Before we proceed any further, hear me speak.

Speak, speak.

You are all resolved rather to die than to famish?

Resolved. resolved.

First, you know Caius Marcius is chief enemy to the people.

We know't, we know't.

Let us kill him, and we'll have corn at our own price.

Is't a verdict?

No more talking on't; let it be done: away, away!

One word, good citizens.

We are accounted poor citizens, the patricians good.

What authority surfeits on would relieve us: if they

would yield us but the superfluity, while it were

wholesome, we might guess they relieved us humanely;

but they think we are too dear: the leanness that

afflicts us, the object of our misery, is as an

inventory to particularise their abundance; our

sufferance is a gain to them Let us revenge this with

our pikes, ere we become rakes: for the gods know I

speak this in hunger for bread, not in thirst for revenge.

Would you proceed especially against Caius Marcius?

Against him first: he's a very dog to the commonalty.

Consider you what services he has done for his country?

Very well; and could be content to give him good

report fort, but that he pays himself with being proud.

Nay, but speak not maliciously.

I say unto you, what he hath done famously, he did

it to that end: though soft-conscienced men can be

content to say it was for his country he did it to

please his mother and to be partly proud; which he

is, even till the altitude of his virtue.

What he cannot help in his nature, you account a

vice in him. You must in no way say he is covetous.

If I must not, I need not be barren of accusations;

he hath faults, with surplus, to tire in repetition.

What shouts are these? The other side o' the city

is risen: why stay we prating here? to the Capitol!

Come, come.

Soft! who comes here?

Worthy Menenius Agrippa; one that hath always loved

the people.

He's one honest enough: would all the rest were so!

What work's, my countrymen, in hand? where go you

With bats and clubs? The matter? speak, I pray you.

Our business is not unknown to the senate; they have

had inkling this fortnight what we intend to do,

which now we'll show 'em in deeds. They say poor

suitors have strong breaths: they shall know we

have strong arms too.

Why, masters, my good friends, mine honest neighbours,

Will you undo yourselves?

We cannot, sir, we are undone already.

I tell you, friends, most charitable care

Have the patricians of you. For your wants,

Your suffering in this dearth, you may as well

Strike at the heaven with your staves as lift them

Against the Roman state, whose course will on

The way it takes, cracking ten thousand curbs

Of more strong link asunder than can ever

Appear in your impediment. For the dearth,

The gods, not the patricians, make it, and

Your knees to them, not arms, must help. Alack,

You are transported by calamity

Thither where more attends you, and you slander

The helms o' the state, who care for you like fathers,

When you curse them as enemies.

Care for us! True, indeed! They ne'er cared for us

yet: suffer us to famish, and their store-houses

crammed with grain; make edicts for usury, to

support usurers; repeal daily any wholesome act

established against the rich, and provide more

piercing statutes daily, to chain up and restrain

the poor. If the wars eat us not up, they will; and

there's all the love they bear us.

Either you must

Confess yourselves wondrous malicious,

Or be accused of folly. I shall tell you

A pretty tale: it may be you have heard it;

But, since it serves my purpose, I will venture

To stale 't a little more.

Well, I'll hear it, sir: yet you must not think to

fob off our disgrace with a tale: but, an 't please

you, deliver.

There was a time when all the body's members

Rebell'd against the belly, thus accused it:

That only like a gulf it did remain

I' the midst o' the body, idle and unactive,

Still cupboarding the viand, never bearing

Like labour with the rest, where the other instruments

Did see and hear, devise, instruct, walk, feel,

And, mutually participate, did minister

Unto the appetite and affection common

Of the whole body. The belly answer'd--

Well, sir, what answer made the belly?

Sir, I shall tell you. With a kind of smile,

Which ne'er came from the lungs, but even thus--

For, look you, I may make the belly smile

As well as speak--it tauntingly replied

To the discontented members, the mutinous parts

That envied his receipt; even so most fitly

As you malign our senators for that

They are not such as you.

Your belly's answer? What!

The kingly-crowned head, the vigilant eye,

The counsellor heart, the arm our soldier,

Our steed the leg, the tongue our trumpeter.

With other muniments and petty helps

In this our fabric, if that they--

What then?

'Fore me, this fellow speaks! What then? what then?

Should by the cormorant belly be restrain'd,

Who is the sink o' the body,--

Well, what then?

The former agents, if they did complain,

What could the belly answer?

I will tell you

If you'll bestow a small--of what you have little--

Patience awhile, you'll hear the belly's answer.

Ye're long about it.

Note me this, good friend;

Your most grave belly was deliberate,

Not rash like his accusers, and thus answer'd:

'True is it, my incorporate friends,' quoth he,

'That I receive the general food at first,

Which you do live upon; and fit it is,

Because I am the store-house and the shop

Of the whole body: but, if you do remember,

I send it through the rivers of your blood,

Even to the court, the heart, to the seat o' the brain;

And, through the cranks and offices of man,

The strongest nerves and small inferior veins

From me receive that natural competency

Whereby they live: and though that all at once,

You, my good friends,'--this says the belly, mark me,--

Ay, sir; well, well.

