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,

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.

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

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.

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.

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