Once, if he do require our voices, we ought not to deny him.

We may, sir, if we will.

We have power in ourselves to do it, but it is a power that we have no

power to do; for, if he show 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.

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.

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’ th’ compass.

Think you so? Which way do you judge my wit would fly?

Nay, your wit will not so soon out as another man’s will; ’tis strongly

wedged up in a blockhead. But if it were at liberty, ’twould, sure,

southward.

Why that way?

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.

You are never without your tricks. You may, you may.

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.

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 everyone 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.

Content, content.

O sir, you are not right. Have you not known

The worthiest men have done’t?

What must I say?

“I pray, sir”—plague upon’t! I cannot bring

My tongue to such a pace. “Look, sir, my wounds!

I got them in my country’s service when

Some certain of your brethren roared and ran

From th’ noise of our own drums.”

O me, the gods!

You must not speak of that. You must desire them

To think upon you.

Think upon me! Hang ’em!

I would they would forget me, like the virtues

Which our divines lose by ’em.

You’ll mar all.

I’ll leave you. Pray you speak to ’em, I pray you,

In wholesome manner.

Bid them wash their faces

And keep their teeth clean.

So, here comes a brace.

You know the cause, sirs, of my standing here.

We do, sir. Tell us what hath brought you to’t.

Mine own desert.

Your own desert?

Ay, but not mine own desire.

How, not your own desire?

No, sir, ’twas never my desire yet to trouble the poor with begging.

You must think if we give you anything, we hope to gain by you.

Well then, I pray, your price o’ th’ consulship?

The price is to ask it kindly.

Kindly, sir, I pray, let me ha’t. I have wounds to show you, which

shall be yours in private.—Your good voice, sir. What say you?

You shall ha’ it, worthy sir.

A match, sir. There’s in all two worthy voices begged. I have your

alms. Adieu.

But this is something odd.

An ’twere to give again—but ’tis no matter.

Pray you now, if it may stand with the tune of your voices that I may

be consul, I have here the customary gown.

You have deserved nobly of your country, and you have not deserved

nobly.

Your enigma?

You have been a scourge to her enemies; you have been a rod to her

friends. You have not indeed loved the common people.

You should account me the more virtuous that I have not been common in

my love. I will, sir, flatter my sworn brother, the people, to earn a

dearer estimation of them; ’tis a condition they account gentle. And

since the wisdom of their choice is rather to have my hat than my

heart, I will practise the insinuating nod and be off to them most

counterfeitly. That is, sir, I will counterfeit the bewitchment of some

popular man and give it bountiful to the desirers. Therefore, beseech

you, I may be consul.

We hope to find you our friend, and therefore give you our voices

heartily.

You have received many wounds for your country.

I will not seal your knowledge with showing them. I will make much of

your voices and so trouble you no farther.

The gods give you joy, sir, heartily.

Most sweet voices!

Better it is to die, better to starve,

Than crave the hire which first we do deserve.

Why in this wolvish toge should I stand here

To beg of Hob and Dick that does appear

Their needless vouches? Custom calls me to’t.

What custom wills, in all things should we do’t?

The dust on antique time would lie unswept

And mountainous error be too highly heaped

For truth to o’erpeer. Rather than fool it so,

Let the high office and the honour go

To one that would do thus. I am half through;

The one part suffered, the other will I do.

Here come more voices.

Your voices! For your voices I have fought;

Watched for your voices; for your voices bear

Of wounds two dozen odd. Battles thrice six

I have seen and heard of; for your voices have

Done many things, some less, some more. Your voices!

Indeed, I would be consul.

He has done nobly, and cannot go without any honest man’s voice.

Therefore let him be consul. The gods give him joy, and make him good

friend to the people!

Amen, amen. God save thee, noble consul.

Worthy voices!

You have stood your limitation, and the Tribunes

Endue you with the people’s voice. Remains

That in th’ official marks invested, you

Anon do meet the Senate.

Is this done?

The custom of request you have discharged.

The people do admit you, and are summoned

To meet anon upon your approbation.

Where? At the Senate House?

There, Coriolanus.

May I change these garments?

You may, sir.

That I’ll straight do and, knowing myself again,

Repair to th’ Senate House.

I’ll keep you company.—Will you along?

We stay here for the people.

Fare you well.

He has it now; and by his looks, methinks,

’Tis warm at his heart.

