There is a differency between a grub and a butterfly, yet your butterfly was a grub.
(V. iv. 11.)
And with similes for Coriolanus’ present temper he positively overflows:
He no more remembers his mother now than an eight-year-old horse. The tartness of his face sours ripe grapes.
(V. iv. 16.)
There is no more mercy in him than there is milk in a male tiger.
(V. iv. 29.)
All his thoughts clothe themselves in the pat, familiar image, and this is no doubt a great help to him in persuading his auditors, for which he has an undeniable talent. His famous apologue, besides being a masterpiece in its kind, worthy of La Fontaine at his best, completely answers its immediate purpose; and in the later scene he is able to lull the storm that Coriolanus and the tribunes have raised, and obtain from the infuriated demagogues what are in some sort favourable terms. But he is assisted in this by his genuine joviality and bonhomie. He is one of those people who permit themselves a little indulgence that we hardly blame, for it is only one side of their pervasive good nature. Menenius is in truth something of a belly-god and wine-bibber. When he hears news of Marcius he promptly decides how to celebrate the occasion:
I will make my very house reel to-night;
(II. i. 121.)