Menenius.
No, I'll not go: you hear what he hath said,
Which was sometime his general, who lov'd him,
In a most dear particular. He call'd me father;
But what o'that? go you that banish'd him,
A mile before his tent fall down, and knee
The way into his mercy: nay, if he coy'd
To hear Cominius speak, I'll keep at home.

Com.
He would not seem to know me.

Men.
Do you hear?

Com.
Yet one time he did call me by my name:
I urg'd our old acquaintance, and the drops
That we have bled together. Coriolanus
He would not answer to; forbad all names;
He was a kind of nothing, titleless,
'Till he had forg'd himself a name, i'th' fire
Of burning Rome.

Men.
Why, so; you've made good work:
A pair of Tribunes, that have reck'd for Rome,
To make coals cheap: a noble memory!

Com.
I minded him how royal 'twas to pardon,
When it was least expected. He reply'd,
It was a bare† ^note petition of a state,
To one whom they had punish'd.

Men.
Very well, could he say less?

Com.
I offer'd to awaken his regard,
For's private friends. His answer to me was,
He could not stay to pick them, in a pile
Of noisome musty chaff. He said, 'twas folly,
For one poor grain or two, to leave unburnt,
And still to nose th' offence.

Men.
For one poor grain
Or two; I'm one of those; his mother, wife,
His child, and this brave fellow, we're the grains;
You are the musty chaff, and you are smelt
Above the moon. We must be burnt, for you.‡ ^note

Sic.
Nay, pray be patient: if you refuse your aid,
In this so-never-needed help, yet do not
Upbraid's with our distress. But sure if you
Would be your country's pleader, your good tongue,
More than the instant army we can make,
Might stop our country-man.

Men.
No: I'll not meddle.

Sic.
Pray you go to him.

Men.
What should I do?

Bru.
Only make trial what your love can do,
For Rome, tow'rds Martius.

Men.
I'll undertake it:
I think he'll hear me. Yet to bite his lip,
And hum at good Cominius, much unhearts me.
He was not taken well, he had not din'd.
The veins unfill'd, our blood is cold, and then
We powt upon the morning, are unapt
To give or to forgive; but when we've stuff'd
These pipes, and these conveyances of blood,
With wine and feeding, we have suppler souls,
Than in our priest-like fasts: therefore I'll watch him,
'Till he be dieted to my request,
And then I'll set upon him.

Bru.
You know the very road into his kindness,
And cannot lose your way.

Men.
Good faith, I'll prove him,
Speed how it will. You shall ere long have knowledge
Of my success. [Exit.

Com.
He'll never hear him.

Sic.
Not?

Com
I tell you, he does sit in gold; his eye
Red as 'twould burn Rome; and his injury
The goaler to his pity. I kneel'd before him,
'Twas very faintly he said, Rise: dismiss'd me
Thus, with his speechless hand. What he would do,
He sent in writing after; what he would not,
Bound with an oath, not yield to new conditions:
So that all hope is vain, unless his mother,
And wife, who (as I hear) mean to solicit him,
Force mercy to his country: therefore, hence,
And with our fair intreaties haste them on. [Exeunt.

Scene SCENE, the Volscian camp. Enter Menenius to the watch or guard, discovered.

1 Watch.
Stay: whence are you?
Stand, and go back.

Men.
You guard like men, 'tis well. But by your leave,
I am an officer of state, and come
To speak with Coriolanus.

1 Watch.
Whence?

Men.
From Rome.

1 Watch.
You may not pass, you must return: our general
Will no more hear from thence.

Men.
Good my friends,
If you have heard your general talk of Rome,
And of his friends there, it is lots to blanks,
My name hath touch'd your ears; it is Menenius.

1 Watch.
Be it so, go back; the virtue of your name,
Is not here passable.

Men.
I tell thee, fellow,
Thy general is my lover: I have been
The book of his good acts, whence men have read
His fame unparallel'd, haply amplified:
Therefore, fellow, I must have leave to pass.

