Sound. Flourish.
All. Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus
Coriol. No more of this, it does offend my heart: pray now no more
Com. Looke, Sir, your Mother
Coriol. Oh! you haue, I know, petition'd all the Gods for my prosperitie.
Kneeles.
Volum. Nay, my good Souldier, vp:
My gentle Martius, worthy Caius,
And by deed-atchieuing Honor newly nam'd,
What is it (Coriolanus) must I call thee?
But oh, thy Wife
Corio. My gracious silence, hayle:
Would'st thou haue laugh'd, had I come Coffin'd home,
That weep'st to see me triumph? Ah my deare,
Such eyes the Widowes in Carioles were,
And Mothers that lacke Sonnes
Mene. Now the Gods Crowne thee
Com. And liue you yet? Oh my sweet Lady, pardon