Virgil. The Gods graunt them true
Volum. True? pow waw
Mene. True? Ile be sworne they are true: where is hee wounded, God saue your good Worships? Martius is comming home: hee ha's more cause to be prowd: where is he wounded? Volum. Ith' Shoulder, and ith' left Arme: there will be large Cicatrices to shew the People, when hee shall stand for his place: he receiued in the repulse of Tarquin seuen hurts ith' Body
Mene. One ith' Neck, and two ith' Thigh, there's nine
that I know
Volum. Hee had, before this last Expedition, twentie
fiue Wounds vpon him
Mene. Now it's twentie seuen; euery gash was an
Enemies Graue. Hearke, the Trumpets.
A showt, and flourish.
Volum. These are the Vshers of Martius:
Before him, hee carryes Noyse;
And behinde him, hee leaues Teares:
Death, that darke Spirit, in's neruie Arme doth lye,
Which being aduanc'd, declines, and then men dye.
A Sennet. Trumpets sound. Enter Cominius the Generall, and Titus
Latius:
betweene them Coriolanus, crown'd with an Oaken Garland, with
Captaines and
Souldiers, and a Herauld.
Herauld. Know Rome, that all alone Martius did fight
Within Corioles Gates: where he hath wonne,
With Fame, a Name to Martius Caius:
These in honor followes Martius Caius Coriolanus.
Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus.