SCENE I. Rome. A street.
[Enter a company of mutinous citizens, with staves, clubs, and
Before we proceed any further, hear me speak.
You are all resolved rather to die than to famish?
First, you know Caius Marcius is chief enemy to the people.
We know't, we know't.
Let us kill him, and we'll have corn at our own price. Is't a
No more talking on't; let it be done: away, away!
One word, good citizens.
We are accounted poor citizens; the patricians good.
What authority surfeits on would relieve us; if they would yield
us but the superfluity, while it were wholesome, we might guess
they relieved us humanely; but they think we are too dear: the
leanness that afflicts us, the object of our misery, is as an
inventory to particularize their abundance; our sufferance is a
gain to them.--Let us revenge this with our pikes ere we become
rakes: for the gods know I speak this in hunger for bread, not in
thirst for revenge.
Would you proceed especially against Caius Marcius?
Against him first: he's a very dog to the commonalty.
Consider you what services he has done for his country?
Very well; and could be content to give him good report for't,
but that he pays himself with being proud.
Nay, but speak not maliciously.
I say unto you, what he hath done famously he did it to that end:
though soft-conscienced men can be content to say it was for his
country, he did it to please his mother, and to be partly proud;
which he is, even to the altitude of his virtue.
What he cannot help in his nature you account a vice in him. You
must in no way say he is covetous.
If I must not, I need not be barren of accusations; he hath
faults, with surplus, to tire in repetition. [Shouts within.]
What shouts are these? The other side o' the city is risen: why
stay we prating here? to the Capitol!
Soft! who comes here?
Worthy Menenius Agrippa; one that hath always loved the people.
He's one honest enough; would all the rest were so!
[Enter MENENIUS AGRIPPA.]
What work's, my countrymen, in hand? where go you
With bats and clubs? the matter? speak, I pray you.
Our business is not unknown to the senate; they have had inkling
this fortnight what we intend to do, which now we'll show 'em in
deeds. They say poor suitors have strong breaths; they shall know
we have strong arms too.
Why, masters, my good friends, mine honest neighbours,
Will you undo yourselves?
We cannot, sir; we are undone already.
I tell you, friends, most charitable care
Have the patricians of you. For your wants,
Your suffering in this dearth, you may as well
Strike at the heaven with your staves as lift them
Against the Roman state; whose course will on
The way it takes, cracking ten thousand curbs
Of more strong link asunder than can ever
Appear in your impediment: for the dearth,
The gods, not the patricians, make it; and
Your knees to them, not arms, must help. Alack,
You are transported by calamity
Thither where more attends you; and you slander
The helms o' th' state, who care for you like fathers,
When you curse them as enemies.
Care for us! True, indeed! They ne'er cared for us yet. Suffer us
to famish, and their storehouses crammed with grain; make edicts
for usury, to support usurers; repeal daily any wholesome act
established against the rich, and provide more piercing statutes
daily to chain up and restrain the poor. If the wars eat us not
up, they will; and there's all the love they bear us.
Either you must
Confess yourselves wondrous malicious,
Or be accus'd of folly. I shall tell you
A pretty tale: it may be you have heard it;
But, since it serves my purpose, I will venture
To stale't a little more.
Well, I'll hear it, sir; yet you must not think to fob off our
disgrace with a tale: but, an't please you, deliver.
There was a time when all the body's members
Rebell'd against the belly; thus accus'd it:--
That only like a gulf it did remain
I' the midst o' the body, idle and unactive,
Still cupboarding the viand, never bearing
Like labour with the rest; where th' other instruments
Did see and hear, devise, instruct, walk, feel,
And, mutually participate, did minister
Unto the appetite and affection common
Of the whole body. The belly answered,--
Well, sir, what answer made the belly?
Sir, I shall tell you.--With a kind of smile,
Which ne'er came from the lungs, but even thus,--
For, look you, I may make the belly smile
As well as speak,--it tauntingly replied
To the discontented members, the mutinous parts
That envied his receipt; even so most fitly
As you malign our senators for that
They are not such as you.
