SCENE I.
SCENE Rome.
Enter Menenius, Cominius, Sicinius, Brutus, with others.
Men.
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 kneel
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 o'th' Fire
Of burning Rome.
Men.
Why, so; you have made good work:
A pair of Tribunes, that have wrack'd for Rome,
To make Coals cheap: A noble Memory.
Com.
I minded him, how Royal 'twas to pardon
When it was less expected. He reply'd,
It was a bare 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 noisom musty Chaff. He said, 'twas folly,
For one poor grain or two, to leave unburnt
And still to nose the Offence.
Men.
For one poor grain or two?
I am one of those: his Mother, Wife, his Child,
And this brave Fellow too: we are the Grains,
You are the musty Chaff, and you are smelt
Above the Moon. We must be burnt for you.
-- 1986 --
Sic.
Nay, pray be patient: If you refuse your aid
In this so never-needed help, yet do not
Upbraid us 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, towards Martius.
Men.
Well, and say that Martius return me,
As Cominius return'd, unheard: what then?
But as a discontented Friend, grief-shot
With his unkindness. Say't be so?
Sic.
Yet your good will
Must have that thanks from Rome, after the measure
As you intended well.
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 have stuff'd
These Pipes, and these Conveyances of our Blood
With Wine and seeding, 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 Rode into his Kindness,
And cannot lose your way.
Men.
Good faith, I'll prove him,
Speed how it will. I shall e'er 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
-- 1987 --
He sent in Writing after me; what he would not,
Bound with an Oath to yield to his Conditions:
So that all hope is vain, unless his noble Mother,
And his Wife (who as I hear) mean to sollicit him
For Mercy to his Country: therefore let's hence,
And with our fair Intreaties haste them on.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.
A Camp.
Enter Menenius to the Watch or Guard.
1 Wat.
Stay: whence are you?
2 Wat.
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.
From whence?
Men.
From Rome.
1 Wat.
You may not pass, you must return: our General
will no more hear from thence.
2 Wat.
You'll see your Rome embrac'd with Fire, before
You'll speak with Coriolanus.
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 Wat.
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 unparallell'd, happily amplified:
For I have ever verified my Friends,
(Of whom he's Chief) with all the size that verity
Would without lapsing suffer: Nay, sometimes,
Like to a Bowl upon a subtil ground
I have tumbled past the throw; and in his praise
Have, almost, stamp'd the Leasing. Therefore, Fellow,
I must have leave to pass.
1 Wat.
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: no, though it were as virtuous to lie, as to
live chastly. Therefore go back.
Men.
Prithee, Fellow, remember my Name is Menenius,
always Factionary on the party of your General.
-- 1988 --
2 Wat.
Howsoever you have been his Liar, as you say
you have; I am one that telling true under him, must say
you cannot pass. Therefore go back.
Men.
Has he din'd, can'st thou tell? For I would not
speak with him 'till after Dinner.
1 Wat.
You are a Roman, are you?
Men.
I am, as thy General is.
1 Wat.
Then you should hate Rome, as he does. Can you,
when you have push'd out of your Gates the very Defender
of them, and in a violent popular ignorance, given your
Enemy your Shield, think to front his Revenges with the
easie Groans of old Women, the Virginal Palms of your
Daughters, or with the palsied intercession of such a decay'd
Dotard, as you seem to be? Can you think to blow
out the intended Fire your City is ready to flame in, with
such weak Breath as this? No, you are deceiv'd, therefore
back to Rome, and prepare for your Execution: you are
condemn'd, our General has sworn you out of Reprieve and
Pardon.
Men.
Sirrah, if thy Captain knew I were here,
He would use me with Estimation.
1 Wat.
Come, my Captain knows you not.
Men.
I mean thy General.
1 Wat.
My General cares not for you. Back, I say, go;
lest I let forth your half Pint of Blood. Back, that's the
utmost of your having, back.
Men.
