The Shakespeare Collection (1978) s01e07 Episode Script

# Latin chant You are all resolved rather to die than to famish? Resolved.
First, you know Caius Marcius is chief enemy to the people.
Let us kill him, and we'll have corn at our own price.
The gods know I speak this in hunger for bread, not in thirst for revenge.
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 for't, 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 to the altitude of his virtue.
What he cannot help in his nature, you account a vice in him.
What shouts are these? The other side o' the city is risen.
Son! Who comes here? Worthy Menenius Agrippa, one that hath always loved the people.
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.
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.
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've heard it.
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 appetites 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! 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 said the belly.
Ay, 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 that you receive but it proceeds or comes from them to you and no way from yourselves.
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 of fence subdues him and curse that justice did it.
Who deserves greatness deserves your hate Trust ye? Hang ye! 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! 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 'em 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 'S death! 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! What's the matter? The news is, sir, the Volsces are in arms.
I am glad on't.
Then we shall have means to vent our musty superfluity.
They have a leader, Tullus Aufidius, that will put you to't.
I sin in envying his nobility, and were I anything 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'd revolt only to make 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, an 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! 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 is well graced, cannot 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.
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 shorlen'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 up your army, but, I think, you'll find they've not prepared for us.
O, doubt not that.
I speak from certainties.
I'll 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.
I pray thee, daughter, sing, or express yourself in a more comfortable son.
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, 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 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.
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 pluck 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 housekeepers.
What are you sewing here? A fine spot, I' good faith.
How does your little son? I thank your ladyship, well, good madam.
He'd rather see the swords, and hear a drum, than look upon his schoolmaster.
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 up 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, 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 housewife 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 everything hereafter.
Let her alone, lady.
As she is now, she will but disease our better mirth.
In troth, I think she would.
Summon the town.
Tutus Aufidius, is he within your walls? No, nor a man that fears you less than he.
That's lesser than a little.
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! 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 farther 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.
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.
Look, sir.
O, 'tis Marcius! Let's fetch him off, or make remain alike.
J' Chanting in Latin MARCIUSI 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.
- 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.
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.
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.
Wen thou the Hector that was the whip ofthy bragg'd progeny, thou shouldst not scape me here.
The augurer tells me we shall have news tonight.
Good or bad? Not according to the prayers 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 baas 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, that you two have not in abundance? He's poor in no one fault, but stored with all.
- Especially in pride.
- 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? 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 do very little alone, for your helps are many, or else your actions would grow wondrous single.
Your abilities are too infant-like to do 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.
Come, sir, come, we know you well enough.
You know neither me, yourselves nor anything.
You are ambitious for poor knaves' caps and legs.
You wear out a good wholesome forenoon 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.
God-den to your worships.
More of your conversation would infect my brain, being the herdsmen of the beastly plebeians.
I'll be bold to take my leave of you.
If I should tell thee o'er this thy day's work, thou'd 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.
" 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.
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.
J' Drums and trumpets 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.
J' Drums and trumpets May these same instruments, which you profane, never sound more! When drums and trumpets shall I' the field prove flatterers, let courts and cities all be made of false-faced soothing! 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, and from this time, for what he did before Corioli, call him, with all the applause and clamour of the host, Caius Marcius Coriolanus! J' Drums and trumpets Caius Marcius Coriolan us! Bear the addition nobly ever.
I will go wash, and when my face is fair, you shall perceive whether I blush or no.
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 within my view, and wrath o'ervvhelm'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? 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 is 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 his heart.
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.
- Marcius coming home! - Ay, worthy Menenius.
- Take my cap, Jupiter, and I thank thee.
- Marcius coming home! - Nay, 'tis true.
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, and 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 be 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, in which he gives my son the whole name of the war.
He has in this action outdone his former deeds doubly.
In troth there's wondrous things spoke of him.
Wondrous! Ay, I'll 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? Where is he wounded? In the shoulder and in 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, two I' the thigh.
That's nine that I know.
He had, before this last expedition, twenty-five wounds upon him.
Now it is twenty-seven! Every gash 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.
No more of this.
It does offend my heart.
Pray now, no more.
Look, sir, your mother.
Oh.
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 sweet lady, pardon.
I know not where to turn.
O, welcome home.
Welcome, General.
And ye're welcome all.
A hundred thousand welcomes.
I could weep and I could laugh.
I am light and heavy.
Welcome.
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 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 marketplace, 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.
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 to 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? 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 hear him speak.
Matrons flung gloves, ladies and maids their scarfs and handkerchieves upon him as he pass'd.
The nobles bended, ay, as to Jove's statue, and the commons made a shower and thunder with their caps and shouts.
I never saw the like.
Having determined of the Volsces and to send for Titus Lartius, it remains, as the main point in 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 the 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.
I'd rather have my wounds to heal again than hear say howl got them.
Sir, I hope my words disbench'd you not.
No, sir, yet oft, when blows have made me stay, I fled from words.
You soothed not, therefore hurt not, but your people, I love them as they weigh.
Pray now, sit down.
I'd rather have one scratch my head I' the sun when the alarum were struck than idly sit to hear my nothings monster'd.
Proceed, Cominius.
I shall lack voice.
The deeds of Coriolanus should not be utter'd feebly.
It is held that valour is the chiefest virtue, and most dignifies the haver.
If it be, the man I speak of cannot in the world be singly counterpoised.
At sixteen years, when Tarquin made a head for Rome, he fought beyond the mark of others.
Our then dictator, whom with all praise I point at, saw him fight, when with his Amazonian chin he drove the bristled lips before him.
He bestrid an o'er-press'd Roman and I' the consul's view slew three opposers.
Tarquin's self he met, and struck him on his knee.
In that day's feats, when he might act the woman in the scene, he proved the best man I' the field, and for his meed was brow-bound with the oak.
His pupil age man-enter'd thus, he waxed like a sea.
And in the brunt of seventeen battles since he lurch'd all swords of the garland.
For this last, before and in Corioli, let me say, I cannot speak him home.
He stopp'd the fliers.
And by his rare example made the coward turn terror into sport.
As weeds before a vessel under sail, so men obey'd and fell below his stem.
His sword, death's stamp.
Where it did mark, it took.
From face to foot he was a thing of blood, whose every motion was timed with dying cries.
Alone he enter'd the mortal gate of the city, which he painted with shunless destiny.
Aidless came off, and with a sudden reinforcement struck Corioli like a planet.
Now all's his.
When, by and by, the din of war gan pierce his ready sense, then straight his doubled spirit re-quicken'd what in flesh was fatigate, and to the battle came he, where he did run reeking o'er the lives of men, as if 'twere a perpetual spoil.
And till we call'd both field and city ours, he never stood to ease his breast with panting.
Worthy man.
He cannot but with measure fit the honours which we devise him.
Our spoils he kick'd at, and look'd upon things precious as they were the common muck of the world.
He covets less than misery itself would give, rewards his deeds with doing them, and is content to spend the time to end it.
He's right noble.
- Let him be call'd for.
- Call Coriolanus.
The senate, Coriolanus, are well pleased to make thee consul.
I do owe them still my life and services.
It then remains that you do speak to the people.
I do beseech you, let me o'erleap that custom, for I cannot put on the gown, stand naked and entreat them, for my wounds' sake, to give their suffrage.
- Please you that I may pass this doing.
- Sir.
The people must have their voices.
Neither will they bate one jot of ceremony.
Put them not to't.