Your belly's answer? What!
The kingly crowned head, the vigilant eye,
The counsellor heart, the arm our soldier,
Our steed the leg, the tongue our trumpeter,
With other muniments and petty helps
Is this our fabric, if that they,--
'Fore me, this fellow speaks!--what then? what then?
Should by the cormorant belly be restrain'd,
Who is the sink o' the body,--
Well, what then?
The former agents, if they did complain,
What could the belly answer?
I will tell you;
If you'll bestow a small,--of what you have little,--
Patience awhile, you'll hear the belly's answer.
You are long about it.
Note me this, good friend;
Your most grave belly was deliberate,
Not rash like his accusers, and thus answer'd:
'True is it, my incorporate friends,' quoth he,
'That I receive the general food at first
Which you do live upon; and fit it is,
Because I am the storehouse and the shop
Of the whole body: but, if you do remember,
I send it through the rivers of your blood,
Even to the court, the heart,--to the seat o' the brain;
And, through the cranks and offices of man,
The strongest nerves and small inferior veins
From me receive that natural competency
Whereby they live: and though that all at once
You, my good friends,'--this says the belly,--mark me,--
Ay, sir; well, well.
'Though all at once cannot
See what I do deliver out to each,
Yet I can make my audit up, that all
From me do back receive the flour of all,
And leave me but the bran.' What say you to't?
It was an answer: how apply you this?
The senators of Rome are this good belly,
And you the mutinous members; for, examine
Their counsels and their cares; digest things rightly
Touching the weal o' the common; you shall find
No public benefit which you receive
But it proceeds or comes from them to you,
And no way from yourselves.--What do you think,
You, the great toe of this assembly?
I the great toe? why the great toe?
For that, being one o' the lowest, basest, poorest,
Of this most wise rebellion, thou go'st foremost:
Thou rascal, that art worst in blood to run,
Lead'st first to win some vantage.--
But make you ready your stiff bats and clubs:
Rome and her rats are at the point of battle;
The one side must have bale.--
[Enter CAIUS MARCIUS.]
Hail, noble Marcius!
Thanks.--What's the matter, you dissentious rogues
That, rubbing the poor itch of your opinion,
Make yourselves scabs?
We have ever your good word.
He that will give good words to thee will flatter
Beneath abhorring.--What would you have, you curs,
That like nor peace nor war? The one affrights you,
The other makes you proud. He that trusts to you,
Where he should find you lions, finds you hares;
Where foxes, geese: you are no surer, no,
Than is the coal of fire upon the ic,
Or hailstone in the sun. Your virtue is
To make him worthy whose offence subdues him,
And curse that justice did it. Who deserves greatness
Deserves your hate; and your affections are
A sick man's appetite, who desires most that
Which would increase his evil. He that depends
Upon your favours swims with fins of lead,
And hews down oaks with rushes. Hang ye! Trust ye!
With every minute you do change a mind;
And call him noble that was now your hate,
Him vile that was your garland. What's the matter,
That in these several places of the city
You cry against the noble senate, who,
Under the gods, keep you in awe, which else
Would feed on one another?--What's their seeking?
For corn at their own rates; whereof they say
The city is well stor'd.
Hang 'em! They say!
They'll sit by th' fire and presume to know
What's done i' the Capitol; who's like to rise,
Who thrives and who declines; side factions, and give out
Conjectural marriages; making parties strong,
And feebling such as stand not in their liking
Below their cobbled shoes. They say there's grain enough!
Would the nobility lay aside their ruth
And let me use my sword, I'd make a quarry
With thousands of these quarter'd slaves, as high
As I could pick my lance.
Nay, these are almost thoroughly persuaded;
For though abundantly they lack discretion,
Yet are they passing cowardly. But, I beseech you,
What says the other troop?
They are dissolved: hang 'em!
