style="font-size:15px;"> My words disbench’d you not.CORIOLANUS.
No, sir; yet oft,
When blows have made me stay, I fled from words.
You sooth’d not, therefore hurt not: but your people,
I love them as they weigh.
MENENIUS.
Pray now, sit down.
CORIOLANUS.
I had rather have one scratch my head i’ the sun
When the alarum were struck, than idly sit
To hear my nothings monster’d.
[Exit.]
MENENIUS.
Masters o’ 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.
COMINIUS.
I shall lack voice: the deeds of Coriolanus
Should not be utter’d 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 counterpois’d. 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’erpress’d Roman and i’ the 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’ the field, and for his meed
Was brow-bound with the oak. His pupil age
Manenter’d thus, he waxed like a sea;
And in the brunt of seventeen battles since
He lurch’d all swords of the garland. For this last,
Before and in Corioli, let me say,
I cannot speak him home: he stopp’d the fliers;
And by his rare example made the coward
Turn terror into sport: as weeds before
A vessel under sail, so men obey’d,
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 enter’d
The mortal gate of the city, which he painted
With shunless destiny; aidless came off,
And with a sudden re-enforcement struck
Corioli 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
Re-quick’ned 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 call’d
Both field and city ours he never stood
To ease his breast with panting.
MENENIUS.
Worthy man!
FIRST SENATOR.
He cannot but with measure fit the honours
Which we devise him.
COMINIUS.
Our spoils he kick’d 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.
MENENIUS.
He’s right noble:
Let him be call’d for.
FIRST SENATOR.
Call Coriolanus.
OFFICER.
He doth appear.
[Re-enter CORIOLANUS.]
MENENIUS.
The Senate, Coriolanus, are well pleas’d
To make thee consul.
CORIOLANUS.
I do owe them still
My life and services.
MENENIUS.
It then remains
That you do speak to the people.
CORIOLANUS.
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.
SICINIUS.
Sir, the people