Pray you, go fit you to the custom and take to you, as your predecessors have, your honour with your form.
It is a part that I shall blush in acting, and might well be taken from the people.
- Mark you that? - To brag unto them, thus I did, and thus.
To show them the unaching scars which I should hide, as if I had received them for the hire of their breath only! Do not stand upon't.
We recommend to you, tribunes of the people, our purpose to them, and to our noble consul wish we all joy and honour.
Once, if he do require our voices, we ought not to deny him.
We may, sir, if we will.
We have power in ourselves to do it, but it is a power that we have no power to do, for if he show us his wounds and tell us his deeds, we are to put our tongues into those wounds and speak for them.
So, if he tell us his noble deeds, we must also tell him our noble acceptance of them.
Ingratitude is monstrous, and for the multitude to be ingrateful, were to make a monster of the multitude, of the which we being members, should bring ourselves to be monstrous members.
And to make us no better thought of, a little help will serve, for once we stood up about the corn, he himself stuck not to call us the many-headed multitude.
We have been called so of many, not that our heads are some brown, some black, some abram, some bald, but that our wits are so diversely coloured.
And truly I think if all our wits were to issue out of one skull, they would fly east, west, north, south, and their consent of one direct way should be at once to all the points o' the compass.
Think you so? Which way do you judge my wit would fly? Nay, your wit will not so soon out as another man's will.
'Tis strongly wedged up in a blockhead, but if it were at liberty, 'twould, sure, southward.
- Why that way? - To lose itself in a fog, where being three parts melted away with rotten dews, the fourth would return for conscience sake, to help to get thee a wife.
You are never without your tricks.
You may, you may.
Are you all resolved to give your voices? - No! - But that's no matter, the greater part carries it.
I say, if he would incline to the people there never was a worthier man.
Here he comes, and in the gown of humility.
Mark his behaviour.
We are not to stay all together, but to come by him where he stands, by ones, by twos, by threes.
He's to make his requests by particulars.
Have you not known the worthiest men have done't? What must I say? "I Pray, sir " Plague upon't.
I cannot bring my tongue to such a pace.
"Look, sir, my wounds.
I got them in my country's service, when some certain of your brethren roar'd and ran from the noise of our own drums.
" O me, the gods! You must not speak of that.
You must desire them to think upon you.
Think upon me? Hang 'em! I would they would forget me, like the virtues which our divines lose by 'em.
You'll mar all.
I'll leave you.
Pray you, speak to 'em, I pray you, in wholesome manner.
Bid them wash their faces, keep their teeth clean.
So, here comes a brace.
You know the cause, sir, of my standing here? We do, sir.
Tell us what hath brought you to't.
- Mine own desert.
- Your own desert.
- Ay, but not mine own desire.
- How, not your own desire.
No, sir, 'twas never my desire yet to trouble the poor with begging.
You must think, if we give you anything, we hope to gain by you.
Well, then, I pray, your price o' the consulship? The price is to ask it kindly.
Kindly, sir! I pray, let me ha't.
I have wounds to show you, which shall be yours in private.
Your good voice, sir.
- What say you? - You shall ha' it, worthy sir.
A match, sir.
There's in all two worthy voices begged.
I have your alms.
Adieu.
- But this is something odd.
- An 'twere to give again, but 'tis no matter.
Pray you now, if it may stand with the tune of your voices that I may be consul, I have here the customary gown.
You have deserved nobly of your country, and you have not deserved nobly.
Your enigma? You have been a scourge to her enemies, you have been a rod to her friends.
You have not indeed loved the common people.
You should account me the more virtuous that I have not been common in my love.
I will, sir, flatter my sworn brother, the people, to earn a dearer estimation of them.
'Tis a condition they account gentle, and since the wisdom of their choice is rather to have my hat than my heart I will, sir, practise the insinuating nod and be off to them most counterfeitly.
That is, sir, I will counterfeit the bewitchment of some popular man and give it bountiful to the desirers.
Therefore, beseech you, I may be consul.
We hope to find you our friend, and therefore give you our voices heartily.
You have received many wounds for your country.
I will not seal your knowledge with showing them.
I will make much of your voices, and so trouble you no further.
The gods give you joy, sir, heartily.
Most sweet voices.
Better it is to die, better to starve, than crave the hire which first we do deserve.
Why in this wolvish toge should I stand here, to beg of Hob and Dick, that does appear, their needless vouches? Custom calls me to't.
What custom wills, in all things should we do't, the dust on antique time would lie unswept, and mountainous error be too highly heapt for truth to o'er-peer.
Rather than fool it so, let the high office and the honour go to one that would do thus.
I am half through.
The one part suffer'd, the other will I do.
Here come more voices.
Your voices.
For your voices I have fought, watch'd for your voices.
For your voices bear of wounds two dozen odd, battles thrice six I have seen and heard of, for your voices have done many things, some less, some more.
Your voices.
Indeed I would be consul.
He has done nobly, and cannot go without any honest man's voice.
Therefore let him be consul.
- Amen.
God save thee, noble consul! Worthy voices! You have stood your limitation, and the tribunes endue you with the people's voice.
Remains that, in the official marks invested, you anon do meet the senate.
- Is this done? - The custom of request you have discharged.
The people do admit you, and are summon'd to meet anon, upon your approbation.
Where? At the senate house? May I change these garments? - You may, sir.
- That I'll straight do, and, knowing myself again, repair to the senate house.
I'll keep you company.
He has it now, and by his looks methinks 'tis warm at's heart.
With a proud heart he wore his humble weeds.
Will you dismiss the people? How now, my masters! Have you chose this man? He has our voices, sir.
To my poor unworthy notice, he mock'd us when he begg'd our voices.
Certainly, he flouted us downright.
No, 'tis his kind of speech.
He did not mock us.
Not one amongst us, save yourself, but says he used us scornfully.
He should have show'd us his marks of merit, wounds received for's country.
Why, so he did, I am sure.
No, no.
No man saw 'em.
He said he hath wounds, which he could show in private, and with his hat, thus waving it in scorn, "I would be consul," says he.
"Aged custom, but by your voices, will not so permit me.
Your voices therefore.
" When we granted that, here was "I thank you for your voices, thank you for your most sweet voices.
Now you have left your voices I have no further with you.
" Was not this mockery? Why either were you ignorant to see't, or, seeing it, of such childish friendliness to yield your voices? Did you perceive he did solicit you in free contempt when he did need your loves, and do you think that his contempt shall not be bruising to you, when he hath power to crush? Why, had your bodies no heart among you? Or had you tongues to cry against the rectorship of judgment? Have you ere now denied the asker? And now again of him that did not ask, but mock, bestow your sued-for tongues? He's not confirm'd.
We may deny him yet.
And will deny him.
I'll have five hundred voices of that sound.
Let them assemble, and on a safer judgment all revoke your ignorant election.
Tullus Aufidius then had made new head? He had, my lord, and that it was which caused our swifter composition.
So then the Volsces stand but as at first, ready, when time shall prompt them, to make road upon's again.
They are worn, lord consul, so, that we shall hardly in our ages see their banners wave again.
Saw you Aufidius? On safe-guard he came to me, and did curse against the Volsces, for they had so vilely yielded the town.
He is retired to Antium.
- Spoke he of me? - He did, my lord.
How? What? How often he had met you, sword to sword, that of all things upon the earth he hated your person most, that he would pawn all his fortunes to hopeless restitution, so he might be call'd your vanquisher.
