MENENIUS. And ’twas time for him too, I’ll warrant him that. An he had stayed by him, I would not have been so ’fidiused for all the chests in Corioles and the gold that’s in them. Is the Senate possessed of this? VOLUMNIA. Good ladies, let’s go.—Yes, yes, yes. The Senate has letters from the General, wherein he gives my son the whole name of the war. He hath in this action outdone his former deeds doubly. VALERIA. In troth, there’s wondrous things spoke of him. MENENIUS. Wondrous? Ay, I warrant you, and not without his true purchasing. VIRGILIA. The gods grant them true. VOLUMNIA. True? Pow, waw! MENENIUS. True? I’ll be sworn they are true. Where is he wounded? [_To the Tribunes_.] God save your good Worships! Martius is coming home; he has more cause to be proud.—Where is he wounded? VOLUMNIA. I’ th’ shoulder and i’ th’ left arm. There will be large cicatrices to show the people when he shall stand for his place. He received in the repulse of Tarquin seven hurts i’ th’ body. MENENIUS. One i’ th’ neck and two i’ th’ thigh—there’s nine that I know. VOLUMNIA. He had, before this last expedition, twenty-five wounds upon him. MENENIUS. Now it’s twenty-seven. Every gash was an enemy’s grave. [_A shout and flourish_.] Hark, the trumpets! VOLUMNIA. These are the ushers of Martius: before him he carries noise, and behind him he leaves tears. Death, that dark spirit, in’s nervy arm doth lie, Which, being advanced, declines, and then men die. [_A sennet_.] Enter Cominius the General and Titus Lartius, between them Coriolanus crowned with an oaken garland, with Captains and Soldiers and a Herald. Trumpets sound. HERALD. Know, Rome, that all alone Martius did fight Within Corioles’ gates, where he hath won, With fame, a name to Caius Martius; these In honour follows “Coriolanus.” Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus. [_Sound flourish._] ALL. Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus! CORIOLANUS. No more of this, it does offend my heart. Pray now, no more. COMINIUS. Look, sir, your mother. CORIOLANUS. O, You have, I know, petitioned all the gods For my prosperity. [_Kneels._] VOLUMNIA. Nay, my good soldier, up. [_He stands._] My gentle Martius, worthy Caius, and By deed-achieving honour newly named— What is it? Coriolanus must I call thee? But, O, thy wife— CORIOLANUS. My gracious silence, hail. Wouldst thou have laughed had I come coffined home, That weep’st to see me triumph? Ah, my dear, Such eyes the widows in Corioles wear And mothers that lack sons. MENENIUS. Now the gods crown thee! CORIOLANUS. And live you yet? [_To Valeria_] O my sweet lady, pardon. VOLUMNIA. I know not where to turn. O, welcome home! And welcome, general.—And you’re welcome all.