'Though all at once cannot

See what I do deliver out to each,

Yet I can make my audit up, that all

From me do back receive the flour of all,

And leave me but the bran.' What say you to't?

It was an answer: how apply you this?

The senators of Rome are this good belly,

And you the mutinous members; for examine

Their counsels and their cares, digest things rightly

Touching the weal o' the common, you shall find

No public benefit which you receive

But it proceeds or comes from them to you

And no way from yourselves. What do you think,

You, the great toe of this assembly?

I the great toe! why the great toe?

For that, being one o' the lowest, basest, poorest,

Of this most wise rebellion, thou go'st foremost:

Thou rascal, that art worst in blood to run,

Lead'st first to win some vantage.

But make you ready your stiff bats and clubs:

Rome and her rats are at the point of battle;

The one side must have bale.

Hail, noble Marcius!

Thanks. What's the matter, you dissentious rogues,

That, rubbing the poor itch of your opinion,

Make yourselves scabs?

We have ever your good word.

He that will give good words to thee will flatter

Beneath abhorring. What would you have, you curs,

That like nor 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: you are no surer, no,

Than is the coal of fire upon the ice,

Or hailstone in the sun. Your virtue is

To make him worthy whose offence subdues him

And curse that justice did it.

Who deserves greatness

Deserves your hate; and your affections are

A sick man's appetite, who desires most that

Which would increase his evil. He that depends

Upon your favours swims with fins of lead

And hews down oaks with rushes. 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 these 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?

For corn at their own rates; whereof, they say,

The city is well stored.

Hang 'em! They say!

They'll sit by the fire, and presume to know

What's done i' the Capitol; who's like to rise,

Who thrives and who declines; side factions

and give out

Conjectural marriages; 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'll make a quarry

With thousands of these quarter'd slaves, as high

As I could pick my lance.

Nay, these are almost thoroughly persuaded;

For though abundantly they lack discretion,

Yet are they passing cowardly. But, I beseech you,

What says the other troop?

They are dissolved: hang 'em!

They said they were an-hungry; sigh'd forth proverbs,

That hunger broke stone walls, that dogs must eat,

That meat was made for mouths, that the gods sent not

Corn for the rich men only: with these shreds

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 power look pale--they threw their caps

As they would hang them on the horns o' the moon,

Shouting their emulation.

What is granted them?

Five tribunes to defend their vulgar wisdoms,

Of their own choice: one's Junius Brutus,

Sicinius Velutus, and I know not--'Sdeath!

The rabble should have first unroof'd the city,

Ere so prevail'd with me: it will in time

Win upon power and throw forth greater themes

For insurrection's arguing.

This is strange.

Go, get you home, you fragments!

Where's Caius Marcius?

Here: what's the matter?

The news is, sir, the Volsces are in arms.

I am glad on 't: then we shall ha' means to vent

Our musty superfluity. See, our best elders.

Marcius, 'tis true that you have lately told us;

The Volsces are in arms.

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 would wish me only he.

You have fought together.

Were half to half the world by the ears and he.

Upon my party, I'ld revolt to make

Only my wars with him: he is a lion

That I am proud to hunt.

Then, worthy Marcius,

Attend upon Cominius to these wars.

It is your former promise.

Sir, it is;

And I am constant. Titus Lartius, thou

Shalt see me once more strike at Tullus' face.

What, art thou stiff? stand'st out?

No, Caius Marcius;

I'll lean upon one crutch and fight with t'other,

Ere stay behind this business.

O, true-bred!

Your company to the Capitol; where, I know,

Our greatest friends attend us.

[To Cominius] Lead you on.

Right worthy you priority.

Noble Marcius!

[To the Citizens] Hence to your homes; be gone!

Nay, let them follow:

The Volsces have much corn; take these rats thither

To gnaw their garners. Worshipful mutiners,

Your valour puts well forth: pray, follow.

Was ever man so proud as is this Marcius?

He has no equal.

When we were chosen tribunes for the people,--

Mark'd you his lip and eyes?

Nay. but his taunts.

Being moved, he will not spare to gird the gods.

Be-mock the modest moon.

The present wars devour him: he is grown

Too proud to be so valiant.

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.

Fame, at the which he aims,

In whom already he's well graced, can not

Better be held nor more attain'd than by

A place below the first: for what miscarries

Shall be the general's fault, though he perform

To the utmost of a man, and giddy censure

Will then cry out of Marcius 'O if he

Had borne the business!'

Besides, if things go well,

Opinion that so sticks on Marcius shall

Of his demerits rob Cominius.

Come:

Half all Cominius' honours are to Marcius.

Though Marcius earned them not, and all his faults

To Marcius shall be honours, though indeed

In aught he merit not.

Let's hence, and hear

How the dispatch is made, and in what fashion,

More than his singularity, he goes

Upon this present action.

Lets along.

So, your opinion is, Aufidius,

That they of Rome are entered in our counsels

And know how we proceed.

Is it not yours?

What ever have been thought on in this state,

That could be brought to bodily act ere Rome

Had circumvention? 'Tis not four days gone

Since I heard thence; these are the words: I think

I have the letter here; yes, here it is.

