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 further.
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 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.
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 the 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 summon'd
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 the 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 methink
'Tis warm at 's 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,