Nay, but Fellow, Fellow.
Enter Coriolanus, with Aufidius.
Cor.
What's the Matter?
Men.
Now you Champion; I'll say an Errant 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 but my Entertainment with him; if
thou stand'st not i'th' State of Hanging, or of some Death
more long in Spectatorship, and crueller in suffering, behold
now presently, 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
-- 1989 --
none but my self 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.
Men.
How, away?
Cor.
Wife, Mother, Child, I know not. My Affairs
Are servanted to others: Though I owe
My Revenge properly, my Remission lyes
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,
And would have sent it. Another word, Menenius,
I will not hear thee speak. This Man, Aufidius,
Was my belov'd in Rome; yet thou behold'st—
Auf.
You keep a constant temper
[Exeunt.
Manent the Guard and Menenius.
1 Wat.
Now, Sir, is your name Menenius?
2 Wat.
'Tis a Spell you see of much Power:
You know the way home again.
1 Wat.
Do you hear how we are shent for keeping
your Greatness back?
2 Wat.
What Cause do you think I have to swoon?
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: Let your General do his worst. For
you, be that you are, long; and your Misery encrease with
your Age. I say to you, as I was said to, Away.
[Exit.
1 Wat.
A noble Fellow, I warrant him.
2 Wat.
The worthy Fellow is our General. He's the
Rock, the Oak not to be wind-shaken.
[Exit Watch.
Enter Coriolanus and Aufidius.
Cor.
We will before the Walls of Rome to morrow
Set down our Host. My Partner in this Action,
You must report to th' Volscian Lords how plainly
I have born this Business.
-- 1990 --
Auf.
Only their Ends you have respected; stopt
Your Ears against the general Suit of Rome:
Never admitted a 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'ry 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 have yielded to. Fresh Embassie, and Suits,
Nor for the State, nor private Friends hereafter
Will I lend Ear to. Ha! what shout is this?
[Shout within.
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.
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 our Affection,
All Bond and Privilege of Nature break;
Let it be Virtuous, to be Obstinate.
What is that Court'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,
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 Volscies
Plough Rome, and harrow Italy; I'll never
Be such a Gosling to obey Inslinct: 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.
Virg.
The Sorrow that delivers us thus chang'd,
Makes you think so.
Cor.
Like a dull Actor now, I have forgot my Part,
And I am out, even to a full Disgrace. Best of my Flesh,
-- 1991 --
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 Heaven, that Kiss
I carried from thee, Dear; and my true Lip
Hath Virgin'd it e'er since. You Gods, I pray to you,
And the most noble Mother of the World
Leave unsaluted: Sink my Knee i'th' Earth;
[Kneels.
Of the deep Duty, more Impression shew
Than that of common Sons.
Vol.
O stand up blest!
Whilst with no softer Cushion than the Flint,
I kneel before thee, and unproperly
Shew Duty as mistaken all the while,
[Kneels.
Between the Child and Parent.
Cor.
What's this? Your Knees to me?
To your Corrected Son?
Then let the Pebbles on the hungry Beach
Fillop the Stars: Then, let the mutinous Winds
Strike the proud Cedars 'gainst the fiery Sun:
Murd'ring impossibility to make
What cannot be, slight work.
Vol.
Thou art my Warrior, I hope to frame thee,
Do you know this Lady?
Cor.
The noble Sister of Poplicola:
The Moon of Rome, Chast as the Isicle,
That's curdied by the Frost from purest Snow,
And hangs on Dian's Temple: Dear Valeria—
Vol.
This is a poor Epitome of yours,
Which by th' interpretation of full time,
May shew like all your self.
Cor.
The God of Soldiers,
With the consent of supream Jove, inform
Thy Thoughts with Nobleness, that thou may'st prove
To Shame unvulnerable, and strike 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 my self,
Are Suiters to you.
-- 1992 --
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 have 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 you fail in our request, the blame
May hang upon your hardness; therefore hear us.
