Than Hector's forehead, when it spit forth blood
At Grecian swords contending.

When she hears the trumpets that proclaim her son's return, she says
in the true spirit of a Roman matron:

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 advanc'd, declines, and then men die.

Coriolanus himself is a complete character: his love of reputation,
his contempt of popular opinion, his pride and modesty, are
consequences of each other. His pride consists in the inflexible
sternness of his will; his love of glory is a determined desire to
bear down all opposition, and to extort the admiration both of
friends and foes. His contempt for popular favour, his unwillingness
to hear his own praises, spring from the same source. He cannot
contradict the praises that are bestowed upon him; therefore he is
impatient at hearing them. He would enforce the good opinion of
others by his actions, but does not want their acknowledgements in
words.

Pray now, no more: my mother,
Who has a charter to extol her blood,
When she does praise me, grieves me.

His magnanimity is of the same kind. He admires in an enemy that
courage which he honours in himself: he places himself on the hearth
of Aufidius with the same confidence that he would have met him in