SCENE I.
A Street in Rome.
A tumultuous Noise behind.
Enter a Company of Mutinous Citizens.
1 Citizen.
Before we proceed any further, here me speak.
All.
Speak, speak.
1 Cit.
You are all resolved rather to die, than
to famish?
All.
Resolv'd, resolv'd.
-- 6 --
1 Cit.
First, you know, Caius Marcius is the
chief enemy to the people.
All.
We know't.
1 Cit.
Let us kill him, and we'll have corn at
our own price. Is't a verdict?
All.
Let't be done; away, away!
2 Cit.
One word, good citizens. Would you
proceed especially against Caius Marcius?
1 Cit.
Against him first: he's a very dog to
the commonalty.
2 Cit.
Consider you what services he has done
for his country.
1 Cit.
Very well;—and could be content to give
him good report for't, but that he pays himself with
being proud
2 Cit.
Nay, but speak not maliciously.
1 Cit.
I say unto you, what he hath done famously,
he did it to please his mother, and partly
to be proud; which he is, even to the altitude
of his virtue.
2 Cit.
What he cannot help in his nature, you
account a vice in him: you must in no way say he
is covetous.
1 Cit.
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 those? the other side o'th' city is
risen! why stay we prating here? to th' Capitol—
All.
Come, come.
-- 7 --
Enter Caius Marcius and Menenius.
Mar.
What's the matter, you dissentious rogues.
1 Cit.
We have ever your good word.
Mar.
He that will give good words to thee, will flatter
Beneath abhorring. What would you have, ye curs,
That like not 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. 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 the 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?
Men.
For corn at their own rates, whereof, they say,
The city is well stor'd.
Mar.
Hang 'em: they say!—
They'll sit by th' fire, and presume to know
-- 8 --
What's done i'th' Capitol;
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 of thousands of these quarter'd slaves,
As high as I could pitch my lance.
Men.
I beseech you, What says the other troop?
Mar.
They are dissolv'd
They said they were an hungry, sigh'd forth proverbs;
That hunger broke stone walls—that dogs must eat—
With these shreds, that meat was made for mouths
That the God's sent not corn for the rich men only,
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 pow'r look pale;
They threw their caps
As they would hang them on the horns o'th' moon,
Shouting their emulation.
Men.
What is granted them!
Mar.
Five tribunes to defend their vulgar wisdoms,
Of their own choice. One Junius Brutus,
Sicinius Velutus, and I know not &wblank;'s death!
The rabble should have first unroof'd the city,
-- 9 --
Ere so prevail'd with me: it will in time
Win upon power, and throw forth greater themes,
For insurrection's arguing.
Men.
This is strange.
Mar.
Go, get you home, you fragments!
Enter a Roman Officer.
Officer.
Where's Caius Marcius?
Mar.
Here—what is the matter?
Officer.
The news Sir, is, the Volscians are in arms.
Mar.
I am glad on't, then we shall have means to vent
Our musty superfluity.
Enter Cominius, Sicinius and Brutus.
Com.
Martius, 'tis true what you have lately told us,
The Volscians are in arms.
Mar.
They have a leader,
Tullus Aufidius, that will put you to't.
I sin in envying his nobility:
And were I any thing but what I am,
I'd wish me only him.
Com.
You have fought together?
Mar.
Were half to half the world by th' 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.
Men.
Then, worthy Marcius,
Attend upon Cominius to these wars.
Com.
It is your former promise.
-- 10 --
Mar.
Sir, it is;
And I am constant: thou
Shalt see me once more strike at Tullus' face.
Men.
O true bred!
Com.
Your company to th' Capitol; where I know
Our greatest friends attend us.
Mar.
Lead you on;
Men.
Hence to your homes—be gone.
(To the Citizens.
Mar.
Nay, let them follow;
The Volscians have much corn: take these rats thither,
To gnaw their garners. Worshipful mutineers,
Your valour puts well forth; I pray you follow.
[Exeunt. Cominius, Marcius and Menenius, Citizens steal away.
Sic.
Was ever man so proud
As is this Marcius?
Bru.
He has no equal.
Sic.
When we were chosen tribunes of the people.
Bru.
Mark'd you his lip and eyes?
Sic.
Nay, but his taunts.
Bru.
Being mov'd, he will not spare to gird the Gods—
The present war devour him! he is grown
Too proud of being so valiant.
Sic.
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,
Under Cominius.
-- 11 --
Bru.
Fame, at which he aims,
In which 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, tho' he perform
To the utmost of a man; and giddy censure
Will then cry out of Marcius; oh, if he
Had borne the business—
Sic.
And if things go well,
Opinion, that so sticks on Marcius, shall
Of his demerits rob Cominius.
Bru.
Come;
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.
Sic.
Let's hence, and hear
How the dispatch is made; and in what fashion,
More than his singularity, he goes
Upon this present action.
Bru.
