor knaves’caps and legs ; you wear out a good wholesomeforenoon, in hearing a cause between an orange-wife and a fosset-seller ; and then rejourn thecontroversy of threepence to a second day of au-dience.—When you are hearing a matter be-tween party and party, if you chance to be pinch-ed with the cholic, you make faces like mum-mers ; set up the bloody flag against all patience ;and, in roaring for a chamber-pot, dismiss thecontroversy bleeding, the more entangled byyour hearing: all the peace you make in theircause, is, calling both the parties knaves : Youare a pair of strange ones.

Bru. Come, come, you are well understood tobe a perfecter giber for the table, than a neces-sary hencher in the Capitol.

Men. Our very priests must become mockers,if they shall encounter such ridiculous subjectsas you are. When you speak best unto the pur-pose, it is not worth the wagging of your beards;and your beards deserve not so honourable agrave, as to stuff a botcher’s cushion, or to beentombed in an ass’s pack-saddle. Yet youmust be saying, Marcius is proud ; who, in acheap estimation, is worth all your predecessors,since Deucalion ; though, peradventure, some ofthe best of them were hereditary hangmen.Good e’en to your worships ; more of your con-versation would infect my brain, being the herds-men of the beastly plebeians: I will be bold totake my leave of you.

[^Brutus and Sicinius retire to the back ofthe scene.

Enter Volumnia, Virgilia, and Vai.eria, Sjc.How now, my as fair as noble ladies, (and themoon, were she earthly, no nobler,) whither doyou follow your eyes so fast ?

Vol. Honourable Menenius, my boy Marciusapproaches ; for the love of Juno, let's go.

Men. Ha ! Marcius coming home ?

Vol. Ay, worthy Menenius; and with mostprosperous approbation.

Men. Take my cap, Jupiter, and I thankthee :—Hoo ! Marcius coining home !

Two Ladies. Nay, ’tis true.

Vol. Look, here’s a letter from him ; the statehath another, his wife another; and, I think,there’s one at home for you.

Men. I will make my very house reel to-night :—A letter for me ?

Vir. Yes, certain, there’s a letter for you : Isaw it.

Men. A letter for me ? It gives me an estateof seven years’ health ; in which time I willmake a lip at the physician : the most sovereignprescription in Galen is but empiricutick, and,to this preservative, of no better report than ahorse-drench. Is he not wounded ? he was wontto come home wounded.

Vir. O, no, no, no.

Vol. O, he is wounded, I thank the gods for’t.

Men. So do I too, if it be not too much:—Brings ’a victory in his pocket ?—The .woundsbecome him.

Vol. On’s brows, Menenius: he comes thethird time home with the oaken garland.

Men. lias he disciplined Aufidius soundly ?

Vol. Titus Lartius writes,—they fought toge-ther, but Aufidips got off.

Men. And it was time for him too, I’ll war-rant him that: an he had staid by him, I wouldnot have been so fidiused for all the chests inCorioli, and the gold that’s in them. Is the se-nate possessed of this ?

Vol. Good ladies, let’s go:—Yes, yes, yes:the senate has letters from the general, whereinhe gives my son the whole name of the war : hehath in this action outdone his former deedsdoubly.

Val. In troth, there’s wondrous things spokeof him.

Men. Wondrous ? Ay, I warrant you, andnot without his true purchasing.

Vir. The gods grant them true !

Vol. True ? pow, wow.

Men. True ? I’ll be sworn they are true :—Where is he wounded?—God save your goodworships! \f_To the Tribunes, who come for ward L\Marcius is coming home : he has more cause tobe proud.—Where is he wounded ?

Vol. I’the shoulder, and i’tlie left arm : Therewill be large cicatrices to show the people, whenhe shall stand for his place. He received, in therepulse of Tarquin, seven hurts i’the body.

Men. One in the neck, and two in the thigh,—there’s nine, that I know'.

Vol. He had, before this last expedition, twen-ty-five wounds upon him.

Men. Now it’s twenty-seven: every gash wasan enemy’s grave: [hi shout , and Jluurish.\ 1Hark! the trumpets.