They said they were an-hungry; sigh'd forth proverbs,--
That hunger broke stone walls, that dogs must eat,
That meat was made for mouths, that the gods sent not
Corn for the rich men only:--with these shreds
They vented their complainings; which being answer'd,
And a petition granted them,--a strange one,
To break the heart of generosity,
And make bold power look pale,--they threw their caps
As they would hang them on the horns o' the moon,
Shouting their emulation.
What is granted them?
Five tribunes, to defend their vulgar wisdoms,
Of their own choice: one's Junius Brutus,
Sicinius Velutus, and I know not.--'Sdeath!
The rabble should have first unroof'd the city
Ere so prevail'd with me: it will in time
Win upon power, and throw forth greater themes
For insurrection's arguing.
This is strange.
Go get you home, you fragments!
[Enter a MESSENGER, hastily.]
Where's Caius Marcius?
Here: what's the matter?
The news is, sir, the Volsces are in arms.
I am glad on't: then we shall ha' means to vent
Our musty superfluity.--See, our best elders.
[Enter COMINIUS, TITUS LARTIUS, and other SENATORS; JUNIUS BRUTUS
and SICINIUS VELUTUS.]
Marcius, 'tis true that you have lately told us:--
The Volsces are in arms.
They have a leader,
Tullus Aufidius, that will put you to't.
I sin in envying his nobility;
And were I anything but what I am,
I would wish me only he.
You have fought together.
Were half to half the world by the ears, and he
Upon my party, I'd revolt, to make
Only my wars with him: he is a lion
That I am proud to hunt.
Then, worthy Marcius,
Attend upon Cominius to these wars.
It is your former promise.
Sir, it is;
And I am constant.--Titus Lartius, thou
Shalt see me once more strike at Tullus' face.
What, art thou stiff? stand'st out?
No, Caius Marcius;
I'll lean upon one crutch and fight with the other
Ere stay behind this business.
O, true bred!
Your company to the Capitol; where, I know,
Our greatest friends attend us.
Lead you on.
Follow, Cominius; we must follow you;
Right worthy your priority.
Hence to your homes; be gone!
[To the Citizens.]
Nay, let them follow:
The Volsces have much corn; take these rats thither
To gnaw their garners.--Worshipful mutineers,
Your valour puts well forth: pray follow.
[Exeunt Senators, COM., MAR, TIT., and MENEN. Citizens steal
Was ever man so proud as is this Marcius?
He has no equal.
When we were chosen tribunes for the people,--
Mark'd you his lip and eyes?
Nay, but his taunts!
Being mov'd, he will not spare to gird the gods.
Bemock the modest moon.
The present wars devour him: he is grown
Too proud to be so valiant.
Such a nature,
Tickled with good success, disdains the shadow
Which he treads on at noon: but I do wonder
His insolence can brook to be commanded
Fame, at the which he aims,--
In whom already he is well grac'd,--cannot
Better be held, nor more attain'd, than by
A place below the first: for what miscarries
Shall be the general's fault, though he perform
To th' utmost of a man; and giddy censure
Will then cry out of Marcius 'O, if he
Had borne the business!'
Besides, if things go well,
Opinion, that so sticks on Marcius, shall
Of his demerits rob Cominius.
Half all Cominius' honours are to Marcius,
Though Marcius earn'd them not; and all his faults
To Marcius shall be honours, though, indeed,
In aught he merit not.
Let's hence and hear
How the dispatch is made; and in what fashion,
More than in singularity, he goes
Upon this present action.
CENE II. Corioli. The Senate House.
[Enter TULLUS AUFIDIUS and certain SENATORS.]
So, your opinion is, Aufidius,
That they of Rome are enter'd in our counsels
And know how we proceed.
Is it not yours?
What ever have been thought on in this state,
That could be brought to bodily act ere Rome
Had circumvention! 'Tis not four days gone
Since I heard thence; these are the words: I think
I have the letter here;yes, here it is:
'They have pressed a power, but it is not known
Whether for east or west: the dearth is great;
The people mutinous: and it is rumour'd,
Cominius, Marcius your old enemy,--
Who is of Rome worse hated than of you,--
And Titus Lartius, a most valiant Roman,
These three lead on this preparation
Whither 'tis bent: most likely 'tis for you:
Consider of it.'