Let's along.
(Exeunt.
SCENE II.
A Chamber in Caius Marcius's house in Rome.
Enter Volumnia and Virgilia,
Vol.
I pray you, daughter, sing, or express yourself
in a more comfortable sort: if my son were my
husband, I would freely rejoice in that absence,
wherein he won honour. When yet he was but
-- 12 --
tender-bodied, and my only son; when youth
with comeliness plucked 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 pleas'd to let him
seek danger, where he was like to find fame: to a
cruel war I sent him, from whence he return'd,
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.
Vir.
But had he died in the business, madam,
how then?
Vol.
Then his good report should have been my
son. Hear me profess, sincerely: had I, a dozen
sons, each in my my love alike, and none less dear
than thine and my good Marcius, I had rather had
eleven die nobly for their country, then one voluptuously
surfeit out of action.
Enter a Gentlewoman.
Gent.
Madam, the Lady Valeria is come to visit
you.
Vir.
'Beseech you, give me leave to retire myself.
Vol.
Indeed thou shalt not:
Methinks I hither hear your husband's drum:
I see him pluck Aufidius down by th' hair:
-- 13 --
Methinks I see him stamp, thus—and call, thus—
Come on ye cowards, ye 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 task'd to mow
Or all, or lose his hire.
Vir.
His bloody brow! oh Jupiter, no blood.
Vol.
Away, you fool; it more becomes a man,
Than gilt his trophy. The breast of Hecuba,
When she did suckle Hector, look'd not lovelier,
Than Hector's forehead, when it spit forth blood,
At Grecian swords contending; tell Valeria
We are sit to bid her welcome.
(Exit Gent.
Vir.
Heav'ns bless my lord from fell Aufidius!
Vol.
He'll beat Aufidius' head below his knee,
And tread upon his neck.
Enter Valeria.
Val.
My ladies both, good day to you!
You are manifest housekeepers!
How does your little son?
Vir.
I thank your ladyship; well, good madam.
Vol.
He had rather see the swords, and hear a
drum, than look upon his schoolmaster.
Val.
O' my word, the father's son: I'll swear 'tis a
very pretty boy. O' my troth, I look'd on him, o'
Wednesday, half an hour together—h'as such a confirm'd
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
-- 14 --
up again, and caught it again; and whether his fall
enraged him, or how 'twas, he did so set his teeth,
and did tear it, oh, I warrant how he mammockt
it.
Vol.
One of father's moods.
Val.
Indeed la, tis a noble child.
Vir.
A crack, madam.
Val.
Come, lay aside your sadness; I must have
you play the idle huswife with me, this afternoon.
Vir.
No good madam, I will not out of doors.
Val.
Not out of doors!
Vol.
She shall, she shall.
Vir.
Indeed no, by your patience; I'll not over
the threshold, 'till my lord return from the wars.
Val.
Fie, you confine yourself unreasonably:
you would be another Penelope; yet they say all
the yarn she spun in Ulysses's absence, did but fill
Ithaca full of moths. Come, come, you shall go
with us.
Vir.
No, good madam, pardon me, indeed I
will not forth.
Val.
In truth la, go with me, and I'll tell you
excellent news of your husband.
Vir.
Oh, good madam, there can be none yet.
Val.
Verily I do not jest with you.
Vir.
Indeed, madam—
Val.
In earnest it's true; I heard a senator speak
it, Thus it is—the Volscians 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
-- 15 --
brief wars. This is true, on my honour; and so,
I pray, go with us.
Vir.
Give me excuse, good madam, I will obey
you in every thing hereafter.
[Exit.
Vol.
Let her alone, lady; as she is now, she
will but disease our better mirth.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.
a Wood.
Trumpets sound a Retreat.
Enter Cominius, with Soldiers retreating.
Com.
Breath you, my friends—well fought, we are come off
Like Romans, neither foolish in our stand,
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—Ye Roman Gods!
Lead their successes as we wish our own!
Enter a Roman Officer.
Thy news.
Offi.
The citizens of Corioli have issued,
And given to Marcius battle:
I saw our party to the trenches driv'n,
And came in haste away.
Com.
How long is't since?
Offi.
About an hour, my lord. Spies of the Volci
Held me in chace, that I was forc'd to wheel
Three or four miles about; else had I, sir,
-- 16 --
Half an hour since brought my report.
Com.
Who's yonder
That does appear as he were flay'd? O Gods!
He has the stamp of Marcius.
Marcius without.
Mar.
Come I too late?
Com.
The shepherd knows not thunder from a tabor,
More than I know the sound of Marcius' tongue
From every meaner man's.
Enter Marcius.
Mar.
Come I too late?
Com.
Ay, if you come not in the blood of others,
But mantled in your own.
Mar.
O, let me clip you
In arms as sound, as when I woo'd; in heart
As merry, as when our nuptial day was done,
And tapers burnt to bedwards.