- At Antium lives he? - At Antium.
I wish I had a cause to seek him there, to oppose his hatred fully.
Welcome home.
Behold, these are the tribunes of the people, the tongues o' the common mouth.
I do despise them, for they do prank them in authority, against all noble sufferance.
Pass no further.
- Ha.
What is that? - It will be dangerous to go on.
No further.
- What makes this change? - The matter? Hath he not pass'd the noble and the common? Cominius, no.
- Havel had children's voices? - Tribunes give way.
He shall to the marketplace.
- The people are incensed against him.
- Stop, or all will fall in broil.
Are these your herd? Must these have voices, that can yield them now and straight disclaim their tongues? What are your offices? You being their mouths, why rule you not their teeth? Have you not set them on? Be calm, be calm.
It is a purposed thing, and grows by plot, to curb the will of the nobility.
Suffer't, and live with such as cannot rule nor ever will be ruled.
Call't not a plot.
The people cry you mock'd them, and of late, when corn was given them gratis, you repined.
Scandal'd the suppliants for the people, call'd them time-pleasers, flatterers, foes to nobleness.
- Why, this was known before.
- Not to them all.
- Have you inform'd them? - I'? - You are like to do such business.
- Not unlike, each way, to better yours.
Why then should I be consul? By yond clouds, let me deserve so ill as you, and make me your fellow tribune.
You show too much of that for which the people stir.
If you will pass to where you are bound, you must inquire your way, which you are out of, with a gentler spirit, or never be so noble as a consul, nor yoke with him for tribune.
Let's be calm.
The people are abused.
Set on.
This paltering becomes not Rome, nor has Coriolanus deserved this so dishonour'd rub, laid falsely I' the plain way of his merit.
Tell me of corn! This was my speech, and I will speak't again Not now, not now.
Not in this heat, sir, now.
Now, as I live, I will.
My nobler friends, I crave their pardon.
For the mutable, rank-scented many, let them regard me as I do not flatter, and therein behold themselves.
I say again, in soothing them, we nourish 'gainst our senate the cockle of rebellion, insolence, sedition, which we ourselves have plough'd for, sow'd, and scatter'd, by mingling them with us, the honour'd number, who lack not virtue, no, nor power, but that which they have given to beggars.
- Well, no more.
- No more words, we beseech you.
How! No more! As for my country I have shed my blood, not fearing outward force, so shall my lungs coin words till their decay against those measles, which we disdain should tetter us, yet sought the very way to catch them.
You speak o' the people, as if you were a god to punish, not a man of their infirmity.
'Twere well we let the people know't.
What, what? His choler? Choler! Were I as patient as the midnight sleep, by Jove, 'twould be my mind! It is a mind that shall remain a poison where it is, not poison any further.
Shall remain! Hear you this Triton of the minnows? Mark you his absolute "shall"? - 'Twas from the canon.
- "Shall"! O good but most unwise patricians! Why, you grave but reckless senators, have you thus given Hydra here to choose an officer, that with his peremptory "shall", being but the horn and noise o' the monster's, wants not spirit to say he'll turn your current in a ditch, and make your channel his? If he have power then vail your ignorance.
If none, awake your dangerous lenity.
You are plebeians, if they be senators, and they are no less, when, both your voices blended, the great'st taste most palates theirs.
They choose their magistrate, and such a one as he, who puts his "shall", his popular "shall" against a graver bench than ever frowned in Greece.
By Jove himself! It makes the consuls base, and my soul aches to know, when two authorities are up, neither supreme, how soon confusion may enter 'twixt the gap of both and take the one by the other.
Well, on to the marketplace.
Whoever gave that counsel, to give forth the corn o' the storehouse gratis, as 'twas used sometime in Greece - No more of that.
- Though the people had more absolute power, I say, they nourish'd disobedience, and fed the ruin of the state.
Why shall the people give one that speaks thus their voice? I'll give my reasons, more worthier than their voices.
They know the corn was not our recompense, resting well assured they ne'er did service for't.
Being press'd to the war, even when the navel of the state was touch'd, they would not thread the gate.
This kind of service did not deserve corn gratis.
Being I' the war their mutinies and revolts, wherein they show'd most valour, spoke not for them.
Well, what then? How shall this bosom multiplied digest the senate's courtesy? Let deeds express what's like to be their words.
"We did request it.
We are the greater poll, and in true fear they gave us our demand.
" Thus we debase the nature of our seat and make the rabble call our cares fears, which will in time break ope the locks o' the senate - and bring in the crows to peck the eagles.
- Come, enough.
Enough, with over-measure.
No, take more.
What may be sworn by, both divine and human, seal what I end withal! This double worship, where one part does disdain with cause, the other insult without all reason, where gentry, title, wisdom, cannot conclude but by the yea and no of general ignorance.
It must omit real necessities, and give way the while to unstable slightness.
Purpose so barr'd, it follows, nothing is done to purpose.
Therefore, beseech you You that will be less fearful than discreet, that love the fundamental part of state more than you doubt the change on't, that prefer a noble life before along, that wish to jump a body with a dangerous physic that's sure of death without it, at once pluck out the multitudinous tongue.
Let them not lick the sweet which is their poison.
Your dishonour mangles true judgment and bereaves the state of that integrity which should become't, not having the power to do the good it would, for the ill which doth control't.
Has said enough.
Has spoken like a traitor, and shall answer as traitors do.
Thou wretch, despite o'ervvhelm thee! What should the people do with these bald tribunes? On whom depending, their obedience fails to the greater bench.
In a rebellion, when what's not meet, but what must be, was law, then were they chosen.
In a better hour, let what is meet be said it must be meet, and throw their power I' the dust.
Manifest treason! This a consul? No.
The aediles, ho! Go, call the people, in whose name myself attach thee as a traitorous innovator, a foe to the public weal.
Obey, I charge thee, and follow to thine answer.
Hence, old goat! Hence, rotten thing! Or I'll shake thy bones out ofthy garments.
Help, ye citizens! - Seize him! - Coriolanusl - Hear me! - List! Hear me, people, peace! You are at point to lose your liberties.
Marcius would have all from you.
Marcius, whom late you have named for consul.
Fie, fie, fie! This is the way to kindle, not to quench.
To unbuild the city and to lay all flat.
What is the city but the people? True, the people are the city.
By the consent of all, we were establish'd the people's magistrates.
- You so remain.
- And so are like to do.
That is the way to lay the city flat, to bring the roof to the foundation, and bury all, which yet distinctly ranges, in heaps and piles of ruin.
This deserves death.
Or let us stand to our authority, or let us lose it.
We do here pronounce, upon the part o' the people, in whose power we were elected theirs, Marcius is worthy of present death.
Therefore lay hold of him.
Bear him to the rock Tarpeian, and from thence into destruction cast him.
Aediles, seize him! MENENIUSI Beseech you, tribunes.
Hear me but a word.
Be that you seem, truly your country's friend, and temperately proceed in what you would thus violently redress.
Sir, those cold ways, that seem like prudent helps, are very poisonous where the disease is violent.
Lay hands upon him, and bear him to the rock.
No! I'll die here.
There's some among you have beheld me fighting.
Come, try upon yourselves what you have seen me.
Down with that sword.
Tribunes, withdraw awhile.
Go, get you to your house.
Be gone.
Come, sir, along with us.
I would they were barbarians, as they are, though in Rome litter'd, not Romans, as they are not, though calved I' the porch o' the Capitol.