Our army's in the field:
We never yet made doubt but Rome was ready
To answer us.
Nor did you think it folly
To keep your great pretences veil'd till when
They needs must show themselves; which in the hatching,
It seem'd, appear'd to Rome. By the discovery
We shall be shorten'd in our aim; which was,
To take in many towns ere, almost, Rome
Should know we were afoot.
Take your commission; hie you to your bands;
Let us alone to guard Corioli:
If they set down before's, for the remove
Bring up your army; but I think you'll find
They've not prepared for us.
O, doubt not that;
I speak from certainties. Nay, more,
Some parcels of their power are forth already,
And only hitherward. I leave your honours.
If we and Caius Marcius chance to meet,
'Tis sworn between us we shall ever strike
Till one can do no more.
The gods assist you!
And keep your honours safe!
SCENE III. Rome. An apartmnet in MARCIUS' house.
[Enter VOLUMNIA and VIRGILIA; they sit down on two low stools and
I pray you, daughter, sing, or express yourself in a more
comfortable sort; if my son were my husband, I should freelier
rejoice in that absence wherein he won honour than in the
embracements of his bed where he would show most love. When yet
he was but tender-bodied, and the only son of my womb; when youth
with comeliness pluck'd all gaze his way; when, for a day of
kings' entreaties, a mother should not sell him an hour from her
beholding; I,--considering how honour would become such a person;
that it was no better than picture-like to hang by th' wall if
renown made it not stir;--was pleased to let him seek danger
where he was to find fame. To a cruel war I sent him; from whence
he returned his brows bound with oak. I tell thee, daughter, I
sprang not more in joy at first hearing he was a man-child than
now in first seeing he had proved himself a man.
But had he died in the business, madam? how then?
Then his good report should have been my son; I therein
would have found issue. Hear me profess sincerely,--had I a dozen
sons, each in my love alike, and none less dear than thine and my
good Marcius, I had rather had eleven die nobly for their country
than one voluptuously surfeit out of action.
[Enter a GENTLEWOMAN.]
Madam, the Lady Valeria is come to visit you.
Beseech you, give me leave to retire myself.
Indeed you shall not.
Methinks I hear hither your husband's drum;
See him pluck Aufidius down by the hair;
As children from a bear, the Volsces shunning him:
Methinks I see him stamp thus, and call thus:--
'Come on, you cowards! you were got in fear
Though you were born in Rome:' his bloody brow
With his mail'd hand then wiping, forth he goes,
Like to a harvest-man that's tasked to mow
Or all, or lose his hire.
His bloody brow! O Jupiter, no blood!
Away, you fool! It more becomes a man
Than gilt his trophy: the breasts of Hecuba,
When she did suckle Hector, looked not lovelier
Than Hector's forehead when it spit forth blood
At Grecian swords contending.--Tell Valeria
We are fit to bid her welcome.
Heavens bless my lord from fell Aufidius!
He'll beat Aufidius' head below his knee,
And tread upon his neck.
[Re-enter GENTLEWOMAN, with VALERIA and her Usher.]
My ladies both, good-day to you.
I am glad to see your ladyship.
How do you both? you are manifest housekeepers. What are
you sewing here? A fine spot, in good faith.--How does your
I thank your ladyship; well, good madam.
He had rather see the swords and hear a drum than look upon his
O' my word, the father's son: I'll swear 'tis a very pretty boy.
O' my troth, I looked upon him o' Wednesday, half an hour
together: has such a confirmed countenance. I saw him run after a
gilded butterfly; and when he caught it he let it go again; and
after it again; and over and over he comes, and up again; catched
it again; or whether his fall enraged him, or how 'twas, he did
so set his teeth and tear it; O, I warrant, how he mammocked it!
One on's father's moods.
Indeed, la, 'tis a noble child.
A crack, madam.
Come, lay aside your stitchery; I must have you play the idle
huswife with me this afternoon.
No, good madam; I will not out of doors.