With a proud heart he wore

His humble weeds. Will you dismiss the people?

How now, my masters, have you chose this man?

He has our voices, sir.

We pray the gods he may deserve your loves.

Amen, sir. To my poor unworthy notice,

He mocked us when he begged our voices.

Certainly, he flouted us downright.

No, ’tis his kind of speech. He did not mock us.

Not one amongst us, save yourself, but says

He used us scornfully. He should have showed us

His marks of merit, wounds received for’s country.

Why, so he did, I am sure.

No, no. No man saw ’em.

He said he had wounds, which he could show in private,

And with his hat, thus waving it in scorn,

“I would be consul,” says he; “aged custom,

But by your voices, will not so permit me;

Your voices therefore.” When we granted that,

Here was “I thank you for your voices. Thank you.

Your most sweet voices! Now you have left your voices,

I have no further with you.” Was not this mockery?

Why either were you ignorant to see’t

Or, seeing it, of such childish friendliness

To yield your voices?

Could you not have told him

As you were lessoned? When he had no power,

But was a petty servant to the state,

He was your enemy, ever spake against

Your liberties and the charters that you bear

I’ th’ body of the weal; and, now arriving

A place of potency and sway o’ th’ state,

If he should still malignantly remain

Fast foe to th’ plebeii, your voices might

Be curses to yourselves. You should have said

That as his worthy deeds did claim no less

Than what he stood for, so his gracious nature

Would think upon you for your voices, and

Translate his malice towards you into love,

Standing your friendly lord.

Thus to have said,

As you were fore-advised, had touched his spirit

And tried his inclination; from him plucked

Either his gracious promise, which you might,

As cause had called you up, have held him to;

Or else it would have galled his surly nature,

Which easily endures not article

Tying him to aught. So putting him to rage,

You should have ta’en th’ advantage of his choler

And passed him unelected.

Did you perceive

He did solicit you in free contempt

When he did need your loves, and do you think

That his contempt shall not be bruising to you

When he hath power to crush? Why, had your bodies

No heart among you? Or had you tongues to cry

Against the rectorship of judgment?

Have you ere now denied the asker, and now

Again, of him that did not ask but mock,

Bestow your sued-for tongues?

He’s not confirmed.

We may deny him yet.

And will deny him.

I’ll have five hundred voices of that sound.

I twice five hundred, and their friends to piece ’em.

Get you hence instantly, and tell those friends

They have chose a consul that will from them take

Their liberties, make them of no more voice

Than dogs that are as often beat for barking

As therefore kept to do so.

Let them assemble

And, on a safer judgment, all revoke

Your ignorant election. Enforce his pride

And his old hate unto you. Besides, forget not

With what contempt he wore the humble weed,

How in his suit he scorned you; but your loves,

Thinking upon his services, took from you

Th’ apprehension of his present portance,

Which most gibingly, ungravely, he did fashion

After the inveterate hate he bears you.

Lay

A fault on us, your tribunes, that we laboured,

No impediment between, but that you must

Cast your election on him.

Say you chose him

More after our commandment than as guided

By your own true affections, and that your minds,

Preoccupied with what you rather must do

Than what you should, made you against the grain

To voice him consul. Lay the fault on us.

Ay, spare us not. Say we read lectures to you,

How youngly he began to serve his country,

How long continued, and what stock he springs of,

The noble house o’ th’ Martians, from whence came

That Ancus Martius, Numa’s daughter’s son,

Who, after great Hostilius here was king,

Of the same house Publius and Quintus were,

That our best water brought by conduits hither;

And Censorinus, that was so surnamed,

And nobly named so, twice being censor,

Was his great ancestor.

One thus descended,

That hath beside well in his person wrought

To be set high in place, we did commend

To your remembrances; but you have found,

Scaling his present bearing with his past,

That he’s your fixed enemy, and revoke

Your sudden approbation.

Say you ne’er had done’t—

Harp on that still—but by our putting on.

And presently when you have drawn your number,

Repair to th’ Capitol.

We will so. Almost all

Repent in their election.

Let them go on.

This mutiny were better put in hazard

Than stay, past doubt, for greater.

If, as his nature is, he fall in rage

With their refusal, both observe and answer

The vantage of his anger.

To th’ Capitol, come.

We will be there before the stream o’ th’ people,

And this shall seem, as partly ’tis, their own,

Which we have goaded onward.