MENENIUSI Be gone.
Put not your worthy rage into your tongue.
One time will owe another.
On fair ground I could beat forty of them.
Please you, be gone.
I'll try whether my old wit be in request with those that have but little.
This must be patch'd with cloth of any colour.
Nay, come away.
This man has marr'd his fortune.
Where is this viper that would depopulate the city and be every man himself? You worthy tribunes He shall be thrown down the Tarpeian rock with rigorous hands.
He hath resisted law, and therefore law shall scorn him further trial than the severity of the public power which he so sets at nought.
Sir, sir.
Do not cry havoc, where you should but hunt with modest warrant.
Sir, how comes't that you have holp to make this rescue? Hear me speak.
As I do know the consul's worthiness, so can I name his faults Consul! What consul? The consul Coriolanus.
He consul! If, by the tribunes' leave, and yours, good people, I may be heard, I would crave a word or two, the which shall turn you to no further harm than loss of time.
Speak briefly then, for we are peremptory to dispatch this viperous traitor, to eject him hence were but our danger and to keep him here our certain death.
Therefore it is decreed he dies tonight.
Now the good gods forbid that our renowned Rome, whose gratitude towards her deserved children is enroll'd in Jove's own book, like an unnatural dam should now eat up her own! He's a disease that must be cut away.
O, he's a limb that has but a disease.
SICINIUSI This is clean cam.
We'll hear no more.
Pursue him to his house, and pluck him thence, lest his infection, being of catching nature, spread further.
One word more, one word.
This tiger-footed rage, when it shall find the harm of unscann'd swiftness, will too late tie leaden pounds to's heels.
Proceed by process, lest parties, as he is beloved, break out, and sack great Rome with Romans.
If it were so What do ye talk? Have we not had a taste of his obedience? Our aediles smote? Ourselves resisted? Come.
Consider this.
He has been bred I' the wars since he could draw a sword, and is ill school'd in bolted language.
Meal and bran together he throws without distinction.
Give me leave, I'll go to him, and undertake to bring him where he shall answer, by a lawful form, in peace, to his utmost peril.
Noble tribunes, it is the humane way.
The other course will prove too bloody, and the end of it unknown to the beginning.
Noble Menenius, be you then as the people's officer.
Masters, lay down your weapons.
Go not home.
Meet on the marketplace.
We'll attend you there, where, if you bring not Marcius, we'll proceed in our first way.
I'll bring him to you.
Let them pull all about mine ears, present me death on the wheel or at wild horses' heels, or pile ten hills on the Tarpeian rock, that the precipitation might down stretch below the beam of sight, yet will I still be thus to them.
Why did you wish me milder? Would you have me false to my nature? Rather say I play the man I am.
O, sir, sir, sir, I would have had you put your power well on, before you had worn it out.
Let go.
You might have been enough the man you are, with striving less to be so.
Lesser had been the thwartings of your dispositions, if you had not show'd them how ye were disposed ere they lack'd power to cross you.
Let them hang.
Ay, and burn too.
Come, come, you have been too rough, something too rough.
You must return and mend it.
There's no remedy, unless, by not so doing, our good city cleave in the midst, and perish.
Pray, be counsell'd.
I have a heart as little apt as yours, but yet a brain that leads my use of anger to better vantage.
Well said, noble woman.
Before he should thus stoop to the herd, but that the violent fit o' the time craves it as physic for the whole state, I would put mine armour on, which I can scarcely bear.
What must I do? Return to the tribunes.
- Well, what then? What then? - Repent what you have spoke.
For them! I cannot do it to the gods.
Must I then do't to them? You are too absolute.
Though therein you can never be too noble, but when extremities speak.
I have heard you say, honour and policy, like unsever'd friends, I' the war do grow together.
Grant that, and tell me, in peace what each of them by the other lose, - that they combine not there.
- Tush, tush! MENENIUSI A good demand.
If it be honour in your wars to seem the same you are not, which, for your best ends, you adopt your policy, how is it less or worse, that it shall hold companionship in peace with honour, as in war, since that to both it stands in like request? Why force you this? Because that now it lies you on to speak to the people, not by your own instruction, nor by the matter which your heart prompts you, but with such words that are but rooted in your tongue, though but bastards and syllables of no allowance to your bosom's truth.
Now, this no more dishonours you at all than to take in a town with gentle words, which else would put you to your fortune and the hazard of much blood.
I would dissemble with my nature where my fortunes and my friends at stake required I should do so in honour.
I am in this, your wife, your son, these senators, the nobles, and you will rather show our general louts how you can frown than spend a fawn upon 'em, for the inheritance of their loves and safeguard of what that want might ruin.
Noble lady! Come, go with us.
Speak fair.
You may salve so, not what is dangerous present, but the loss of what is past.
I prithee now, my son, go to them, with thy bonnet in thy hand, and thus far having stretch'd it, here be with them.
This but done, even as she speaks, why, their hearts were yours.
Here is Cominius.
I have been I' the marketplace, and, sir, 'tis fit you make strong party, or defend yourself by calmness or by absence.
All's in anger.
Only fair speech.
I think 'twill serve, if he can thereto frame his spirit.
He must, and will.
Prithee now, say you will, and go about it.
Must I go show them my unbarbed sconce? Must I with my base tongue give to my noble heart a lie that it must bear? Well, I will do't.
Yet, were there but this single plot to lose, this mould of Marcius, they to dust should grind it and throw't against the wind.
To the marketplace! You have put me now to such a part that never shall I discharge to the life.
Come, come, we'll prompt you.
I prithee thou my son, as thou hast said my praises made thee first a soldier, so, to have my praise for this, perform a part thou hast not done before.
Well, I must do't.
Away, my disposition, and possess me some harlot's spirit! My throat of war be turn'd, which quired with my drum, into a pipe small as an eunuch, or the virgin voice that babies lull asleep! The smiles of knaves tent in my cheeks, and schoolboys' tears take up the glasses of my sight! I will not do't, lest I surcease to honour mine own truth and by my body's action teach my mind a most inherent baseness.
At thy choice, then.
To beg of thee, it is my more disgrace than thou of them.
Come all to ruin.
Let thy mother rather feel thy pride than fear thy dangerous stoutness, for I mock at death with as big heart as thou.
Do as thou list.
Thy valiantness was mine, thou suck'dst it from me, but owe thy pride thyself.
Pray, be content.
Mother, I am going to the marketplace.
Chide me no more.
I'll mountebank their loves, and cog their hearts from them, and come home beloved of all the trades in Rome.
Look, I am going.
Commend me to my wife.
I'll return consul.
Or never trust to what my tongue can do I' the way of flattery further.
Do your will.
In this point charge him home, that he affects tyrannical power.
If he evade us there, enforce him with his envy to the people, and that the spoil got on the Antiates was ne'er distributed.
- What, will he come? - He's coming.
How accompanied? With old Menenius, and those senators that always favour'd him.
Have you a catalogue of all the voices that we have procured set down by the poll? I have.
'Tis ready.
- Have you collected them by tribes? - I have.
Assemble presently the people hither, and when they hear me say, "It shall be so I' the right and strength o' the commons," be it either for death, for fine, or banishment, then let them if I say fine, cry "Fine.
" If death, cry, "Death.
" insisting on the old prerogative and power I' the truth o' the cause.
I shall inform them.
And when such time they have begun to cry, let them not cease, but with a din confused enforce the present execution of what we chance to sentence.