Cor.
Aufidius, and you Volscies, 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 have led since thy Exile. Think with thy self,
How more unfortunate than living Women
Are we come hither; since that thy sight, which should
Make our Hearts 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 how can we?
Alas! how can we, for our Country pray,
Whereto we are bound? Together with thy Victory,
Whereto we are bound? Alack, or we must lose
The Country, our dear Nurse, or else thy Person
Our comfort in the Country. We must find
An eminent Calamity, tho' we had
Our wish, which side shou'd win. For either thou
Must, as a Foreign Recreant be led
With Manacles through our Streets, or else
Triumphantly tread on thy Country's Ruin,
And bear the Palm, for having bravely shed
Thy Wife and Childrens Blood: For my self, Son,
-- 1993 --
I purpose not to wait on Fortune, 'till
These Wars determine: If I cannot perswade thee
Rather to shew a noble grace to both parts,
Than seek the end of one; thou shalt no sooner
March to assault thy Country, than to tread
(Trust to't, thou shall 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.
Boy.
A shall not tread on me: I'll run away
Till I am bigger, but then I'll fight.
Cor.
Not of a Woman's tenderness to be,
Requires no Child, nor Woman's Face to see:
I have sate 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 Volscies, whom you serve, you might condemn us,
As poysonous of your Honour. No, our suit
Is that you reconcile them: While the Volscies
May say, this Mercy we have shew'd; the Romans
This we receiv'd, and each in 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:
Thou hast affected the five strains of Honour,
To imitate the Graces of the Gods.
To tear with Thunder the wide Cheeks o'th' Air,
And yet to change thy Sulphur with a Bolt,
That should but rive an Oak. Why dost not speak?
Think'st thou it Honourable for a Noble Man
Still to remember Wrongs? Daughter, speak you:
He cares not for your weeping. Speak thou, Boy,
Perhaps thy Childishness, will move him more
-- 1994 --
Than can our Reasons. There is no Man in the World
More bound to's Mother, yet here he lets me prate
Like one i'th' Stocks. Thou hast never in thy Life,
Shew'd thy dear Mother any Curtesie,
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 Sir-name, 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's.
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 Coriolus, and his Child
Like him by chance; yet give us out Dispatch:
I am husht until our City be afire, and then I'll speak a little.
[Holds her by the Hand, silent.
Cor.
O Mother, Mother!
What have you done? Behold, the Heavens do ope,
The Gods look down, and this unnatural Scene
They laugh at. Oh, my Mother, Mother: Oh!
You have won a happy Victory to Rome.
But for your Son, believe it, Oh believe it,
Most dangerously you have with him prevail'd,
If not most Mortal to him. But let it come:—
Aufidius, though I cannot make true Wars,
I'll frame convenient Peace. Now, good Aufidius,
Were you in my stead, would you have heard
A Mother less? Or granted less, Aufidius?
Auf.
I was mov'd withal.
Cor.
I dare be sworn you were;
And, Sir, it is no little thing to make
Mine Eyes to sweat Compassion. But, good Sir,
-- 1995 --
What Peace you'll make, advise me: For my part,
I'll not to Rome, I'll back with you, and pray you
Stand to me in this Cause. O Mother! Wife!
Auf.
I am glad thou hast set thy Mercy, and thy Honour
A difference in thee; out of that I'll work
[Aside.
My self a former Fortune.
Cor.
Ay, by and by; but we will drink together;
And you shall bear
[To Vol. Virg, &c.
A better witness back than words, which we
On like Conditions, will have counter-seal'd.
Come, enter with us: Ladies, you deserve
To have a Temple built you: All the Swords
In Italy, and her Confederate Arms
Could not have made this Peace.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.
Rome.
Enter Menenius and Sicinius.
Men.
See you yond Coin o'th' Capitol, yond 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,
-- 1996 --
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 a Messenger.
Mes.
Sir, if you'd save your Life flye 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 thou certain this is true?