'They have press'd a power, but it is not known

Whether for east or west: the dearth is great;

The people mutinous; and it is rumour'd,

Cominius, Marcius your old enemy,

Who is of Rome worse hated than of you,

And Titus Lartius, a most valiant Roman,

These three lead on this preparation

Whither 'tis bent: most likely 'tis for you:

Consider of it.'

Our army's in the field

We never yet made doubt but Rome was ready

To answer us.

Nor did you think it folly

To keep your great pretences veil'd till when

They needs must show themselves; which

in the hatching,

It seem'd, appear'd to Rome. By the discovery.

We shall be shorten'd in our aim, which was

To take in many towns ere almost Rome

Should know we were afoot.

Noble Aufidius,

Take your commission; hie you to your bands:

Let us alone to guard Corioli:

If they set down before 's, for the remove

Bring your army; but, I think, you'll find

They've not prepared for us.

O, doubt not that;

I speak from certainties. Nay, more,

Some parcels of their power are forth already,

And only hitherward. I leave your honours.

If we and Caius Marcius chance to meet,

'Tis sworn between us we shall ever strike

Till one can do no more.

The gods assist you!

And keep your honours safe!

Farewell.

Farewell.

Farewell.

I pray you, daughter, sing; or express yourself in a

more comfortable sort: if my son were my husband, I

should freelier rejoice in that absence wherein he

won honour than in the embracements of his bed where

he would show most love. When yet he was but

tender-bodied and the only son of my womb, 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 the wall, if

renown made it not stir, was pleased to let him seek

danger where he was like to find fame. To a cruel

war I sent him; from whence he returned, 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.

But had he died in the business, madam; how then?

Then his good report should have been my son; I

therein would have found issue. Hear me profess

sincerely: had I a dozen sons, each in my love

alike and none less dear than thine and my good

Marcius, I had rather had eleven die nobly for their

country than one voluptuously surfeit out of action.

Madam, the Lady Valeria is come to visit you.

Beseech you, give me leave to retire myself.

Indeed, you shall not.

Methinks I hear hither your husband's drum,

See him pluck Aufidius down by the hair,

As children from a bear, the Volsces shunning him:

Methinks I see him stamp thus, and call thus:

'Come on, you cowards! you 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.

His bloody brow! O Jupiter, no blood!

Away, you fool! it more becomes a man

Than gilt his trophy: the breasts of Hecuba,

When she did suckle Hector, look'd not lovelier

Than Hector's forehead when it spit forth blood

At Grecian sword, contemning. Tell Valeria,

We are fit to bid her welcome.

Heavens bless my lord from fell Aufidius!

He'll beat Aufidius 'head below his knee

And tread upon his neck.

My ladies both, good day to you.

Sweet madam.

I am glad to see your ladyship.

How do you both? you are manifest house-keepers.

What are you sewing here? A fine spot, in good

faith. How does your little son?

I thank your ladyship; well, good madam.

He had rather see the swords, and hear a drum, than

look upon his school-master.

O' my word, the father's son: I'll swear,'tis a

very pretty boy. O' my troth, I looked upon him o'

Wednesday half an hour together: has such a

confirmed 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 again; catched it again; or whether his

fall enraged him, or how 'twas, he did so set his

teeth and tear it; O, I warrant it, how he mammocked

it!

One on 's father's moods.

Indeed, la, 'tis a noble child.

A crack, madam.

Come, lay aside your stitchery; I must have you play

the idle husewife with me this afternoon.

No, good madam; I will not out of doors.

Not out of doors!

She shall, she shall.

Indeed, no, by your patience; I'll not over the

threshold till my lord return from the wars.

Fie, you confine yourself most unreasonably: come,

you must go visit the good lady that lies in.

I will wish her speedy strength, and visit her with

my prayers; but I cannot go thither.

Why, I pray you?

'Tis not to save labour, nor that I want love.

You would be another Penelope: yet, they say, all

the yarn she spun in Ulysses' absence did but fill

Ithaca full of moths. Come; I would your cambric

were sensible as your finger, that you might leave

pricking it for pity. Come, you shall go with us.

No, good madam, pardon me; indeed, I will not forth.

In truth, la, go with me; and I'll tell you

excellent news of your husband.

O, good madam, there can be none yet.

Verily, I do not jest with you; there came news from

him last night.

Indeed, madam?

In earnest, it's true; I heard a senator speak it.

Thus it is: the Volsces 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 brief wars. This is true,

on mine honour; and so, I pray, go with us.

Give me excuse, good madam; I will obey you in every

thing hereafter.

Let her alone, lady: as she is now, she will but

disease our better mirth.

In troth, I think she would. Fare you well, then.

Come, good sweet lady. Prithee, Virgilia, turn thy

solemness out o' door. and go along with us.

No, at a word, madam; indeed, I must not. I wish

you much mirth.

Well, then, farewell.

Yonder comes news. A wager they have met.

My horse to yours, no.

'Tis done.

Agreed.

Say, has our general met the enemy?

They lie in view; but have not spoke as yet.

So, the good horse is mine.

I'll buy him of you.

No, I'll nor sell nor give him: lend you him I will

For half a hundred years. Summon the town.