Very well.
Make them be strong and ready for this hint, when we shall hap to give't them.
Go about it.
Put him to choler straight.
He hath been used ever to conquer, and to have his worth of contradiction.
Being once chafed, he cannot be rein'd again to temperance.
Then he speaks what's in his heart, and that is there which looks with us to break his neck.
Well, here he comes.
Calmly, I do beseech you.
Ay, as an ostler, that for the poorest piece will bear the knave by the volume.
The honour'd gods keep Rome in safety, her chairs of justice supplied with worthy men! Plant love among's! And throng our large temples with the shows of peace, and not our streets with war! Amen, amen.
A noble wish.
Shall I be charged no further than this present? Must all determine here? I do demand, if you submit you to the people's voices, allow their officers and are content to suffer lawful censure for such faults as shall be proved upon you? I am content.
Lo, citizens, he says he is content.
The warlike service he has done, consider.
Think upon the wounds his body bears, which show like graves I' the holy churchyard.
Scratches with briers, scars to move laughter only.
Consider further, that when he speaks not like a citizen, you find him like a soldier.
Do not take his rougher accents for malicious sounds, but, as I say, such as become a soldier, rather than envy you.
What is the matter that being pass'd for consul with full voice, I am so dishonour'd that the very hour you take it off again? Answer to us.
Say, then, 'tis true, I ought so.
We charge you, that you have contrived to take from Rome all season'd office and to wind yourself into a power tyrannical, for which you are a traitor to the people.
How traitor! - Nay, temperately.
Your promise.
- The fires I' the lowest hell fold-in the people.
Call me their traitor? Thou injurious tribune! Within thine eyes sat twenty thousand deaths, in thy hand clutch'd as many millions, in thy lying tongue both numbers, I would say "Thou liest" unto thee with a voice as free as I do pray the gods.
Mark you this, people? We need not put new matter to his charge.
What you have seen him do and heard him speak, beating your officers, cursing yourselves, opposing laws with strokes and here defying those whose great power must try him, even this, so criminal and in such capital kind, deserves the extremest death.
But since he hath served well for Rome What do you prate of service? - I talk of that, that know it.
- You? - Is this the promise you made your mother? - I pray you I know no further.
Let them pronounce the steep Tarpeian death, vagabond exile, flaying, pent to linger but with a grain a day, I would not buy their mercy for the price of one fair word.
For that he has, as much as in him lies, from time to time envied against the people seeking means to pluck away their power, as now at last given hostile strokes, and that not in the presence of dreaded justice, but on the ministers that do distribute it, in the name o' the people and in the power of us the tribunes, we, even from this instant, banish him our city, in peril of precipitation from off the rock Tarpeian never more to enter our Rome gates.
I' the people's name, I say it shall be so.
Hear me, masters, and common friends.
- He's sentenced.
No more hearing.
- Let me speak.
I have been consul, and can show for Rome her enemies' marks upon me.
I do love my country's good with a respect more tender, more holy and profound, than mine own life, my dear wife's estimate, her womb's increase, and treasure of my loins.
Then if I would speak that We know your drift.
Speak what? There's no more to be said, but he is banish'd, as enemy to the people and his country.
It shall be so.
It shall be so, it shall be so.
You common cry of curs, whose breath I hate as reek o' the rotten fens, whose loves I prize as the dead carcasses of unburied men that do corrupt my air, I banish you, and here remain with your uncertainty.
Let every feeble rumour shake your hearts.
Your enemies, with nodding of their plumes, fan you into despair.
Have the power still to banish your defenders, till at length your ignorance, which finds not till it feels, deliver you as most abated captives to some nation that won you without blows.
Despising, for you, the city, thus I turn my back.
There is a world elsewhere.
Come, leave your tears.
A brief farewell.
The beast with many heads butts me away.
Nay, mother, where is your ancient courage? You were used to say extremity was the trier of spirits, that common chances common men could bear, that when the sea was calm all boats alike show'd mastership in floating.
You were used to load me with precepts that would make invincible the heart that conn'd them.
O heavens! O heavens! Nay! Good woman Now the red pestilence strike all trades in Rome, and occupations perish! What, what, what! I shall be loved when I am lack'd.
Nay, good mother.
Resume that spirit, when you were wont to say, if you had been the wife of Hercules, six of his labours you'd have done, and saved your husband so much sweat.
Thy tears are salter than a younger man's, and venomous to thine eyes.
My sometime general, I have seen thee stern, and thou hast oft beheld heart-hardening spectacles.
Tell these sad women 'tis fond to wail inevitable strokes, as 'tis to laugh at 'em.
To my mother, you wot well my hazards still have been your solace, and believe't not lightly though I go alone, like to a lonely dragon, that his fen makes fear'd and talk'd of more than seen, your son will or exceed the common or be caught with cautelous baits and practice.
My first son.
Whither wilt thou go? Take good Cominius with thee awhile.
Determine on some course, more than a wild exposture to each chance that starts I' the way before thee.
O the gods! I'll follow thee a month, devise with thee where thou shalt rest, that thou shall hear of us and we of thee, so if the time thrust forth a cause for thy repeal, we shall not send o'er the vast world to seek a single man, and lose advantage, which doth ever cool I' the absence of the needer.
Fare ye well.
Thou hast years upon thee, and thou an too full of the wars' surfeits to go rove with one that's yet unbruised.
Bring me but out at gate.
Come now, my sweet wife, my dearest mother, and my friends of nobler touch, when I am forth, bid me farewell, and smile.
I Pray you, come.
While I remain above the ground you shall hear from me still, and never of me aught but what is like me formerly.
Pray, come.
The nobility are vex'd, whom we see have sided in his behalf.
Now we have shown our power, let us seem humbler after it is done than when it was a-doing.
Here comes his mother.
Let's not meet her.
- Why? - They say she's mad.
O, ye're well met.
The hoarded plague o' the gods requite your love! Peace, peace.
Be not so loud.
If that I could for weeping, you should hear Nay, and you shall hear some.
- Ah, will you be gone? - You shall stay too.
I would I had the power to say so to my husband.
- Are you mankind? - Ay, fool, is that a shame? Note but this fool.
Was not a man my father? Hadst thou foxship to banish him that struck more blows for Rome than thou hast spoken words? - O, blessed heavens! - More noble blows than ever thou wise words.
And for Rome's good.
I'll tell thee what Yet go! Nay, but thou shalt stay too.
I would my son were in Arabia, and thy tribe before him, his good sword in his hand.
- What then? - What then! He'd make an end ofthy posterity.
Bastards and all.
Good man.
The wounds that he does bear for Rome! Come, come, peace.
I would he had continued to his country as he began, and not unknit himself the noble knot he made.
- I would he had.
- "I would he had"? 'Twas you incensed the rabble.
Cats, that can judge as fitly of his worth as I can of those mysteries which heaven will not have earth to know.
- Pray, let us go.
- Now, pray, sir, get you gone.
You have done a brave deed.
Ere you go, hear this As far as doth the Capitol exceed the meanest house in Rome, so far my son, this lady's husband here, this, do you see whom you've banish'd does exceed you all.
Well, well We'll leave you.
Why stay we to be baited with one that wants her wits? Take my prayers with you.
I would the gods had nothing else to do but to confirm my curses.
Could I meet 'em but once a day, it would unclog my heart of what lies heavy to't.
You have told them home, and, by my troth, you have cause You'll sup with me? Anger's my meat.