1 Watch.

'Faith, Sir, if you had told as many lies in his behalf, as you have utter'd words in your own, you should not pass here; therefore go back.

Men.

Has he din'd, canst thou tell? for I would not speak with him, 'till after dinner.

Cor.

What's the matter?

Men.

Now, you companion, I'll say an errand for you; you shall know now that I am in estimation; you shall perceive, that a jack-gardant cannot office me from my son Coriolanus; guess, by my entertainment with him, and swoon for what's to come upon thee.—The glorious gods sit in hourly synod, about thy particular prosperity, and love thee no worse

than thy old father Menenius does! O my son, my son! thou art preparing fire for us; look thee, here's water to quench it. I was hardly mov'd to come to thee, but being assured none but myself could move thee, I have been blown out of our gates, with sighs, and conjure thee to pardon Rome, and thy petitionary countrymen. The good gods asswage thy wrath, and turn the dregs of it upon this varlet here; this, who like a block, hath denied my access to thee—

Cor.

Away!§ ^note

Men.

How, away?

Cor.
Wife, mother, child, I know not. My affairs
Are servanted to others: though I owe
My revenge properly, remission lies
In Volscian breasts. That we have been familiar,
Ingrate forgetfulness shall poison, rather
Than pity note how much. Therefore, be gone;
Mine ears against your suits are stronger, than
Your gates against my force. Yet, for I loved thee,
Take this along; I writ it for thy sake, [Gives him a letter.
And would have sent it. Another word, Menenius,
I will not hear thee speak. [Exeunt. Manent the guard and Menenius.

1 Watch.

Now, Sir, is your name Menenius?

Men.

I neither care for th' world, nor your general: for such things as you, I can scarce think there's any, y'are so slight. He that hath a will to die by himself, fears it not from another: I say to you, as I was said to, Away!* ^note

Scene SCENE. A march. Re-enter Coriolanus, Aufidius, and Volscians.

Cor.
We will before the walls of Rome, to-morrow,
Set down our host. My partner in this action,
You must report to the Volscian lords how plainly
I've borne this business.

Auf.
Only their ends you have respected; stopt
Your ears against the general suit of Rome;
Never admitted private whisper; no,
Not with such friends that thought them sure of you.

Cor.
This last old man,
Whom with a crack'd heart I have sent to Rome,
Lov'd me above the measure of a father;
Nay, godded me, indeed. Their latest refuge,
Was to send him: for whose old love, I have
(Tho' I shew'd sow'rly to him) once more offer'd
The first conditions, which they did refuse,
And cannot now accept, to grace him only,
That thought he could do more; a very little
I've yielded to. Fresh embassie, and suits,
Nor from the state, nor private friends, hereafter,
Will I lend ear to. [Shout.
Ha! what shout is this?
Shall I be tempted to infringe my vow,
In the same time 'tis made? I will not— Enter Virgilia, Volumnia, Valeria, young Martius, with attendants, all in mourning.
My wife comes foremost, then the honour'd mould,
Wherein this trunk was fram'd, and in her hand
The grand-child to her blood. But out, affection!
All bond and privilege of nature break!
Let it be virtuous, to be obstinate. [Virgilia bends.
What is that curt'sie worth? or those dove's eyes,
Which can make gods forsworn? I melt, and am not
Of stronger earth than others: my mother bows, [Volumnia bends.
As if Olympus to a mole-hill should
In supplication nod; and my young boy

Hath an aspect of intercession, which
Great nature cries, Deny not. Let the Volscians
Plough Rome, and harrow Italy; I'll never
Be such a gosling to obey instinct: but stand
As if a man were author of himself,
And knew no other kin.

Vir.
My lord and husband!

Cor.
These eyes are not the same I wore in Rome.

Vir.
The sorrow that delivers us thus chang'd,
Makes you think so.