How far off lie these armies?

Within this mile and half.

Then shall we hear their 'larum, and they ours.

Now, Mars, I prithee, make us quick in work,

That we with smoking swords may march from hence,

To help our fielded friends! Come, blow thy blast.

Tutus Aufidius, is he within your walls?

No, nor a man that fears you less than he,

That's lesser than a little.

Hark! our drums

Are bringing forth our youth. We'll break our walls,

Rather than they shall pound us up: our gates,

Which yet seem shut, we, have but pinn'd with rushes;

They'll open of themselves.

Hark you. far off!

There is Aufidius; list, what work he makes

Amongst your cloven army.

O, they are at it!

Their noise be our instruction. Ladders, ho!

They fear us not, but issue forth their city.

Now put your shields before your hearts, and fight

With hearts more proof than shields. Advance,

brave Titus:

They do disdain us much beyond our thoughts,

Which makes me sweat with wrath. Come on, my fellows:

He that retires I'll take him for a Volsce,

And he shall feel mine edge.

All the contagion of the south light on you,

You shames of Rome! you herd of--Boils and plagues

Plaster you o'er, that you may be abhorr'd

Further than seen and one infect another

Against the wind a mile! You souls of geese,

That bear the shapes of men, how have you run

From slaves that apes would beat! Pluto and hell!

All hurt behind; backs red, and faces pale

With flight and agued fear! Mend and charge home,

Or, by the fires of heaven, I'll leave the foe

And make my wars on you: look to't: come on;

If you'll stand fast, we'll beat them to their wives,

As they us to our trenches followed.

So, now the gates are ope: now prove good seconds:

'Tis for the followers fortune widens them,

Not for the fliers: mark me, and do the like.

Fool-hardiness; not I.

Nor I.

See, they have shut him in.

To the pot, I warrant him.

What is become of Marcius?

Slain, sir, doubtless.

Following the fliers at the very heels,

With them he enters; who, upon the sudden,

Clapp'd to their gates: he is himself alone,

To answer all the city.

O noble fellow!

Who sensibly outdares his senseless sword,

And, when it bows, stands up. Thou art left, Marcius:

A carbuncle entire, as big as thou art,

Were not so rich a jewel. Thou wast a soldier

Even to Cato's wish, not fierce and terrible

Only in strokes; but, with thy grim looks and

The thunder-like percussion of thy sounds,

Thou madst thine enemies shake, as if the world

Were feverous and did tremble.

Look, sir.

O,'tis Marcius!

Let's fetch him off, or make remain alike.

This will I carry to Rome.

And I this.

A murrain on't! I took this for silver.

See here these movers that do prize their hours

At a crack'd drachm! Cushions, leaden spoons,

Irons of a doit, doublets that hangmen would

Bury with those that wore them, these base slaves,

Ere yet the fight be done, pack up: down with them!

And hark, what noise the general makes! To him!

There is the man of my soul's hate, Aufidius,

Piercing our Romans: then, valiant Titus, take

Convenient numbers to make good the city;

Whilst I, with those that have the spirit, will haste

To help Cominius.

Worthy sir, thou bleed'st;

Thy exercise hath been too violent for

A second course of fight.

Sir, praise me not;

My work hath yet not warm'd me: fare you well:

The blood I drop is rather physical

Than dangerous to me: to Aufidius thus

I will appear, and fight.

Now the fair goddess, Fortune,

Fall deep in love with thee; and her great charms

Misguide thy opposers' swords! Bold gentleman,

Prosperity be thy page!

Thy friend no less

Than those she placeth highest! So, farewell.

Thou worthiest Marcius!

Go, sound thy trumpet in the market-place;

Call thither all the officers o' the town,

Where they shall know our mind: away!

Breathe you, my friends: well fought;

we are come off

Like Romans, neither foolish in our stands,

Nor cowardly in retire: believe me, sirs,

We shall be charged 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,

That both our powers, with smiling

fronts encountering,

May give you thankful sacrifice.

Thy news?

The citizens of Corioli have issued,

And given to Lartius and to Marcius battle:

I saw our party to their trenches driven,

And then I came away.

Though thou speak'st truth,

Methinks thou speak'st not well.

How long is't since?

Above an hour, my lord.

'Tis not a mile; briefly we heard their drums:

How couldst thou in a mile confound an hour,

And bring thy news so late?

Spies of the Volsces

Held me in chase, that I was forced to wheel

Three or four miles about, else had I, sir,

Half an hour since brought my report.

Who's yonder,

That does appear as he were flay'd? O gods

He has the stamp of Marcius; and I have

Before-time seen him thus.

[Within] Come I too late?

The shepherd knows not thunder from a tabour

More than I know the sound of Marcius' tongue

From every meaner man.

Come I too late?

Ay, if you come not in the blood of others,

But mantled in your own.

O, let me clip ye

In arms as sound as when I woo'd, in heart

As merry as when our nuptial day was done,

And tapers burn'd to bedward!

Flower of warriors,

How is it with Titus Lartius?

As with a man busied about decrees:

Condemning some to death, and some to exile;

Ransoming him, or pitying, threatening the other;

Holding Corioli in the name of Rome,

Even like a fawning greyhound in the leash,

To let him slip at will.