I sup upon myself, and so shall starve with feeding.
Come, let's go.
Leave this faint puling and lament as I do in anger, Juno-like.
Come.
Come! Come There hath been in Rome strange insurrections, the people against the senators, patricians, and nobles.
Hath been? Is it ended, then? Our state thinks not so.
They are in most warlike preparation and hope to come upon them in the heat of their division.
The main blaze of it is past, but a small thing would make it flame again.
For the nobles receive so to heart the banishment of that worthy Coriolanus that they are in a ripe aptness to take all power from the people and to pluck from them their tribunes for ever.
This lies glowing, I can tell you, and is almost mature for the violent breaking out.
Coriolanus banished? Banished, sir.
You will be welcome with this intelligence.
The day serves well for them now.
I have heard it said the fittest time to corrupt a man's wife is when she's fallen out with her husband.
Your noble Tullus Aufidius will appear well in these wars, his great opposer, Coriolanus, being now in no request of his country.
A goodly city is this Antium.
City! 'Tis I that made thy widows.
And many an heir of these fair edifices 'fore my wars have I heard groan and drop.
Then know me not, lest that thy wives with spits and boys with stones in puny battle slay me.
Save you, sir.
And you.
Direct me, if it be your will, where great Aufidius lies.
- Is he in Antium? - He is.
Which is his house, beseech you? - This, here before you.
- I thank you, sir.
Farewell.
O, world, thy slippery turns.
Friends now fast sworn, whose double bosoms seem to wear one heart, whose hours, whose bed, whose meal, and exercise, are still together, who twin, as 'twere, in love unseparable, shall within this hour, on a dissension of a do it, break out to bitterest enmity.
So, fellest foes, whose passions and whose plots have broke their sleep, to take the one the other, by some chance, some trick not worth an egg, shall grow dear friends and interjoin their issues.
So with me.
My birthplace hate I and my love's upon this enemy town.
I'll enter.
If he slay me, he does fair justice.
If he give me way, I'll do his country service.
Whence comest thou? What wouldst thou? Thy name? Why speak'st not? Speak, man, what's thy name? If, Tullus, not yet thou knowest me, and, seeing me, dost not think me for the man I am, - necessity commands me name myself.
- What is thy name? A name unmusical to the Volscian ears, and harsh in sound to thine.
Say! What's thy name? Thou hast a grim appearance, and thy face bears a command in't.
Though thy tackle's torn, thou show'st a noble vessel.
What's thy name? Prepare thy brow to frown.
Know'st thou me yet? I know thee not.
Thy name? My name is Caius Marcius who hath done to thee particularly, and to all the Volsces, great hurt and mischief.
Thereto witness may my surname.
Coriolanus.
The painful service, the extreme dangers and the drops of blood shed for my thankless country are requited but with that surname.
A good memory and witness of the malice and displeasure which thou shouldst bear me.
Only that name remains.
The cruelty and envy of the people, permitted by our dastard nobles, who have all forsook me, hath devour'd the rest, and suffer'd me by the voice of slaves to be whoop'd out of Rome.
Now this extremity hath brought me to thy hearth.
Not out of hope, mistake me not, to save my life, for if I had fear'd death, of all the men I' the world I would have 'voided thee.
But in mere spite, to be full quit of those my banishers, stand I before thee here.
Then, if thou hast a heart of wreak in thee, that wilt revenge thine own particular wrongs and stop those maims of shame seen through thy country, speed thee straight, and make my misery serve thy turn.
So use it that my revengeful services may prove as benefits to thee, for I will fight against my canker'd country with the spleen of all the under-fiends.
But if so be thou darest not this and that to prove more fortunes thou'rt tired, then, in a word, I also am longer to live most weary and present my throat to thee and to thy ancient malice, which not to cut would show thee but a fool, since I've ever follow'd thee with hate, drawn tuns of blood out from thy country's breast, and cannot live but to thy shame, unless it be to do thee service! O, Marcius, Marcius! Each word thou hast spoke hath weeded from my heart a root of ancient envy.
If Jupiter should from yond cloud speak divine things and say, "Tis true," I'd not believe them more than thee.
All noble Marcius.
Let me twine mine arms about that body where against my grained ash an hundred times hath broke and scarr'd the moon with splinters.
Here I clip the anvil of my sword and do contest as hotly and as nobly with thy love as ever in ambitious strength I did contend against thy valour.
Knowthou first, I loved the maid I married.
Never man sigh'd truer breath, but that I see thee here, thou noble thing! More dances my rapt heart than when I first my wedded mistress saw bestride my threshold.
Why, thou Mars! I tell thee, we have a power on foot, and I had purpose once more to hew thy target from thy brawn, or lose my arm for't.
Thou hast beat me out twelve several times, and I have nightly since dreamt of encounters 'twixt thyself and me.
We have been down together in my sleep, unbuckling helms, fixing each other's throat, and waked half-dead with nothing.
Worthy Marcius.
Had we no other quarrel else to Rome, but that thou an thence banish'd, we would muster all from twelve to seventy, and pouring war into the bowels of ungrateful Rome, like a bold flood, o'erbear it.
Come, go in.
And take our friendly senators by the hands, who now are here, taking their leaves of me, who am prepared against your territories.
- Though not for Rome itself.
- You bless me, gods! Therefore, most absolute sir if thou wilt have the leading of thine own revenges take the one half of my commission and set down, as best thou an experienced, since thou know'st thy country's strength and weakness, thine own ways, whether to knock against the gates of Rome, or rudely visit them in parts remote, to fright them, ere destroy.
But come in.
Let me commend thee first to those that shall say yea to thy desires.
A thousand welcomes! And more a friend than e'er an enemy.
Yet, Marcius, that was much.
We hear not of him, neither need we fear him.
His remedies are tame I' the present peace and quietness of the people, which before were in wild hurry.
Here do we make his friends blush that the world goes well, who rather had, though they themselves did suffer by't, behold dissentious numbers pestering streets than see our tradesmen singing in their shops and going about their functions friendly.
We stood to't in good time.
Is this Menenius? Hmm.
'Tisha, 'tishe.
Hail, sir! Hail to you both.
Your Coriolanus is not much miss'd, but with his friends.
The commonwealth doth stand, and so would do, were he more angry at it.
- Where is he, hear you? - No, I hear nothing.
His mother and his wife hear nothing from him.
Worthy tribunes, there is a slave, whom we have put in prison, reports the Volsces, with two several powers, are enter'd in the Roman territories, and with the deepest malice of the war destroy what lies before 'em.
'Tis Aufidius who, hearing of our Marcius' banishment, thrusts forth his horns again into the world, which were inshell'd when Marcius stood for Rome, and durst not once peep out.
Come, what talk you of Marcius? Go, see this rumourer whipp'd.
It cannot be the Volsces dare break with us.
Cannot be? I have record that very well it can, and three examples of the like have been within my age.
- Tell not me.
I know this cannot be.
- Not possible.
The nobles in great earnestness are coming all to the senate-house.
Some news there is that stirs their countenances.
'Tis this slave.
Go, whip him 'fore the people's eyes.
His raising, nothing but his report.
The slave's report is seconded, and more, more fearful, is deliver'd.
What more fearful? It is spoke freely out of many mouths, how probably I do not know, that Marcius, join'd with Aufidius, leads a power 'gainst Rome, and vows revenge as spacious as between the young'st and oldest thing.
