This is good news. I will go meet the ladies. This Volumnia Is worth of consuls, senators, patricians, A city full; of tribunes, such as you,

Menenius.

There is differency between a grub, and a butterfly; yet your butterfly was a grub. This Marcius is grown from man to dragon: he has wings; he's more than a creeping thing.

Sicinius.

He loved his mother dearly.

Menenius.

So did he me; and he no more remembers his mother now, than an eight year old horse. The tartness of his face sours ripe grapes: when he walks, he moves like an engine, and the ground shrinks before his treading. He is able to pierce a corslet with his eye; talks like a knell, and his hum is a battery. He sits in his state, as a thing made for Alexander. What he bids be done, is finished with his bidding: he wants nothing of a god but eternity, and a heaven to throne in.

Sicinius.

Yes, mercy, if you report him truly.

Call all your tribes together, praise the gods, And make triumphant fires; strew flowers before them.

Unshout the noise that banish'd Marcius;
Repeal him with the welcome of his mother:
Cry,- Welcome, ladies, welcome:-

Welcome!

All.

Welcome, ladies! [A Flourish with Drums and Trumpets. [Exeunt. SCENE V. Antium. A public Flace. Enter Tullus Aufidius, with Attendants. Aufidius.

Go tell the lords of the city, I am here. Deliver them this paper: having read it, Bid them repair to the market-place; where 1, Even in theirs' and in the commons' ears, Will vouch the truth of it. Him I accuse, The city ports by this hath enter'd, and Intends t' appear before the people, hoping To purge himself with words. Despatch. [Exeunt Attendants. Enter three or four Conspirators of Aufidius' Faction.

And grieve to hear it. What faults he made before the last, I think, Might have found easy fines; but there to end, Where he was to begin, and give away The benefit of our levies, answering us With our own charge, making a treaty where There was a yielding; this admits no excuse. Aufidius.

He approaches: you shall hear him. Enter Coriolanus, with Drums and Colours; a Crowd of Citizens with him. Coriolanus.

Hail, lords! I am return'd your soldier; No more infected with my country's love, Than when I parted hence, but still subsisting Under your great command. You are to know, That prosperously I have attempted, and With bloody passage led your wars, even to The gates of Rome. Our spoils we have brought home,

Do more than counterpoise, a full third part, The charges of the action. We have made peace, With no less honour to the Antiates,

Than shame to the Romans; and we here deliver, Subscrib'd

I'll grace thee with that robbery, thy stol'n name
Coriolanus in Corioli?—

You lords and heads of the state, perfidiously
He has betray'd your business, and given up
For certain drops of salt your city, Rome,
I say your city, to his wife and mother;
Breaking his oath and resolution, like
A twist of rotten silk; never admitting
Counsel o' the war, but at his nurse's tears
He whin'd and roar'd away your victory,
That pages blush'd at him, and men of heart
Look'd wondering each at other.

Pardon me, lords, 'tis the first time that ever I was forc'd to scold. Your judgments, my grave lords,

All Conspirators.

Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill him!

[Aufidius and the Conspirators draw, and Kill Coriolanus, who falls : dužādius stands on him.

Tread not upon him.-Masters all, be Put up your swords. [quiet.

Aufidius.

My lords, when you shall know (as in this rage,

Provok'd by him, you cannot) the great danger Which this man's life did owe you, you'll re

joice

That he is thus cut off. Please it your honours
To call me to your senate, I'll deliver
Your heaviest censure.
Myself your loyal servant, or endure

First Lord.

that

Must bear my beating to his grave) shall join To thrust the lie unto him.

First Lord.

Bear from hence his body, As the most noble corse that ever herald Did follow to his urn.

Second Lord. His own impatience Let's make the best of it.

Coriolanus.

Cut me to pieces, Volsces; men and lads, Stain all your edges on me.-Boy! False hound! If you have writ your annals true, 'tis there, That like an eagle in a dove-cote, I Flutter'd your Volscians in Corioli: Alone I did it. Boy!