Where is that slave

Which told me they had beat you to your trenches?

Where is he? call him hither.

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.

But how prevail'd you?

Will the time serve to tell? I do not think.

Where is the enemy? are you lords o' the field?

If not, why cease you till you are so?

Marcius,

We have at disadvantage fought and did

Retire to win our purpose.

How lies their battle? know you on which side

They have placed their men of trust?

As I guess, Marcius,

Their bands i' the vaward are the Antiates,

Of their best trust; o'er them Aufidius,

Their very heart of hope.

I do beseech you,

By all the battles wherein we have fought,

By the blood we have shed together, by the vows

We have made to endure friends, that you directly

Set me against Aufidius and his Antiates;

And that you not delay the present, but,

Filling the air with swords advanced and darts,

We prove this very hour.

Though I could wish

You were conducted to a gentle bath

And balms applied to, you, yet dare I never

Deny your asking: take your choice of those

That best can aid your action.

Those are they

That most are willing. If any such be here--

As it were sin to doubt--that love this painting

Wherein you see me smear'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,

And follow Marcius.

O, me alone! make you a sword of me?

If these shows be not outward, which of you

But is four Volsces? none of you but is

Able to bear against the great Aufidius

A shield as hard as his. A certain number,

Though thanks to all, must I select

from all: the rest

Shall bear the business in some other fight,

As cause will be obey'd. Please you to march;

And four shall quickly draw out my command,

Which men are best inclined.

March on, my fellows:

Make good this ostentation, and you shall

Divide in all with us.

So, let the ports be guarded: keep your duties,

As I have set them down. If I do send, dispatch

Those centuries to our aid: the rest will serve

For a short holding: if we lose the field,

We cannot keep the town.

Fear not our care, sir.

Hence, and shut your gates upon's.

Our guider, come; to the Roman camp conduct us.

I'll fight with none but thee; for I do hate thee

Worse than a promise-breaker.

We hate alike:

Not Afric owns a serpent I abhor

More than thy fame and envy. Fix thy foot.

Let the first budger die the other's slave,

And the gods doom him after!

If I fly, Marcius,

Holloa me like a hare.

Within these three hours, Tullus,

Alone I fought in your Corioli walls,

And made what work I pleased: 'tis not my blood

Wherein thou seest me mask'd; for thy revenge

Wrench up thy power to the highest.

Wert thou the Hector

That was the whip of your bragg'd progeny,

Thou shouldst not scape me here.

Officious, and not valiant, you have shamed me

In your condemned seconds.

If I should tell thee o'er this thy day's work,

Thou'ldst not believe thy deeds: but I'll report it

Where senators shall mingle tears with smiles,

Where great patricians shall attend and shrug,

I' the end admire, where ladies shall be frighted,

And, gladly quaked, hear more; 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.'

Yet camest thou to a morsel of this feast,

Having fully dined before.

O general,

Here is the steed, we the caparison:

Hadst thou beheld--

Pray now, no more: my mother,

Who has a charter to extol her blood,

When she does praise me grieves me. I have done

As you have done; that's what I can; induced

As you have been; that's for my country:

He that has but effected his good will

Hath overta'en mine act.

You shall not be

The grave of your deserving; Rome must know

The value of her own: 'twere a concealment

Worse than a theft, no less than a traducement,

To hide your doings; and to silence that,

Which, to the spire and top of praises vouch'd,

Would seem but modest: therefore, I beseech you

In sign of what you are, not to reward

What you have done--before our army hear me.

I have some wounds upon me, and they smart

To hear themselves remember'd.

Should they not,

Well might they fester 'gainst ingratitude,

And tent themselves with death. Of all the horses,

Whereof we have ta'en good and good store, of all

The treasure in this field achieved and city,

We render you the tenth, to be ta'en forth,

Before the common distribution, at

Your only choice.

I thank you, general;

But cannot make my heart consent to take

A bribe to pay my sword: I do refuse it;

And stand upon my common part with those

That have beheld the doing.

May these same instruments, which you profane,

Never sound more! when drums and trumpets shall

I' the field prove flatterers, let courts and cities be

Made all of false-faced soothing!

When steel grows soft as the parasite's silk,

Let him be made a coverture for the wars!

No more, I say! For that I have not wash'd

My nose that bled, or foil'd some debile wretch.--

Which, without note, here's many else have done,--

You shout me forth

In acclamations hyperbolical;

As if I loved my little should be dieted

In praises sauced with lies.

Too modest are you;

More cruel to your good report than grateful

To us that give you truly: by your patience,

If 'gainst yourself you be incensed, we'll put you,

Like one that means his proper harm, in manacles,

Then reason safely with you. Therefore, be it known,

As to us, to all the world, that Caius Marcius

Wears this war's garland: in token of the which,

My noble steed, known to the camp, I give him,

With all his trim belonging; and from this time,

For what he did before Corioli, call him,

With all the applause and clamour of the host,

CAIUS Marcius Coriolanus! Bear

The addition nobly ever!

Caius Marcius Coriolanus!