Not out of doors!
She shall, she shall.
Indeed, no, by your patience; I'll not over the threshold till my
lord return from the wars.
Fie, you confine yourself most unreasonably; come, you must go
visit the good lady that lies in.
I will wish her speedy strength, and visit her with my prayers;
but I cannot go thither.
Why, I pray you?
'Tis not to save labour, nor that I want love.
You would be another Penelope; yet they say all the yarn she spun
in Ulysses' absence did but fill Ithaca full of moths. Come; I
would your cambric were sensible as your finger, that you might
leave pricking it for pity.--Come, you shall go with us.
No, good madam, pardon me; indeed I will not forth.
In truth, la, go with me; and I'll tell you excellent news
of your husband.
O, good madam, there can be none yet.
Verily, I do not jest with you; there came news from him last
In earnest, it's true; I heard a senator speak it. Thus it
is:--the Volsces have an army forth; against whom Cominius the
general is gone, with one part of our Roman power: your lord and
Titus Lartius are set down before their city Corioli; they
nothing doubt prevailing, and to make it brief wars. This is
true, on mine honour; and so, I pray, go with us.
Give me excuse, good madam; I will obey you in everything
Let her alone, lady; as she is now, she will but disease our
In troth, I think she would.--Fare you well, then.--Come,
good sweet lady.--Pr'ythee, Virgilia, turn thy solemness out o'
door and go along with us.
No, at a word, madam; indeed I must not. I wish you much mirth.
Well then, farewell.
SCENE IV. Before Corioli.
[Enter, with drum and colours, MARCIUS, TITUS LARTIUS, Officers,
Yonder comes news:--a wager they have met.
My horse to yours, no.
[Enter a Messenger.]
Say, has our general met the enemy?
They lie in view; but have not spoke as yet.
So, the good horse is mine.
I'll buy him of you.
No, I'll nor sell nor give him: lend you him I will
For half a hundred years.--Summon the town.
How far off lie these armies?
Within this mile and half.
Then shall we hear their 'larum, and they ours.--
Now, Mars, I pr'ythee, make us quick in work,
That we with smoking swords may march from hence
To help our fielded friends!--Come, blow thy blast.
[They sound a parley. Enter, on the Walls, some Senators and
Tullus Aufidius, is he within your walls?
No, nor a man that fears you less than he,
That's lesser than a little.
[Drum afar off]
Hark, our drums
Are bringing forth our youth! we'll break our walls
Rather than they shall pound us up: our gates,
Which yet seem shut, we have but pinn'd with rushes;
They'll open of themselves.
[Alarum far off.]
Hark you far off!
There is Aufidius; list what work he makes
Amongst your cloven army.
O, they are at it!
Their noise be our instruction.--Ladders, ho!
[The Volsces enter and pass over.]
They fear us not, but issue forth their city.
Now put your shields before your hearts, and fight
With hearts more proof than shields.--Advance, brave Titus:
They do disdain us much beyond our thoughts,
Which makes me sweat with wrath.--Come on, my fellows:
He that retires, I'll take him for a Volsce,
And he shall feel mine edge.
[Alarums, and exeunt Romeans and Volsces fighting. Romans are
beaten back to their trenches. Re-enter MARCIUS.]
All the contagion of the south light on you,
You shames of Rome!--you herd of--Boils and plagues
Plaster you o'er, that you may be abhorr'd
Farther than seen, and one infect another
Against the wind a mile! You souls of geese
That bear the shapes of men, how have you run
From slaves that apes would beat! Pluto and hell!
All hurt behind; backs red, and faces pale
With flight and agued fear! Mend, and charge home,
Or, by the fires of heaven, I'll leave the foe
And make my wars on you: look to't: come on;
If you'll stand fast we'll beat them to their wives,
As they us to our trenches.
[Another alarum. The Volsces and Romans re-enter, and the fight
is renewed. The Volsces retire into Corioli, and MARCIUS follows
them to the gates.]
So, now the gates are ope:--now prove good seconds:
'Tis for the followers fortune widens them,
Not for the fliers: mark me, and do the like.