O, you have made good work! What news? - If Marcius should be join'd with Volscians - If'? He is their god.
He leads them like a thing made by some other deity than nature that shapes man better, and they follow him, against us brats, with no less confidence than boys pursuing summer butterflies, or butchers killing flies.
You have made good work, you and your apron-men, that stood so much on the voice of occupation and the breath of garlic-eaters! All the regions do smilingly revolt, and who resist are mock'd for valiant ignorance and perish constant fools.
Who is't can blame him? Your enemies and his find something in him.
We are all undone, unless the noble man have mercy.
Who shall ask it? The tribunes cannot do't for shame, the people deserve such pity of him as the wolf does of the shepherds.
For his best friends, if they should say, be good to Rome, they charged him even as those should do that had deserved his hate, and therein show'd like enemies.
If he were putting to my house the brand that should consume it, I have not the face to say, "Beseech you, cease.
" You have brought a trembling upon Rome.
- Say not we brought it.
- How! Was? we? We loved him, but like beasts and cowardly nobles, gave way unto your clusters, who did hoot him out o' the city.
But I fear they'll roar him in again.
Tullus Aufidius, the second name of men, obeys his points as if he were his officer.
Desperation is all the policy, strength and defence that Rome can make against them.
Here come the clusters.
You have made the air unwholesome, when you cast your stinking greasy caps in hooting at Coriolanus' exile.
Faith, we hear fearful news.
For mine own part, when I said, banish him, I said 'twas pity.
- And so did I.
- And so did I.
And, to say the truth, so did very many of us.
That we did, we did for the best, and though we willingly consented to his banishment, yet it was against our will.
You're goodly things, you voices! You have made good work, you and your cry! Do they still fly to the Roman? I do not know what witchcraft's in him, but your soldiers use him as the grace 'fore meat, their talk at table, and their thanks at end, and you are darken'd by this action, sir, even by your own.
I cannot help it now.
Unless, by using means, I lame the foot of our design.
He bears himself more proudlier, even to my person, than I thought he would when first I did embrace him.
Yet his nature in that's no changeling, and I must excuse what cannot be amended.
Yet I wish, sir I mean for your particular, you had not join'd in commission with him but either had borne the action of yourself, or else to him had left it solely.
I understand thee well, and be thou sure, when he shall come to his account, he knows not what I can urge against him.
Although it seems, and so he thinks, and is no less apparent to the vulgar eye, that he bears all things fairly, and shows good husbandry for the Volscian state, fights dragon-like, and does achieve as soon as draw his sword, yet he hath left undone that which shall break his neck.
Or hazard mine, whene'er we come to our account.
Sir, I beseech you, think you he'll carry Rome? All places yield to him ere he sits down.
And the nobility of Rome are his.
The senators and patricians love him too.
The tribunes are no soldiers, and their people will be as rash in the repeal as hasty to expel him thence.
I think he'll be to Rome as is the osprey to the fish, who takes it by sovereignty of nature.
First he was a noble servant to them but he could not carry his honours even.
Whether 'twas pride, which out of daily fortune ever taints the happy man whether defect of judgment, to fail in the disposing of those chances which he was lord of, or whether nature.
not to be other than one thing, not moving from the casque to the cushion, but commanding peace even with the same austerity and garb as he controll'd the war, but one of these.
As he hath spices of them all, not all, for I dare so far free him made him fear'd so hated and so banish'd.
But he has a merit to choke it in the utterance.
So our virtues lie in the interpretation of the time and power, unto itself most commendable hath not a tomb so evident as a chair to extol what it hath done.
One fire drives out one fire, one nail, one nail.
Rights by rights falter.
Strengths by strengths do fail.
I tell you, he does sit in gold, his eye red as 'twould burn Rome, and his injury the gaoler to his pity.
I kneel'd before him.
'Twas very faintly he said, "Rise," dismiss'd me thus, with his speechless hand.
You hear what he hath said which was sometime his general who loved 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 knee the way into his mercy.
Nay, if he coy'd to hear Cominius speak, I'll keep at home.
- He would not seem to know me.
- Do you hear? Yet one time he did call me by my name.
I urged 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 forged himself a name in the fire of burning Rome.
Why, so! You have made good work.
A pair of tribunes that have rack'd for Rome to make coals cheap.
A noble memory! I minded him how royal 'twas to pardon when it was less expected.
He replied, it was a bare petition of a state to one whom they had punish'd.
MENENIUSI Very well.
Could he say less? I offer'd to awaken his regard for his private friends.
His answer to me was, he could not stay to pick them in a pile of noisome, musty chaff.
He said 'twas folly, for one poor grain or two, to leave unburnt, and still to nose the of fence.
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.
- Nay, pray be patient.
If you refuse your aid in this so never-needed help, yet do not upbraid's for 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 countryman.
No, I'll not meddle.
- Pray you, go to him.
- What should I do? Only make trial what your love can do for Rome towards Marcius.
Well, and say that Marcius return me, as Cominius is return'd, unheard, what then? But as a discontented friend, grief-shot with his unkindness? Say't be so? Yet your good will must have that thanks from Rome, after the measure as you intended well.
I'll undertake't.
I think he'll hear me.
And the glorious gods love thee no worse than thy old father Menenius does! O, my son.
My son.
Thou an preparing fire for us.
Look thee.
Here is water to quench it.
I was hardly moved to come to thee, but being assured that none but myself could move thee, I have been blown out ofthy gates with sighs and conjure thee to pardon Rome and thy petitionary countrymen.
Away.
How away? Wife, mother, child I know not.
My affairs are servanted to others.
Though I owe my revenge properly, my remission lies in Volscian breasts.
That we have been familiar, ingrate forgetfulness shall poison, rather than pity note how much.
Therefore, be gone.
My 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 beloved in Rome.
Yet thou behold'st! You keep a constant temper.
See you yond quoin o' the Capitol, yond cornerstone? Why, what of that? If it be possible for you to displace it with your little finger, there is some hope that the ladies of Rome, especially his mother, may prevail with him.
But I say there is no hope in't.
Our throats are sentenced and stay upon execution.
Is't possible that so short a time can alter the condition of a man! There is differency between a grub and a butterfly, yet your butterfly was a grub.
This Marcius is grown from man to dragon.
He has wings.
He is more than a creeping thing.
He loved his mother dearly.
So did he me.
He no more remembers his mother now than an eight-year-old horse.
The tartness of his face sours ripe grapes.
He sits in his state like a thing made for Alexander.
What he bids be done is finished with his bidding.
He wants nothing of a god but eternity and a heaven to throne in.
Yes, mercy, if you report him truly.
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 tiger.
That, shall our poor city find, and all this is long of you.
SICINIUSI The gods be good unto us! No, in such a case the gods will not be good unto us.
When we banished him, we respected not them.
And he returning to break our necks, they respect not us.
This last old man, whom with a crack'd heart I have sent to Rome, loved me above the measure of a father.
Nay godded me, indeed.
Their latest refuge was to send him for whose old love I have, though I show'd sourly 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 embassies and suits, nor from the state nor private friends, hereafter will I lend ear to.
My wife comes foremost.
Then the honour'd mould wherein this trunk was framed and in her hand, the grandchild to her blood.
But, out, affection! All bond and privilege of nature, break.
Let it be virtuous to be obstinate.
What is that curt'sy worth? Or those doves' eyes, which can make gods forsworn? I melt and am not of stronger earth than others.