Com.
Flower of Warriors!
How is't with Titus Lartius?
Mar.
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.
Com.
Where is that slave,
Which told me they had beat you to your trenches.
Where is he?
-- 17 --
[Roman officer comes forward, Two soldiers go to seize him.]
Mar.
Let him alone,
He did inform the truth—But for our gentlemen
The common file (a Plague! tribunes for them!)
The mouse, ne'er shunn'd the cat, as they did budge
From rascals worse than they.
Com.
But how prevail'd you?
Mar.
Will the time serve to tell! I do not think—
Where is the enemy? Are you lords o' th' field?
If not, why cease you till you are so?
Com.
Marcius, we have at disadvantage fought,
And did retire to win our purpose.
Mar.
How lies their battle? Know you on what side
They have plac'd their men of trust?
Com.
As I guess, Marcius,
Their bands i' th' Vaward are the Antiates,
Of their best trust: o'er them Aufidius,
Their very heart of hope.
Mar.
I do beseech you,
By all the battles wherein we have fought,
By the blood we have shed together,
That you directly
Lead me against Aufidius.
Com.
Tho' I could wish
You were conducted to a gentle bath,
And balms applied to you, yet dare I never
-- 18 --
Deny your asking; take your choice of those
That best can aid your action.
Mar.
Those are they,
That most are willing—if any such be here,
That love this painting
Wherein you see me snear'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, to express his disposition
[Soldiers shout and wave their swords,
If these shews be not outward, which of you
But is four Volces—come—follow Marcius!
[Exeunt.
Loud florish.
Battle behind.
A retreat sounded.
Enter Marcius, Cominius, Roman Officer and Soldiers.
Com.
If I should tell thee o'er this thy day's work,
Thou'lt not believe thy deeds: but I'll report it,
Where senators shall mingle tears with smiles.
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.
Mar,
Pray now, no more: my mother,
Who has a charter to extol her blood,
When she does praise me, grieves me: I have done
-- 19 --
As you have done, that's what I can, induc'd
As you have been; that's for my country.
Com.
You shall not be
The grave of your deserving; Rome must know
The value of her own;
Therefore, I beseech you.
(In sign of what you are, not to reward
What you have done) before our army hear me.
Mar.
I have some wounds upon me, and they smart,
To hear themselves remembred.
Com.
Should they not,
Well might they fester 'gainst ingratitude,
And tent themselves with death: of all the horses,
Whereof we've ta'en good, and good store, of all
The treasure in the field atchiev'd. and city,
We render you the tenth. to be ta'en forth,
Before the common distribution,
At your own choice.
Mar.
I thank you general:
But cannot make my heart consent ro take
A bribe to pay my sword: I do refuse it.
[A flourish,
May these same instruments, which you profane,
Never found more! when drums and trumpets shall
I'th' field prove flatterers, let camps as cities
Be made of false-fac'd soothing.
[Flourish.
No more, I say;
For that I have not wash'd my nose that bled,
-- 20 --
Or foil'd some feeble wretch, which without note
Here's many else have done; you shout me forth,
In acclamations hyperbolical,
As if I lov'd my little should be dieted,
In praises sauc'd with lies.
Com.
Too modest are you:
More cruel in your good report, than grateful
To us, that give you truly: therefore be it known;
As to us, to all the world, that Caius Marcius
Wears this war's garland:
For what he did before Corioli, call him,
With all th' applause and clamour of the host,
Caius Marcius Coriolanus. Bear th' addition nobly ever!
[Flourish.
Mar.
I will go wash:
And when my faee is fair, you shall perceive
Whether I blush or no. Howbeit, I thank you.
Com.
So, to our tent:
Where, ere we do repose us, we will write
To Rome of our success.
Mar.
The Gods begin to mock me: I that but now
Refus'd most princely gifts, am bound to beg
Of my lord-general.
Com.
Take't, 'tis yours: what is't?
Mar.
I sometime lay here in Corioli,
And at a poor man's house: he us'd me kindly.
He cry'd to me: I saw him prisoner:
But then Aufidius was within my view,
And wrath o'er-whelm'd my pity: I request you
To give my poor host freedom.
-- 21 --
Com.
O well begg'd!
Were he the butcher of my son, he should
Be free as is the wind: his name?
Mar.
By Jupiter, forgot:
I'm weary; yea, my memory is tir'd:
Have we no wine here?
Com.
Go we to our tent;
The blood upon your visage dries; 'tis time
It should be look'd to: come.
[A march.
[Exeunt.
End of the First Act.
John P. Kemble [1789], Coriolanus; or, the Roman matron. A tragedy. Altered from Shakespeare. Printed exactly conformable to the representation at the Theatre Royal, Drury-Lane. With the order of the ovation. By permission of the managers, under the insepection of James Wrighten, Prompter (Printed for J. Christie [etc.], London) [word count] [S39200].