Cor.
Best of my flesh,
Forgive my tyranny, but do not say,
For that, Forgive our Romans.—O, a kiss
Long as my exile, sweet as my revenge!
Now, by the jealous queen of heav'n, that kiss
I carried from thee, dear; and my true lip
Hath virgin'd it, e'er since.—You gods! I prate,
And the most noble mother of the world,
Leave unsaluted: sink, my knee, i'th' earth; [Kneels.
Of thy deep duty more impression shew,
Than that of common sons.* ^note † ^note

Vol.
Thou art my warrior,
I holp to frame thee. Do you know this lady? [Pointing to Valeria.

Cor.
The noble sister of Poplicola:
The moon of Rome; chaste as the icicle,

That's curdled by the frost from purest snow,
And hangs on Dian's temple: dear Valeria—* ^note

Vol.
This is a poor epitome of yours, [Shewing young Martius.
Which by th' interpretation of full time,
May shew like all yourself.

Cor.
The god of soldiers,
With the consent of supreme Jove, inform
Thy thoughts with nobleness, that thou may'st prove
To shame invulnerable, and stick i'th' wars,
Like a great sea-mark, standing every flaw,
And saving those that eye thee!

Vol.
Your knee, sirrah.

Cor.
That's my brave boy.

Vol.
Even he, your wife, this lady, and myself,
Are suitors to you.

Cor.
I beseech you, peace:
Or if you'd ask, remember this, before;
The thing I have forsworn to grant, may never
Be held by you denial. Do not bid me
Dismiss my soldiers, or capitulate
Again with Rome's mechanicks. Tell me not
Wherein I seem unnatural: desire not
T' allay my rages and revenges, with
Your colder reasons.

Vol.
Oh, no more: no more:
You've said you will not grant us any thing:
For we have nothing else to ask, but that
Which you deny already: yet we will ask,
That if we fail in our request, the blame
May hang upon your hardness; therefore, hear us.

Cor.
Aufidius, and you Volscians, mark; for we'll
Hear nought from Rome, in private.—Your request?

Vol.
Should we be silent and not speak, our raiment,
And state of bodies, would bewray what life
We've led, since thy exile. Think with thyself,
How more unfort'nate than all living women,
Are we come hither; since thy sight, which should

Make our eyes flow with joy, hearts dance with comforts,
Constrains them weep, and shake with fear and sorrow;
Making the mother, wife, and child, to see
The son, the husband, and the father, tearing
His country's bowels out: and to poor we
Thine enmity's most capital; thou barr'st us
Our prayers to the gods, which is a comfort,
That all but we enjoy. For we must find
An eminent calamity, tho' we had
Our wish, which side shou'd win. For either thou
Must, as a foreign recreant,* ^note be led
With manacles along our streets, or else
Triumphantly tread on thy country's ruin,
And bear the palm for having bravely shed
Thy wife and children's blood. For myself, son,
If I can't persuade thee
Rather to shew a noble grace to both parts,
Than seek the end of one; thou shalt not sooner
March to assault thy country, than to tread
(Trust to't, thou shalt not) on thy mother's womb,
That brought thee to this world.

Virg.
Ay, and mine too,
That brought you forth this boy, to keep your name
Living to time.

Cor.
Not of a woman's tenderness to be,
Requires nor child nor woman's face to see;
I've sat, too long.

Vol.
Nay, go not from us thus:
If it were so, that our request did tend
To save the Romans, thereby to destroy
The Volscians whom you serve, you might condemn us
As poisoners of your honour. No; our suit
Is that you reconcile them: while the Volscians
May say, This mercy we have shew'd; the Romans,
This we receiv'd; and each on either side,
Give the all-hail to thee, and cry, Be blest,