I will go wash;

And when my face is fair, you shall perceive

Whether I blush or no: howbeit, I thank you.

I mean to stride your steed, and at all times

To undercrest your good addition

To the fairness of my power.

So, to our tent;

Where, ere we do repose us, we will write

To Rome of our success. You, Titus Lartius,

Must to Corioli back: send us to Rome

The best, with whom we may articulate,

For their own good and ours.

I shall, my lord.

The gods begin to mock me. I, that now

Refused most princely gifts, am bound to beg

Of my lord general.

Take't; 'tis yours. What is't?

I sometime lay here in Corioli

At a poor man's house; he used me kindly:

He cried to me; I saw him prisoner;

But then Aufidius was with in my view,

And wrath o'erwhelm'd my pity: I request you

To give my poor host freedom.

O, well begg'd!

Were he the butcher of my son, he should

Be free as is the wind. Deliver him, Titus.

Marcius, his name?

By Jupiter! forgot.

I am weary; yea, my memory is tired.

Have we no wine here?

Go we to our tent:

The blood upon your visage dries; 'tis time

It should be look'd to: come.

The town is ta'en!

'Twill be deliver'd back on good condition.

Condition!

I would I were a Roman; for I cannot,

Being a Volsce, be that I am. Condition!

What good condition can a treaty find

I' the part that is at mercy? Five times, Marcius,

I have fought with thee: so often hast thou beat me,

And wouldst do so, I think, should we encounter

As often as we eat. By the elements,

If e'er again I meet him beard to beard,

He's mine, or I am his: mine emulation

Hath not that honour in't it had; for where

I thought to crush him in an equal force,

True sword to sword, I'll potch at him some way

Or wrath or craft may get him.

He's the devil.

Bolder, though not so subtle. My valour's poison'd

With only suffering stain by him; for him

Shall fly out of itself: nor sleep nor sanctuary,

Being naked, sick, nor fane nor Capitol,

The prayers of priests nor times of sacrifice,

Embarquements all of fury, shall lift up

Their rotten privilege and custom 'gainst

My hate to Marcius: where I find him, were it

At home, upon my brother's guard, even there,

Against the hospitable canon, would I

Wash my fierce hand in's heart. Go you to the city;

Learn how 'tis held; and what they are that must

Be hostages for Rome.

Will not you go?

I am attended at the cypress grove: I pray you--

'Tis south the city mills--bring me word thither

How the world goes, that to the pace of it

I may spur on my journey.

I shall, sir.

The augurer tells me we shall have news today.

Good or bad?

Not according to the prayer of the people, for they

love not Marcius.

Nature teaches beasts to know their friends.

Pray you, who does the wolf love?

The lamb.

Ay, to devour him; as the hungry plebeians would the

noble Marcius.

He's a lamb indeed, that baes like a bear.

He's a bear indeed, that lives like a lamb. You two

are old men: tell me one thing that I shall ask you.

Well, sir.

In what enormity is Marcius poor in, that you two

have not in abundance?

He's poor in no one fault, but stored with all.

Especially in pride.

And topping all others in boasting.

This is strange now: do you two know how you are

censured here in the city, I mean of us o' the

right-hand file? do you?

Why, how are we censured?

Because you talk of pride now,--will you not be angry?

Well, well, sir, well.

Why, 'tis no great matter; for a very little thief of

occasion will rob you of a great deal of patience:

give your dispositions the reins, and be angry at

your pleasures; at the least if you take it as a

pleasure to you in being so. You blame Marcius for

being proud?

We do it not alone, sir.

I know you can do very little alone; for your helps

are many, or else your actions would grow wondrous

single: your abilities are too infant-like for

doing much alone. You talk of pride: O that you

could turn your eyes toward the napes of your necks,

and make but an interior survey of your good selves!

O that you could!

What then, sir?

Why, then you should discover a brace of unmeriting,

proud, violent, testy magistrates, alias fools, as

any in Rome.

Menenius, you are known well enough too.

I am known to be a humorous patrician, and one that

loves a cup of hot wine with not a drop of allaying

Tiber in't; said to be something imperfect in

favouring the first complaint; hasty and tinder-like

upon too trivial motion; one that converses more

with the buttock of the night than with the forehead

of the morning: what I think I utter, and spend my

malice in my breath. Meeting two such wealsmen as

you are--I cannot call you Lycurguses--if the drink

you give me touch my palate adversely, I make a

crooked face at it. I can't say your worships have

delivered the matter well, when I find the ass in

compound with the major part of your syllables: and

though I must be content to bear with those that say

you are reverend grave men, yet they lie deadly that

tell you you have good faces. If you see this in

the map of my microcosm, follows it that I am known

well enough too? what barm can your bisson

conspectuities glean out of this character, if I be

known well enough too?

Come, sir, come, we know you well enough.

You know neither me, yourselves nor any thing. You

are ambitious for poor knaves' caps and legs: you

wear out a good wholesome forenoon in hearing a

cause between an orange wife and a fosset-seller;

and then rejourn the controversy of three pence to a

second day of audience. When you are hearing a

matter between party and party, if you chance to be

pinched with the colic, you make faces like

mummers; set up the bloody flag against all

patience; and, in roaring for a chamber-pot,

dismiss the controversy bleeding the more entangled

by your hearing: all the peace you make in their

cause is, calling both the parties knaves. You are

a pair of strange ones.

