Come, come. They are almost here. How many stand for consulships?

Three, they say; but ’tis thought of everyone Coriolanus will carry it.

That’s a brave fellow, but he’s vengeance proud and loves not the

common people.

’Faith, there have been many great men that have flattered the people

who ne’er loved them; and there be many that they have loved they know

not wherefore; so that, if they love they know not why, they hate upon

no better a ground. Therefore, for Coriolanus neither to care whether

they love or hate him manifests the true knowledge he has in their

disposition and, out of his noble carelessness, lets them plainly

see’t.

If he did not care whether he had their love or no, he waved

indifferently ’twixt doing them neither good nor harm; but he seeks

their hate with greater devotion than they can render it him and leaves

nothing undone that may fully discover him their opposite. Now, to seem

to affect the malice and displeasure of the people is as bad as that

which he dislikes, to flatter them for their love.

He hath deserved worthily of his country, and his ascent is not by such

easy degrees as those who, having been supple and courteous to the

people, bonnetted, without any further deed to have them at all into

their estimation and report; but he hath so planted his honours in

their eyes and his actions in their hearts that for their tongues to be

silent and not confess so much were a kind of ingrateful injury. To

report otherwise were a malice that, giving itself the lie, would pluck

reproof and rebuke from every ear that heard it.

No more of him; he’s a worthy man. Make way. They are coming.

A sennet. Enter the Patricians and the Tribunes of the people, Lictors

before them; Coriolanus, Menenius, Cominius the consul. The Patricians

sit. Sicinius and Brutus take their places by themselves. Coriolanus

stands.

Having determined of the Volsces and

To send for Titus Lartius, it remains,

As the main point of this our after-meeting,

To gratify his noble service that

Hath thus stood for his country. Therefore please you,

Most reverend and grave elders, to desire

The present consul and last general

In our well-found successes to report

A little of that worthy work performed

By Martius Caius Coriolanus, whom

We met here both to thank and to remember

With honours like himself.

Speak, good Cominius.

Leave nothing out for length, and make us think

Rather our state’s defective for requital,

Than we to stretch it out. Masters o’ th’ people,

We do request your kindest ears and, after,

Your loving motion toward the common body

To yield what passes here.

We are convented

Upon a pleasing treaty and have hearts

Inclinable to honour and advance

The theme of our assembly.

Which the rather

We shall be blest to do if he remember

A kinder value of the people than

He hath hereto prized them at.

That’s off, that’s off!

I would you rather had been silent. Please you

To hear Cominius speak?

Most willingly.

But yet my caution was more pertinent

Than the rebuke you give it.

He loves your people,

But tie him not to be their bedfellow.—

Worthy Cominius, speak.

Nay, keep your place.

Sit, Coriolanus. Never shame to hear

What you have nobly done.

Your Honours, pardon.

I had rather have my wounds to heal again

Than hear say how I got them.

Sir, I hope

My words disbenched you not?

No, sir. Yet oft,

When blows have made me stay, I fled from words.

You soothed not, therefore hurt not; but your people,

I love them as they weigh.

Pray now, sit down.

I had rather have one scratch my head i’ th’ sun

When the alarum were struck than idly sit

To hear my nothings monstered.

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.

I shall lack voice. The deeds of Coriolanus

Should not be uttered 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 counterpoised. 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’erpressed Roman and i’ th’ 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 proved best man i’ th’ field and for his meed

Was brow-bound with the oak. His pupil age

Man-entered thus, he waxed like a sea,

And in the brunt of seventeen battles since

He lurched all swords of the garland. For this last,

Before and in Corioles, let me say,

I cannot speak him home. He stopped the flyers

And by his rare example made the coward

Turn terror into sport. As weeds before

A vessel under sail, so men obeyed

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 entered

The mortal gate o’ th’ city, which he painted

With shunless destiny; aidless came off

And with a sudden reinforcement struck

Corioles 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

Requickened what in flesh was fatigate,

And to the battle came he, where he did

Run reeking o’er the lives of men as if

’Twere a perpetual spoil; and till we called

Both field and city ours, he never stood

To ease his breast with panting.

Worthy man!

He cannot but with measure fit the honours

Which we devise him.

Our spoils he kicked at;

And looked upon things precious as they were

The common muck of 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.

He’s right noble.

Let him be called for.

Call Coriolanus.

He doth appear.

The Senate, Coriolanus, are well pleased

To make thee consul.

I do owe them still

My life and services.

It then remains

That you do speak to the people.

I do beseech you

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

That I may pass this doing.

Sir, the people

Must have their voices; neither will they bate

One jot of ceremony.

Put them not to’t.

Pray you, go fit you to the custom, and

Take to you, as your predecessors have,

Your honour with your form.

It is a part

That I shall blush in acting, and might well

Be taken from the people.

Mark you that?

To brag unto them, “thus I did, and thus!”

Show them th’ unaching scars which I should hide,

As if I had received them for the hire

Of their breath only!

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.

To Coriolanus come all joy and honour!

You see how he intends to use the people.

May they perceive’s intent! He will require them

As if he did contemn what he requested

Should be in them to give.

Come, we’ll inform them

Of our proceedings here. On th’ marketplace

I know they do attend us.