[He enters the gates]
Fool-hardiness: not I.
[MARCIUS is shut in.]
See, they have shut him in.
To th' pot, I warrant him.
[Re-enter TITUS LARTIUS.]
What is become of Marcius?
Slain, sir, doubtless.
Following the fliers at the very heels,
With them he enters; who, upon the sudden,
Clapp'd-to their gates: he is himself alone,
To answer all the city.
O noble fellow!
Who sensible, outdares his senseless sword,
And when it bows stands up! Thou art left, Marcius:
A carbuncle entire, as big as thou art,
Were not so rich a jewel. Thou wast a soldier
Even to Cato's wish, not fierce and terrible
Only in strokes; but with thy grim looks and
The thunder-like percussion of thy sounds
Thou mad'st thine enemies shake, as if the world
Were feverous and did tremble.
[Re-enter MARCIUS, bleeding, assaulted by the enemy.]
O, 'tis Marcius!
Let's fetch him off, or make remain alike.
[They fight, and all enter the city.]
SCENE V. Within Corioli. A street.
[Enter certain Romans, with spoils.]
This will I carry to Rome.
And I this.
A murrain on't! I took this for silver.
[Alarum continues still afar off.]
[Enter MARCIUS and TITUS LARTIUS with a trumpet.]
See here these movers that do prize their hours
At a crack'd drachma! Cushions, leaden spoons,
Irons of a doit, doublets that hangmen would
Bury with those that wore them, these base slaves,
Ere yet the fight be done, pack up:--down with them!--
And hark, what noise the general makes!--To him!--
There is the man of my soul's hate, Aufidius,
Piercing our Romans; then, valiant Titus, take
Convenient numbers to make good the city;
Whilst I, with those that have the spirit, will haste
To help Cominius.
Worthy sir, thou bleed'st;
Thy exercise hath been too violent
For a second course of fight.
Sir, praise me not;
My work hath yet not warm'd me: fare you well;
The blood I drop is rather physical
Than dangerous to me: to Aufidius thus
I will appear, and fight.
Now the fair goddess, Fortune,
Fall deep in love with thee; and her great charms
Misguide thy opposers' swords! Bold gentleman,
Prosperity be thy page!
Thy friend no less
Than those she placeth highest!--So farewell.
Thou worthiest Marcius!--
Go, sound thy trumpet in the market-place;
Call thither all the officers o' the town,
Where they shall know our mind: away!
SCENE VI. Near the camp of COMINIUS.
[Enter COMINIUS and Foreces, retreating.]
Breathe you, my friends: well fought; we are come off
Like Romans, neither foolish in our stands
Nor cowardly in retire: believe me, sirs,
We shall be charg'd again. Whiles we have struck,
By interims and conveying gusts we have heard
The charges of our friends. The Roman gods,
Lead their successes as we wish our own,
That both our powers, with smiling fronts encountering,
May give you thankful sacrifice!--
[Enter A MESSENGER.]
The citizens of Corioli have issued,
And given to Lartius and to Marcius battle:
I saw our party to their trenches driven,
And then I came away.
Though thou speak'st truth,
Methinks thou speak'st not well. How long is't since?
Above an hour, my lord.
'Tis not a mile; briefly we heard their drums:
How couldst thou in a mile confound an hour,
And bring thy news so late?
Spies of the Volsces
Held me in chase, that I was forc'd to wheel
Three or four miles about; else had I, sir,
Half an hour since brought my report.
That does appear as he were flay'd? O gods!
He has the stamp of Marcius; and I have
Before-time seen him thus.
[Within.] Come I too late?
The shepherd knows not thunder from a tabor
More than I know the sound of Marcius' tongue
From every meaner man.
Come I too late?
Ay, if you come not in the blood of others,
But mantled in your own.
O! let me clip ye
In arms as sound as when I woo'd; in heart
As merry as when our nuptial day was done,
And tapers burn'd to bedward.
Flower of warriors,
How is't with Titus Lartius?