Come, come, you are well understood to be a

perfecter giber for the table than a necessary

bencher in the Capitol.

Our very priests must become mockers, if they shall

encounter such ridiculous subjects as you are. When

you speak best unto the purpose, it is not worth the

wagging of your beards; and your beards deserve not

so honourable a grave as to stuff a botcher's

cushion, or to be entombed in an ass's pack-

saddle. Yet you must be saying, Marcius is proud;

who in a cheap estimation, is worth predecessors

since Deucalion, though peradventure some of the

best of 'em were hereditary hangmen. God-den to

your worships: more of your conversation would

infect my brain, being the herdsmen of the beastly

plebeians: I will be bold to take my leave of you.

How now, my as fair as noble ladies,--and the moon,

were she earthly, no nobler,--whither do you follow

your eyes so fast?

Honourable Menenius, my boy Marcius approaches; for

the love of Juno, let's go.

Ha! Marcius coming home!

Ay, worthy Menenius; and with most prosperous

approbation.

Take my cap, Jupiter, and I thank thee. Hoo!

Marcius coming home!

Nay,'tis true.

Look, here's a letter from him: the state hath

another, his wife another; and, I think, there's one

at home for you.

I will make my very house reel tonight: a letter for

me!

Yes, certain, there's a letter for you; I saw't.

A letter for me! it gives me an estate of seven

years' health; in which time I will make a lip at

the physician: the most sovereign prescription in

Galen is but empiricutic, and, to this preservative,

of no better report than a horse-drench. Is he

not wounded? he was wont to come home wounded.

O, no, no, no.

O, he is wounded; I thank the gods for't.

So do I too, if it be not too much: brings a'

victory in his pocket? the wounds become him.

On's brows: Menenius, he comes the third time home

with the oaken garland.

Has he disciplined Aufidius soundly?

Titus Lartius writes, they fought together, but

Aufidius got off.

And 'twas time for him too, I'll warrant him that:

an he had stayed by him, I would not have been so

fidiused for all the chests in Corioli, and the gold

that's in them. Is the senate possessed of this?

Good ladies, let's go. Yes, yes, yes; the senate

has letters from the general, wherein he gives my

son the whole name of the war: he hath in this

action outdone his former deeds doubly

In troth, there's wondrous things spoke of him.

Wondrous! ay, I warrant you, and not without his

true purchasing.

The gods grant them true!

True! pow, wow.

True! I'll be sworn they are true.

Where is he wounded?

God save your good worships! Marcius is coming

home: he has more cause to be proud. Where is he wounded?

I' the shoulder and i' the left arm there will be

large cicatrices to show the people, when he shall

stand for his place. He received in the repulse of

Tarquin seven hurts i' the body.

One i' the neck, and two i' the thigh,--there's

nine that I know.

He had, before this last expedition, twenty-five

wounds upon him.

Now it's twenty-seven: every gash was an enemy's grave.

Hark! the trumpets.

These are the ushers of Marcius: before him he

carries noise, and behind him he leaves tears:

Death, that dark spirit, in 's nervy arm doth lie;

Which, being advanced, declines, and then men die.

Know, Rome, that all alone Marcius did fight

Within Corioli gates: where he hath won,

With fame, a name to Caius Marcius; these

In honour follows Coriolanus.

Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus!

Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus!

No more of this; it does offend my heart:

Pray now, no more.

Look, sir, your mother!

O,

You have, I know, petition'd all the gods

For my prosperity!

Nay, my good soldier, up;

My gentle Marcius, worthy Caius, and

By deed-achieving honour newly named,--

What is it?--Coriolanus must I call thee?--

But O, thy wife!

My gracious silence, hail!

Wouldst thou have laugh'd had I come coffin'd home,

That weep'st to see me triumph? Ay, my dear,

Such eyes the widows in Corioli wear,

And mothers that lack sons.

Now, the gods crown thee!

And live you yet?

O my sweet lady, pardon.

I know not where to turn: O, welcome home:

And welcome, general: and ye're welcome all.

A hundred thousand welcomes. I could weep

And I could laugh, I am light and heavy. Welcome.

A curse begin at very root on's heart,

That is not glad to see thee! You are three

That Rome should dote on: yet, by the faith of men,

We have some old crab-trees here

at home that will not

Be grafted to your relish. Yet welcome, warriors:

We call a nettle but a nettle and

The faults of fools but folly.

Ever right.

Menenius ever, ever.

Give way there, and go on!

[To Volumnia and Virgilia] Your hand, and yours:

Ere in our own house I do shade my head,

The good patricians must be visited;

From whom I have received not only greetings,

But with them change of honours.

I have lived

To see inherited my very wishes

And the buildings of my fancy: only

There's one thing wanting, which I doubt not but

Our Rome will cast upon thee.

Know, good mother,

I had rather be their servant in my way,

Than sway with them in theirs.

On, to the Capitol!