For making up this peace! Thou know'st, great son,
The end of war's uncertain; but this certain,
That if thou conquer Rome, the benefit,
Which thou shalt thereby reap, is such a name,
Whose repetition will be dogg'd with curses;
Whose chronicle thus writ—The man was noble—
But with his last attempt he wip'd it out,
Destroy'd his country, and his name remains,
To th' ensuing age, abhorr'd. Speak to me, son:
Why dost not speak?
Think'st thou it honourable for a nobleman,
Still to remember wrongs? Daughter, speak you;
He cares not for your weeping. Speak thou, boy;
Perhaps thy childishness will move him more,
Than can our reasons. There's no man in the world,
More bound to's mother, yet here he lets me prate,
Like one i'th' stocks. Thou'st never, in thy life,
Shew'd thy dear mother any courtesie;
When she (poor hen) fond of no second brood,
Has cluck'd thee to the wars, and safely home,
Loaden with honour. Say, my request's unjust,
And spurn me back; but if it be not so,
Thou art not honest, and the gods will plague thee,
That thou restrain'st from me the duty, which
To a mother's part belongs. He turns away:
Down, ladies; let us shame him with our knees.
To his surname Coriolanus 'longs more pride,
Than pity to our prayers. Down; and end;
This is the last. So we will home to Rome,
And die among our neighbours: nay, behold us,
This boy, that cannot tell what he would have,
But kneels, and holds up hands for fellowship,
Does reason our petition with more strength,
Than thou hast to deny't. Come, let us go:
This fellow had a Volscian to his mother:
His wife is in Corioli, and this child
Like him by chance; yet give us our dispatch

I'm husht, until our city be afire,
And then I'll speak a little.* ^note

Cor.
Oh mother, mother!— [Holds her by the hands, silent.
What have you done? behold, the heav'ns do ope,
The gods look down, and this unnatural scene
They laugh at. O, mother, mother!
You've won a happy victory to Rome:† ^note
But for your son, believe it, oh, believe it,
Most dang'rously you have with him prevail'd,
If not most mortal to him. Let it come—
Aufidius, though I cannot make true wars,
I'll frame convenient peace. Now, good Aufidius,
Were you in my stead, say, would you have heard
A mother less? or granted less, Aufidius?

Auf.
I too was mov'd.

Cor.
I dare be sworn you were;
And, Sir, it is no little thing to make
Mine eyes to sweat compassion. But, good Sir,
O mother! wife!

Auf.
I'm glad thou'st set thy mercy and thy honour
At difference in thee, out of that I'll work
Myself a former fortune. [Aside.

Cor.
Ay, by and by;
And you shall bear [To Volumnia, Virg. &c.
A better witness back, than words, which we
On like conditions will have counterseal'd.

Auf.
Ladies, you deserve
To have a temple built you: all the swords
In Italy, and her confederate arms,
Could not have made this peace.

Cor.
Come, enter with us. [A March. Exeunt.

Scene SCENE, the Forum. Enter Menenius and Sicinius.

Men.
See you yon coin o'th' capitol, yon corner stone?

Sic.
Why, what of that?

Men.

If it be possible for you to displace it, with your little finger, there is some hope the ladies of Rome, especially his mother, may prevail with him. But I say there is no hope in't; our throats are sentenc'd, and stay upon execution.

Sic.

Is't possible that so short a time can alter the condition of a man?

Men.

There is difference between a grub and a butterfly; yet your butterfly was a grub; this Martius is grown from man to dragon: he has wings; he's more than a creeping thing.

Sic.

He lov'd his mother, dearly.

Men.

So did he me; and he no more remembers his mother now, than an eight years old horse. The tartness of his face sours ripe grapes. When he walks, he moves like an engine, and the ground shrinks before his treading. He is able to pierce a corslet, with his eye: talks like a knell, and his hum is a battery. He sits in his state, as a thing made for Alexander. What he bids be done, is finish'd with his bidding. He wants nothing of a god, but eternity, and a heaven to throne in.

Sic.

Yes, mercy, if you report him truly.

Men.

I paint him in the character. Mark what mercy his mother shall bring from him; there is no more mercy in him, than there is milk in a male tyger; that shall our poor city find; and all this is long of you.

Sic.

The gods be good unto us!

Men.

No, in such a case the gods will not be good unto us. When we banish'd him, we respected not them: and he, returning to break our necks, they respect not us.