As with a man busied about decrees:
Condemning some to death and some to exile;
Ransoming him or pitying, threat'ning the other;
Holding Corioli in the name of Rome,
Even like a fawning greyhound in the leash,
To let him slip at will.
Where is that slave
Which told me they had beat you to your trenches?
Where's he? call him hither.
Let him alone;
He did inform the truth: but for our gentlemen,
The common file,--a plague!--tribunes for them!--
The mouse ne'er shunned the cat as they did budge
From rascals worse than they.
But how prevail'd you?
Will the time serve to tell? I do not think.
Where is the enemy? are you lords o' the field?
If not, why cease you till you are so?
We have at disadvantage fought, and did
Retire, to win our purpose.
How lies their battle? know you on which side
They have placed their men of trust?
As I guess, Marcius,
Their bands in the vaward are the Antiates,
Of their best trust; o'er them Aufidius,
Their very heart of hope.
I do beseech you,
By all the battles wherein we have fought,
By the blood we have shed together, by the vows
We have made to endure friends, that you directly
Set me against Aufidius and his Antiates;
And that you not delay the present, but,
Filling the air with swords advanc'd and darts,
We prove this very hour.
Though I could wish
You were conducted to a gentle bath,
And balms applied to you, yet dare I never
Deny your asking: take your choice of those
That best can aid your action.
Those are they
That most are willing.--If any such be here,--
As it were sin to doubt,--that love this painting
Wherein you see me smear'd; if any fear
Lesser his person than an ill report;
If any think brave death outweighs bad life,
And that his country's dearer than himself;
Let him alone, or so many so minded,
Wave thus [waving his hand], to express his disposition,
And follow Marcius.
[They all shout and wave their swords; take him up in their arms
and cast up their caps.]
O, me alone! Make you a sword of me?
If these shows be not outward, which of you
But is four Volsces? none of you but is
Able to bear against the great Aufidius
A shield as hard as his. A certain number,
Though thanks to all, must I select from all: the rest
Shall bear the business in some other fight,
As cause will be obey'd. Please you to march;
And four shall quickly draw out my command,
Which men are best inclin'd.
March on, my fellows;
Make good this ostentation, and you shall
Divide in all with us.
SCENE VII. The gates of Corioli.
[TITUS LARTIUS, having set a guard upon Corioli, going with drum
and trumpet toward COMINIUS and CAIUS MARCIUS, enters with a
LIEUTENANT, a party of Soldiers, and a Scout.]
So, let the ports be guarded: keep your duties
As I have set them down. If I do send, despatch
Those centuries to our aid; the rest will serve
For a short holding: if we lose the field
We cannot keep the town.
Fear not our care, sir.
Hence, and shut your gates upon's.--
Our guider, come; to the Roman camp conduct us.
SCENE VIII. A field of battle between the Roman and the Volscian
[Alarum. Enter, from opposite sides, MARCIUS and AUFIDIUS.]
I'll fight with none but thee, for I do hate thee
Worse than a promise-breaker.
We hate alike:
Not Afric owns a serpent I abhor
More than thy fame and envy. Fix thy foot.
Let the first budger die the other's slave,
And the gods doom him after!
If I fly, Marcius,
Halloo me like a hare.
Within these three hours, Tullus,
Alone I fought in your Corioli walls,
And made what work I pleas'd: 'tis not my blood
Wherein thou seest me mask'd: for thy revenge
Wrench up thy power to the highest.
Wert thou the Hector
That was the whip of your bragg'd progeny,
Thou shouldst not scape me here.--
[They fight, and certain Volsces come to the aid of AUFIDIUS.]
Officious, and not valiant,--you have sham'd me
In your condemned seconds.
[Exeunt fighting, driven in by MAR.]
SCENE IX. The Roman camp.
[Alarum. A retreat is sounded. Flourish. Enter, at one side,
COMINIUS and Romans; at the other side, MARCIUS, with his arm
in a scarf, and other Romans.]