Aufidius.

Why, noble lords,

Will you be put in mind of his blind fortune, Which was your shame, by this unholy braggart, 'Fore your own eyes and ears?

All Conspirators.

Let him die for't.

Aufidius

My rage is gone, And I am struck with sorrow. Take him up: [one.Help, three o' the chiefest soldiers; I'll be Beat thou the drum, that it speak mournfully; Trail your steel pikes. Though in this city he Hath widow'd and unchilded many a one, Which to this hour bewail the injury, Yet he shall have a noble memory.Assist.

[Exeunt, bearing the Body of Coriolanus. A dead March sounded."

Titus.

Hail, Rome, victorious in thy mourning weeds! Lo! as the bark tnat hath discharg'd her fraught Returns with precious lading to the bay, From whence at first she weigh'd her anchorage, Cometh Andronicus, bound with laurel boughs, To re-salute his country with his tears; Tears of true joy for his return to Rome. Thou great defender of this Capitol, Stand gracious to the rites that we intend ! Romans, of five-and-twenty valiant sons, Half of the number that king Priam had. Behold the poor remains, alive, and dead! These that survive let Rome reward with love; These that I bring unto their latest home. With burial amongst their ancestors: Here Goths have given me leave to sheath my Titus, unkind, and careless of thine own, Why suffer'st thou thy sons, unburied yet, To hover on the dreadful shore of Styx?Make way to lay them by their brethren.

[sword.

[The Tomb is opened.
There greet in silence, as the dead are wont,
And sleep in peace, slain in your country's wars!
O sacred receptacle of my joys,
Sweet cell of virtue and nobility,

How many sons hast thou of mine in store,
That thou wilt never render to me more?

That so the shadows be not unappeas'd,
Nor we disturb'd with prodigies on earth.
Titus.

I give him you; the noblest that survives,
The eldest son of this distressed queen.
Tamora.

Stay, Roman brethren!-Gracious conqueror, Victorious Titus, rue the tears I shed, And, if thy sons were ever dear to thee, A mother's tears in passion for her son: O! think my son to be as dear to me. Sufficeth not, that we are brought to Rome, To beautify thy triumphs, and return, Captive to thee, and to thy Roman yoke; But must my sons be slaughter'd in the streets, For valiant doings in their country's cause? O! if to fight for king and common weal, Were piety in thine, it is in these. Andronicus, stain not thy tomb with blood. Wilt thou draw near the nature of the gods? Draw near them, then, in being merciful: Sweet mercy is nobility's true badge. Thrice-noble Titus, spare my first-born son. Titus.

Patient yourself, madam, and pardon me. These are their brethren, whom you Goths be

held

Chiron.

Was ever Scythia half so barbarous ?
Demetrius.

Alarbus goes to rest; and we survive
Oppose not Scythia to ambitious Rome.
To tremble under Titus' threatening look.
Then, madam, stand resolv'd; but hope withal,
The self-same gods, that arm'd the queen of Troy
With opportunity of sharp revenge
Upon the Thracían tyrant in his tent,
May favour Tamora, the queen of Goths,
(When Goths were Goths, and Tamora was
queen)

To quit the bloody wrongs upon her foes.
Re-enter Lucius, Quintus, Martins, and Mutius,
with their Swords bloody.
Lucius.

See, lord and father, how we have perform'd Our Roman rites. Alarbus' limbs are lopp'd, And entrails feed the sacrificing fire,

Whose smoke like incense doth perfume the sky.
Remaineth nought, but to inter our brethren,
And with loud 'larums welcome them to Rome.
Titus.

Let it be so; and let Andronicus
Make this his latest farewell to their souls.

[Trumpets sounded, and the Coffins laid in
the Tomb.

In peace and honour rest you here, my sons;
Rome's readiest champions, repose you here in
Secure from worldly chances and mishaps! [rest,
Here lurks no treason, here no envy swells,
Here grow no damned grudges; here are no

storms,

No