All tongues speak of him, and the bleared sights

Are spectacled to see him: your prattling nurse

Into a rapture lets her baby cry

While she chats him: the kitchen malkin pins

Her richest lockram 'bout her reechy neck,

Clambering the walls to eye him: stalls, bulks, windows,

Are smother'd up, leads fill'd, and ridges horsed

With variable complexions, all agreeing

In earnestness to see him: seld-shown flamens

Do press among the popular throngs and puff

To win a vulgar station: or veil'd dames

Commit the war of white and damask in

Their nicely-gawded cheeks to the wanton spoil

Of Phoebus' burning kisses: such a pother

As if that whatsoever god who leads him

Were slily crept into his human powers

And gave him graceful posture.

On the sudden,

I warrant him consul.

Then our office may,

During his power, go sleep.

He cannot temperately transport his honours

From where he should begin and end, but will

Lose those he hath won.

In that there's comfort.

Doubt not

The commoners, for whom we stand, but they

Upon their ancient malice will forget

With the least cause these his new honours, which

That he will give them make I as little question

As he is proud to do't.

I heard him swear,

Were he to stand for consul, never would he

Appear i' the market-place nor on him put

The napless vesture of humility;

Nor showing, as the manner is, his wounds

To the people, beg their stinking breaths.

'Tis right.

It was his word: O, he would miss it rather

Than carry it but by the suit of the gentry to him,

And the desire of the nobles.

I wish no better

Than have him hold that purpose and to put it

In execution.

'Tis most like he will.

It shall be to him then as our good wills,

A sure destruction.

So it must fall out

To him or our authorities. For an end,

We must suggest the people in what hatred

He still hath held them; that to's power he would

Have made them mules, silenced their pleaders and

Dispropertied their freedoms, holding them,

In human action and capacity,

Of no more soul nor fitness for the world

Than camels in the war, who have their provand

Only for bearing burdens, and sore blows

For sinking under them.

This, as you say, suggested

At some time when his soaring insolence

Shall touch the people--which time shall not want,

If he be put upon 't; and that's as easy

As to set dogs on sheep--will be his fire

To kindle their dry stubble; and their blaze

Shall darken him for ever.

What's the matter?

You are sent for to the Capitol. 'Tis thought

That Marcius shall be consul:

I have seen the dumb men throng to see him and

The blind to bear him speak: matrons flung gloves,

Ladies and maids their scarfs and handkerchers,

Upon him as he pass'd: the nobles bended,

As to Jove's statue, and the commons made

A shower and thunder with their caps and shouts:

I never saw the like.

Let's to the Capitol;

And carry with us ears and eyes for the time,

But hearts for the event.

Have with you.

Come, come, they are almost here. How many stand

for consulships?

Three, they say: but 'tis thought of every one

Coriolanus will carry it.

That's a brave fellow; but he's vengeance proud, and

loves not the common people.

Faith, there had been many great men that have

flattered the people, who ne'er loved them; and there

be many that they have loved, they know not

wherefore: so that, if they love they know not why,

they hate upon no better a ground: therefore, for

Coriolanus neither to care whether they love or hate

him manifests the true knowledge he has in their

disposition; and out of his noble carelessness lets

them plainly see't.

If he did not care whether he had their love or no,

he waved indifferently 'twixt doing them neither

good nor harm: but he seeks their hate with greater

devotion than can render it him; and leaves

nothing undone that may fully discover him their

opposite. Now, to seem to affect the malice and

displeasure of the people is as bad as that which he

dislikes, to flatter them for their love.

He hath deserved worthily of his country: and his

ascent is not by such easy degrees as those who,

having been supple and courteous to the people,

bonneted, without any further deed to have them at

an into their estimation and report: but he hath so

planted his honours in their eyes, and his actions

in their hearts, that for their tongues to be

silent, and not confess so much, were a kind of

ingrateful injury; to report otherwise, were a

malice, that, giving itself the lie, would pluck

reproof and rebuke from every ear that heard it.

No more of him; he is a worthy man: make way, they

are coming.

Having determined of the Volsces and

To send for Titus Lartius, it remains,

As the main point of this our after-meeting,

To gratify his noble service that

Hath thus stood for his country: therefore,

please you,

Most reverend and grave elders, to desire

The present consul, and last general

In our well-found successes, to report

A little of that worthy work perform'd

By Caius Marcius Coriolanus, whom

We met here both to thank and to remember

With honours like himself.

Speak, good Cominius:

Leave nothing out for length, and make us think

Rather our state's defective for requital

Than we to stretch it out.

Masters o' the people,

We do request your kindest ears, and after,

Your loving motion toward the common body,

To yield what passes here.

We are convented

Upon a pleasing treaty, and have hearts

Inclinable to honour and advance

The theme of our assembly.

Which the rather

We shall be blest to do, if he remember

A kinder value of the people than

He hath hereto prized them at.

That's off, that's off;

I would you rather had been silent. Please you

To hear Cominius speak?

Most willingly;

But yet my caution was more pertinent

Than the rebuke you give it.

He loves your people

But tie him not to be their bedfellow.

Worthy Cominius, speak.

Nay, keep your place.

Sit, Coriolanus; never shame to hear

What you have nobly done.