If I should tell thee o'er this thy day's work,
Thou't not believe thy deeds: but I'll report it
Where senators shall mingle tears with smiles;
Where great patricians shall attend, and shrug,
I' the end admire; where ladies shall be frighted
And, gladly quak'd, hear more; where the dull tribunes,
That, with the fusty plebeians, hate thine honours,
Shall say, against their hearts 'We thank the gods
Our Rome hath such a soldier.'
Yet cam'st thou to a morsel of this feast,
Having fully dined before.
[Enter TITUS LARTIUS, with his power, from the pursuit.]
Here is the steed, we the caparison:
Hadst thou beheld,--
Pray now, no more: my mother,
Who has a charter to extol her blood,
When she does praise me grieves me. I have done
As you have done,--that's what I can; induced
As you have been,--that's for my country:
He that has but effected his good will
Hath overta'en mine act.
You shall not be
The grave of your deserving; Rome must know
The value of her own: 'twere a concealment
Worse than a theft, no less than a traducement,
To hide your doings; and to silence that
Which, to the spire and top of praises vouch'd,
Would seem but modest: therefore, I beseech you,--
In sign of what you are, not to reward
What you have done,--before our army hear me.
I have some wounds upon me, and they smart
To hear themselves remember'd.
Should they not,
Well might they fester 'gainst ingratitude,
And tent themselves with death. Of all the horses,--
Whereof we have ta'en good, and good store,--of all
The treasure in this field achiev'd and city,
We render you the tenth; to be ta'en forth
Before the common distribution at
Your only choice.
I thank you, general,
But cannot make my heart consent to take
A bribe to pay my sword: I do refuse it;
And stand upon my common part with those
That have beheld the doing.
[A long flourish. They all cry 'Marcius, Marcius!', cast up their
caps and lances. COMINIUS and LARTIUS stand bare.]
May these same instruments which you profane
Never sound more! When drums and trumpets shall
I' the field prove flatterers, let courts and cities be
Made all of false-fac'd soothing.
When steel grows soft as the parasite's silk,
Let him be made a coverture for the wars.
No more, I say! for that I have not wash'd
My nose that bled, or foil'd some debile wretch,--
Which, without note, here's many else have done,--
You shout me forth in acclamations hyperbolical;
As if I loved my little should be dieted
In praises sauc'd with lies.
Too modest are you;
More cruel to your good report than grateful
To us that give you truly; by your patience,
If 'gainst yourself you be incens'd, we'll put you,--
Like one that means his proper harm,--in manacles,
Then reason safely with you.--Therefore be it known,
As to us, to all the world, that Caius Marcius
Wears this war's garland: in token of the which,
My noble steed, known to the camp, I give him,
With all his trim belonging; and from this time,
For what he did before Corioli, call him,
With all the applause--and clamour of the host,
'Caius Marcius Coriolanus.'--
Bear the addition nobly ever!
[Flourish. Trumpets sound, and drums]
Caius Marcius Coriolanus!
I will go wash;
And when my face is fair you shall perceive
Whether I blush or no: howbeit, I thank you;--
I mean to stride your steed; and at all times
To undercrest your good addition
To the fairness of my power.
So, to our tent;
Where, ere we do repose us, we will write
To Rome of our success.--You, Titus Lartius,
Must to Corioli back: send us to Rome
The best, with whom we may articulate
For their own good and ours.
I shall, my lord.
The gods begin to mock me. I, that now
Refus'd most princely gifts, am bound to beg
Of my lord general.
Take't: 'tis yours.--What is't?
I sometime lay here in Corioli
At a poor man's house; he used me kindly:
He cried to me; I saw him prisoner;
But then Aufidius was within my view,
And wrath o'erwhelmed my pity: I request you
To give my poor host freedom.
O, well begg'd!
Were he the butcher of my son, he should
Be free as is the wind. Deliver him, Titus.
Marcius, his name?
By Jupiter, forgot:--
I am weary; yea, my memory is tir'd.--
Have we no wine here?
Go we to our tent:
The blood upon your visage dries; 'tis time
It should be look'd to: come.