My mother bows, as if Olympus to a molehill should in supplication nod, and my young boy hath an aspect of intercession, which great nature cries, “Deny not.
" Let the Volsces plough Rome and harrow Italy.
I'll never be such a gosling to obey instinct, but stand, as if a man were author of himself and knew no other kin.
My lord and husband! These eyes are not the same I wore in Rome.
The sorrow that delivers us thus changed makes you think so.
Like a dull actor now, I have forgot my part, and I am out, even to a full disgrace.
Best of my flesh 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.
Ye gods! I prate, and the most noble mother in the world leave unsaluted.
Sink, my knee, I' the earth.
Ofthy deep duty more impression show than that of common sons.
O, stand up blest, whilst, with no softer cushion than the flint, I kneel before thee, and unproperly show duty, as mistaken all this while between the child and parent.
What's this? Your knees to me? To your corrected son? Then let the pebbles on the hungry beach fillip the stars, then let the mutinous winds strike the proud cedars 'gainst the fiery sun, murdering impossibility, to make what cannot be slight work.
Thou an my warrior.
I holp to frame thee.
Do you know this lady? The noble sister of Publicola, the moon of Rome, chaste as the icicle that's curdied by the frost from purest snow and hangs on Dian's temple.
Dear Valeria.
This is a poor epitome of yours which by the interpretation of full time may show like all yourself.
The god of soldiers, with the consent of supreme Jove, inform thy thoughts with nobleness.
Your knee, sirrah.
That's my brave boy.
Even he, your wife, this lady, and myself, are suitors to you.
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 denials.
Bid me dismiss my soldiers or capitulate again with Rome's mechanics.
Tell me not wherein I seem unnatural.
Desire not to ally my rages and revenges with your colder reasons.
O, no more, no more! You have said you will not grant us anything, 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.
Aufidius, and you Volsces, mark for we'll hear nought from Rome in private.
Your request? 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 thyself how more unfortunate than all living women are we come hither, since that thy sight, which should make our eyes 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 father, the husband, 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 evident calamity, though we had our wish which side should win.
For either thou must, as a foreign recreant, be led with manacles thorough our streets, or else triumphantly tread on thy country's ruin, and bear the palm for having bravely shed thy wife and children's blood.
For myself, son, I purpose not to wait on fortune till these wars determine.
If I cannot persuade thee rather to show a noble grace to both sides than seek the end of one thou shalt no sooner march to assault thy country than to tread - trust to't, thou shalt not - on thy mother's womb, which brought thee to this world.
Ay, and mine that brought you forth this boy, to keep your name living to time.
A' shall not tread on me.
I'll run away till I am bigger.
But then I'll fight.
Not of a woman's tenderness to be, requires nor child nor woman's face to see.
- I have sat too long.
- Nay, go not from us thus! If it were so that our request did tend to save the Romans, thereby to destroy the Volsces whom you serve, you might condemn us as poisonous of your honour.
No.
Our suit is that you reconcile them.
While the Volsces may say "This mercy we've show'd, I ll the Romans, "This we received," 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 shall be dogg'd with curses, whose chronicle thus writ, "The man was noble, but with his last attempt he wiped it out, destroy'd his country and his name remains to the ensuing age abhorr'd.
" Speak to me, son.
Thou hast affected the fine strains of honour to imitate the graces of the gods, to tear with thunder the wide cheeks o' the air, and yet to charge 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.
Thou hast never in thy life show'd thy dear mother any courtesy, when she, poor hen, fond of no second brood, has cluck'd thee to the wars and safely home, leaden with honour.
Say my request's unjust and spurn me back, but if it be not so, thou an 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 surname Coriolanus 'longs more pride than pity to our prayers.
Down.
An 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's go.
This fellow had a Volscian to his mother, his wife is in Corioli and his child like him by chance.
Nay Give us our dispatch.
I am hush'd until our city be a-fire.
And then I'll speak a little.
O, Mother Mother What have you done? Behold, the heavens do ope, the gods look down, and this unnatural scene they laugh at.
O, my mother Mother O You have won a happy victory to Rome but, for your son, believe it, O, 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.
And good Aufidius, were you in my stead, would you have heard a mother less or granted less? Aufidius? I was moved withal.
I dare be sworn you were.
And, sir, it is no little thing to make mine eyes to sweat compassion.
But, good sir, 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.
No O Mother Wife I am glad thou hast set thy mercy and thy honour at difference in thee.
Out of that, I'll work myself a former fortune.
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 Marcius, repeal him with the welcome of his mother.
Cry, "Welcome, ladies, welcome!“ Welcome, ladies.
Welcome.
Go tell the lords o' the city I am here.
Deliver them this paper.
Most noble sir, if you do hold the same intent wherein you wish'd us parties, we'll deliver you of your great danger.
Sir, I cannot tell.
We must proceed as we do find the people.
The people will remain uncertain whilst 'twixt you there's difference but the fall of either makes the survivor heir of all.
I know it.
And my pretext to strike at him admits a good construction.
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 choose out of my ranks, his projects to accomplish, my best and freshest men, served his designments in mine own person, holp to reap the fame which he did end all his and took some pride to do myself this wrong till, at the last, I seem'd his follower, and not partner and he waged me with his countenance, as if I had been mercenary.
So he did, my ford.
The army man/eH'd at ft.
And, in the last, when he had carried Rome and that we look'd for no less spoil than glory There was it.
For which, my sinews shall be stretch'd upon him.
At a few drops of women's rheum, which are as cheap as lies, he sold the blood and labour of our great action.
Therefore shall he die.
And I'll renew me in his fall.
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 the Romans, and here deliver, subscribed by the consuls and patricians, together with the seal o' the senate, what we have compounded on.
Read it not, noble lords but tell the traitor in the high'st degree he hath abused your powers.
Traitor? How now? Ay, traitor, Marcius.
- Marcius? - Ay, Marcius.
Caius Marcius.
Dost thou think I'll grace thee with that robbery, thy stol'n name Coriolanus, In Corioli? You lords and heads o' the 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 counsels o' the war, but at his nurse's tears he whined and roar'd away your victory that pages blush'd at him and men of heart look'd wondering each at other.
Hear'st thou, Mars? Name not the god, thou boy of tears! - No more.
- 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 forced to scold.
Your judgments, my grave lords, must give this cur the lie.
And his own notion, who wears my stripes impress'd upon him, that must bear my beating to his grave, shall join to thrust the lie unto him.
Cut me to pieces, Volsces.
Men and lads, stain all your edges on me.
Boy! False hound! If you have writ your annals true, 'tis there that, like an eagle in a dove-cote, I flutter'd your Volscians in Corioli.
Alone I did it.
Boy! Why, noble lords, will you be put in mind of his blind fortune, which was your shame, by this unholy braggart! Peace, ho! No outrage.
Peace! The man is noble and his fame folds-in this orb o' the earth.
His last of fences to us shall have judicious hearing.
Stand, Aufidius, and trouble not the peace.
O, that I had him, with six Aufidiuses, or more, his tribe, to use my lawful sword! Insolent villain.
Kill Kill! Kill! - Kill! - Kill BOTH; Kill! Kill! AUFIDIUSI Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! My lords.
When you shall know, as in this rage, provoked by him, you cannot the great danger which this man's life did owe you, you'll rejoice that he is thus cut off.
MY Page is gone.
And I am struck with sorrow.
Though in this city he hath widow'd and unchilded many a one which to this hour bewail the injury yet he shall have a noble memory.