Enter Messenger.

Mes.
Sir, if you'd save your life, fly to your house;
The Plebeians have got your fellow-tribune,
And hale him up and down; all swearing, if
The Roman ladies bring not comfort home,
They'll give him death by inches. Enter another Messenger.

Sic.
What's the news?

Mes.
Good news, good news, the ladies have prevail'd,
The Volscians are dislodg'd, and Martius gone:
A merrier day did never yet greet Rome;
No, not th' expulsion of the Tarquins.

Sic.
Friend,
Art certain this is true? is it most certain?

Mes.
As certain as I know the sun is fire:
Where have you lurk'd, that you make doubt of it?
Ne'er through an arch so hurried the blown tide,
As the recomforted through th' gates.
Why, hark you; [Trumpets and shouts.
The trumpets, and the shouting Romans
Make the sun dance. Hark you. [A shout within.

Men.
This is good news?
I will go meet the ladies. This Volumnia
Is worth of consuls, senators, patricians,
A city full: of tribunes, such as you,
A sea and land full. You've pray'd well, to-day:
This morning, for ten thousand of your throats,
I'd not have given a doit. Hark how they joy. [Sound still, with the shouts.

Sic.
First, the gods bless you, for your tidings! next,
Accept my thankfulness.

Mes.
Sir, we have all great cause to give great thanks.

Sic.
They're near the city?

Mes.
Almost at point to enter.

Sic.
We'll meet them, and help the joy. [Exeunt.

Scene SCENE, Antium. A march. Enter Tullus Aufidius, with Attendants.

Auf.
Go tell the lords o'th' city, I am here:
Deliver them this paper; having read it,
Bid them repair to the market-place, where I,
Even in theirs, and in the commons ears,
Will vouch the truth of it. He, I accuse,
The city ports by this hath enter'd, and
Intends t' appear before the people, hoping
To purge himself with words. Dispatch. Enter three or four conspirators of Aufidius's faction.
Most welcome!

1 Con.
How is it with our general?

Auf.
Even so,
As with a man by his own alms impoison'd,
And with his charity slain.

2 Con.
Most noble Sir,
If you do hold the same intent, wherein
You wish'd us parties; we'll deliver you
Of your great danger.

Auf.
Sir, I cannot tell;
We must proceed, as we do find the people.

3 Con.
The people will remain uncertain, whilst
'Twixt you there's difference; but the fall of either,
Makes the survivor heir of all.

Auf.
I know it;
And my pretext to strike at him admits
A good construction.
Being banish'd Rome, he came unto my hearth,
Presented to my knife his throat; I took him,
Made him joint servant with me; gave him way,
In all his own desires; nay, let him chuse
Out of my files, his projects to accomplish,
My best and freshest men; serv'd his designments,
In mine own person; holp to reap the fame,
Which he did make all his; and took some pride
To do myself this wrong; 'till at the last,
I seem'd his follower, not partner; and

He wag'd† ^note me with his countenance, as if
I had been mercenary.* ^note

1 Con.
So he did, my lord:
The army marvell'd at it, and, at last,
When he had carried Rome, and that we look'd
For no less spoil, than glory—

Auf.
There was it:
For which my sinews shall be stretch'd upon him:
At a few drops of women's rheum, which are
As cheap as lies, he sold the blood and labour
Of our great action; therefore, shall he die,
And I'll renew me, in his fall.
But, hark. [Drums and trumpets sound, with great shouts of the people.

1 Con.
Your native town you enter'd like a post,
And had no welcomes home, but he returns,
Splitting the air with noise.

Auf.
Say no more,
Here come the lords. Enter the lords of the city.

All Lords.
You are most welcome home.

Auf.
I have not deserv'd it.
But, worthy lords, have you with heed perus'd
What I have written?

All.
We have.

