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.

Previous section