These are the ushers of Marcius: before him he carries noise, and behind him he leaves tears:

Know, 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.

No more of this; it does offend my heart:
Pray now, no more.

O,
You have, I know, petition’d all the gods
For my prosperity! Kneels.

Nay, 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!

My 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.

And live you yet? To Valeria.
O my sweet lady, pardon.

I know not where to turn: O, welcome home:
And welcome, general: and ye’re welcome all.

A 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.

To 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.

I 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.

Know, good mother,
I had rather be their servant in my way
Than sway with them in theirs.

All 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.

On the sudden,
I warrant him consul.

Then our office may,
During his power, go sleep.

He cannot temperately transport his honours
From where he should begin and end, but will
Lose those he hath won.

Doubt 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.

I 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.

It 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.

I wish no better
Than have him hold that purpose and to put it
In execution.

It shall be to him then as our good wills,
A sure destruction.

So 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.

This, 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.

You 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.

Let’s to the Capitol;
And carry with us ears and eyes for the time,
But hearts for the event.

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 perform’d
By Caius Marcius 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. To the Tribunes. Masters o’ the 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. Coriolanus offers to go away. 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 disbench’d 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.

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.

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 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 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: be bestrid
An o’er-press’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
Man-enter’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-inforcement 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-quicken’d 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.

He cannot but with measure fit the honours
Which we devise him.

Our spoils he kick’d at,
And look’d 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 call’d for.

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 apart
That I shall blush in acting, and might well
Be taken from the people.

To brag unto them, thus I did, and thus;
Show them the 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.

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 the market-place,
I know, they do attend us. Exeunt.

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 roar’d and ran
From the 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. Exit.

Bid them wash their faces
And keep their teeth clean. Reenter two of the Citizens. So, here comes a brace. Reenter a Third Citizen.
You know the cause, air, of my standing here.

Most sweet voices!
Better it is to die, better to starve,
Than crave the hire which first we do deserve.
Why in this woolvish toge should I stand here,
To beg of Hob and Dick, that do 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 heapt
For truth to o’er-peer. 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 suffer’d, the other will I do.

Here come more voices.
Your voices: for your voices I have fought;
Watch’d 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.

You have stood your limitation; and the tribunes
Endue you with the people’s voice: remains
That, in the official marks invested, you
Anon do meet the senate.

The custom of request you have discharged:
The people do admit you, and are summon’d
To meet anon, upon your approbation.

That I’ll straight do; and, knowing myself again,
Repair to the senate-house.

Fare you well. Exeunt Coriolanus and Menenius.
He has it now, and by his looks methink
’Tis warm at’s heart.

With a proud heart he wore his humble weeds.
Will you dismiss the people?

Amen, sir: to my poor unworthy notice,
He mock’d us when he begg’d our voices.

Certainly
He flouted us downright.

Not one amongst us, save yourself, but says
He used us scornfully: he should have show’d us
His marks of merit, wounds received for’s country.

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 lesson’d, 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’ the body of the weal; and now, arriving
A place of potency and sway o’ the state,
If he should still malignantly remain
Fast foe to the 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 touch’d his spirit
And tried his inclination; from him pluck’d
Either his gracious promise, which you might,
As cause had call’d you up, have held him to;
Or else it would have gall’d his surly nature,
Which easily endures not article
Tying him to aught; so putting him to rage,
You should have ta’en the advantage of his choler
And pass’d 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 judgement?

Have you
Ere now denied the asker? and now again
Of him that did not ask, but mock, bestow
Your sued-for tongues?

And will deny him:
I’ll have five hundred voices of that sound.

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 scorn’d you; but your loves,
Thinking upon his services, took from you
The 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’ the Marcians, from whence came
That Ancus Marcius, 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, nobly named so,
Twice being by the people chosen censor,1
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 the Capitol.

We will so: almost all
Repent in their election. Exeunt Citizens.

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 the Capitol, come:
We will be there before the stream o’ the people;
And this shall seem, as partly ’tis, their own,
Which we have goaded onward. Exeunt.