1 Lord.
And grieve to hear it.
What faults he made before the last, I think
Might have found easy fines: but there to end
Where he was to begin, and give away
The benefit of our levies, answering us
With our own charge, making a treaty, where
There was a yielding, admits no excuse.

Auf.
He approaches; you shall hear him.

Scene SCENE. Enter Coriolanus.

Cor.
Hail, lords; I am return'd, your soldier;
No more infected with my country's love,
Than when I parted hence, but still subsisting
Under your great command. You are to know,
That prosperously I have attempted, and
With bloody passage led your wars, even to
The gates of Rome: our spoils we have brought home,
Do more than counterpoise, a full third part,
The charges of the action. We've made peace,
With no less honour to the Antiates,
Than shame to th' Romans: and we here deliver,
Subscribed by the consuls and patricians,
Together with the seal o'th' senate, what
We have compounded on.

Auf.
Read it not, noble lords:
But tell the traitor, in the highest degree,
He hath abus'd your powers.

Cor.
Traitor!—how now!—

Auf.
Ay, traitor, Martius.

Cor.
Martius!—

Auf.
Ay, Martius, Caius Martius; dost thou think
I'll grace thee with that robbery, thy stol'n name
Coriolanus, in Corioli?
You lords, and head o'th' state, perfidiously
He has betray'd your business, and given up,
For certain drops of salt, your city Rome:
I say your city, to his wife and mother;
Breaking his oath and resolution, like
A twist of rotten silk, never admitting
Counsel o'th' war; but at his nurse's tears,
He whin'd and roar'd away your victory,
That pages blush'd at him, and men of heart,
Look'd wond'ring each at other.

Cor.
Hear'st thou, Mars?

Auf.
Name not the god, thou boy of tears.

Cor.
Ha!

Auf.
No more.

Cor.
Measureless liar, thou hast made my heart
Too great for what contains it. Boy? O slave?—
* ^notePardon me, lords, 'tis the first time I ever
Was forc'd to scold. Your judgments, my grave lords,
Must give this cur the lie; and his own notion,
Who wears my stripes imprest upon him, that
Must bear my beating to his grave, shall join
To thrust the lie unto him.

1 Lord.
Peace, both, and hear me speak.

Cor.
Cut me to pieces, Volscians, men and lads,
Stain all your edges in me. Boy? false hound!—
If you have writ your annals true, 'tis there,
That like an eagle in a dove-coat, I
Flutter'd your Volscians in Corioli.
Alone I did it. Boy?—

Auf.
Why, noble lords,
Will you be put in mind of his blind fortune,
Which was your shame, by this unholy braggart,
'Fore your own eyes and ears?

All Con.
Let him die for't.

2 Lord.
Peace—no outrage—peace—
The man is noble, and his fame folds in
This orb o'th' earth; his last offences to us,
Shall have judicious hearing. Stand, Aufidius,
And trouble not the peace.

Cor.
O that I had him,
With six Aufidius's, or more; his tribe;
To use my lawful sword—

Auf.
Insolent villain!

All Con.† ^note
Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill him. [The conspirators all draw, and kill Martius, who falls, and Aufidius stands on him.

Lords.
Hold, hold, hold, hold.

Auf.
My noble masters, hear me speak.
My lords, when you shall know (as in this rage
Provok'd by him, I cannot) the great danger,
Which this man's life did owe you, you'll rejoice
That he is thus cut off. Please it your honours,
To call me to your senate, I'll deliver
Myself your loyal servant, or endure
Your heaviest censure.

1 Lord.
Bear from hence his body,
And mourn you for him. Let him be regarded,
As the most noble coarse, that ever herald
Did follow to his urn.

Auf.
My rage is gone,* ^note
And I am struck with sorrow: take him up:
Help three o'th' chiefest soldiers; I'll be one.
Beat thou the drum that it speak mournfully:
Trail your steel pikes. Though in this city he
Hath widowed and unchilded many a one,
Which to this hour bewail the injury;
Yet he shall have a noble memory. † ^note[Exeunt, bearing the body of Martius. A dead march sounded.

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