Is't 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, Hautboys, Drums beat, all together.
The Trumpets, Sackbuts, Psalteries and Fifes,
Tabors and Cymbals, 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 have 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 are near the City?
-- 1997 --
Mes.
Almost at point to enter.
Sic.
We'll meet them, and help the Joy.
[Exeunt.
Enter two Senators, with Ladies passing over the Stage with other Lords.
Sen.
Behold our Patroness, the life of Rome:
Call all your Tribes together, praise the Gods,
And make triumphant Fires, strew Flowers before them:
Unshout the Noise that banish'd Martius;
Repeal him with the welcome of his Mother:
Cry, welcome, Ladies, welcome.
All.
Welcome Ladies, welcome.
[Exeunt.
[A Flourish with Drums and Trumpets.
SCENE IV.
Antium.
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 th' Market-place, where I
Even in theirs, and in the Commons Ears,
Will vouch the truth of it. Him 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 impoyson'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. I rais'd him, and I pawn'd
Mine Honour for his Truth; who being so heighten'd,
He water'd his new Plants with dews of Flattery,
Seducing so my Friends; and to this end,
-- 1998 --
He bow'd his Nature, never known before,
But to be rough, unswayable, and free.
3 Con.
Sir, his Stoutness
When he did stand for Consul, which he lost
By lack of stooping—
Auf.
That I would have spoke of:
Being banish'd for't, 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; hop'd to reap the Fame
Which he did make all his; and took some Pride
To do my self this wrong; 'till at the last,
I seem'd his Follower, not Partner; and
He wag'd me with his Countenance, as if
I had been Mercenary.
1 Con.
So he did, my Lord:
The Army marvell'd at it, and in the 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 stretcht upon him:
At a few drops of Womens Rheum, which are
As cheap as Lies, he sold the Blood and Labour
Of our great Action; therefore shall he dye,
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.
2 Con.
And patient Fools,
Whose Children he hath slain, their base Throats tear
With giving him Glory.
3 Con.
Therefore at your vantage,
E'er he express himself, or move the People
With what he would say, let him feel your Sword,
Which we will second, when he lies along,
After your way, his Tale pronounc'd, shall bury
His Reasons with his Body.
-- 1999 --
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 to you?
All.
We have.
1 Lord.
And grieve to hear it.
What Faults he made before the last, I think
Might have found easie 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; this admits no excuse.
Auf.
He approaches, you shall hear him.
Enter Coriolanus marching with Drum and Colours, the Commons being with him.
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
Doth more than Counterpoise a full third part
The charges of the Action. We have made Peace
With no less Honour to the Antiates,
Than Shame to th' Romans: And we here deliver,
Subscrib'd by th' 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 stoln name
Coriolanus in Coriolus?
You Lords and Head o'th' State, perfidiously
-- 2000 --
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 wondring 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!—
Pardon me, Lords, 'tis the first time that ever
I 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, Volscies, 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 Volscies in Coriolus.
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 dye for't.
All People.
Tear him to pieces, do it presently:
He kill'd my Son, my Daughter, he kill'd my Cousin
Marcus, he kill'd my Father.
2 Lord.
Peace, ho—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.
-- 2001 --
Cor.
O that I had him, with six Aufidiusses, or more;
His Tribe; to use my lawful Sword—
Auf.
Insolent Villain.
All Con.
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 Lords, hear me speak.
1 Lord.
O, Tullus—
2 Lord.
Thou hast done a deed, whereat
Valour will weep.
3 Lord.
Tread not upon him—Masters all, be quiet,
Put up your Swords.
Auf.
My Lords,
When you shall know (as in this Rage
Provok'd by him, you 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
My self 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.
2 Lord.
His own impatience
Takes from Aufidius a great part of blame:
Let's make the best of it.
Auf.
My Rage is gone,
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. Assist.
[Exeunt, bearing the Body of Martius. A dead March sounded.
