Imatges de pÓgina

Make good this ostentation, and you shall
Divide in all with us.



TITUS LARTIUS, having set a Guard upon CORIOLI, going with a Drum and Trumpet toward COMINIUS and CAIUS MARCIUS, enters with a Lieutenant, a Party of Soldiers, and a Scout.

Lart. So, let the ports be guarded: keep your duties, As I bave set them down. If I do send, despatch Those centuries to our aid; the rest will serve For a short holding: If we lose the field, We cannot keep the town.


Fear not our care, sir.

Lart. Hence, and shut your gates upon us.
Our guider, come; to the Roman camp conduct us.

[Exeunt. SCENE VIII. A Field of Battle between the Roman and the Volscian Camps.

Alarum. Enter MARCIUS and AUFIDIUS.

Mar. I'll fight with none but thee; for I do hate thee Worse than a promise-breaker.


Not Áfric owns a serpent, I abhor

We hate alike;

More than thy fame and envy: Fix thy foot.
Mar. Let the first budger die the other's slave,
And the gods doom him after!


Halloo me like a hare.


If I fly, Marcius,

Within these three hours, Tullus,

Alone I fought in your Corioli walls,

And made what work I pleas'd; "Tis not my blood,
Wherein thou seest me mask'd; for thy revenge,
Wrench up thy power to the highest.

Wert thou the Hector,

That was the whip of your bragg'd progeny,
Thou shouldst not scape me here.--

[They fight, and certain Volces come to the Aid
of Aufidius.

Officious, and not valiant-you have sham'd me
In your condemned seconds.

[Exeunt fighting, driven in by Marcius.

SCENE IX. The Roman Camp.

Alarum. A Retreat is sounded. Flourish. Enter at
one side, COMINIUS and ROMANS; at the other side,
MARCIUS, with his Arm in a Scarf, and other ROMANS.
Com. If I should tell thee o'er this thy day's work,
Thoul't 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 quak'd, hear more; where the dull tribunes,
That, with the fusty plebeians, hate thine honours,
Shall say, against their hearts-We thank the gods,
Our Rome hath such a soldier!—

Yet cam'st thou to a morsel of this feast,
Having fully dined before.

Enter TITUS LARTIUS, with his Power, from the


Here is the steed, we the caparison:

Hadst thou beheld


O general,

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; induc'd
As you have been; that's for my country:
He, that has but effected his good will,,
Hath overta'en mine act.

You shall not be

The grave of your deserving; Rome must know
The value of her own: 'twere a concealment
Worse than a theft, no less than a traducement,
To hide your doings; and to silence that,
Which, to the spire and top of praises vouch'd,
Would seem but modest: Therefore, I beseech you

(In sign of what you are, not to reward

What you have done), before our army hear me.
Mar. I have some wounds upon me, and they smart
To hear themselves remember'd.


Should they not,

Well might they fester 'gainst ingratitude,

And tent themselves with death. Of all the horses
(Whereof we have ta'en good, and good store), of all
The treasure, in this field achiev'd, 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.

[A long Flourish. They all cry, Marcius! Marcius!
cast up their Caps and Lances: Cominius and
Lartius stand bare.

Mar. May these same instruments, which you profane,
Never sound more! When drums and trumpets shall
I'the field prove flatterers, let courts and cities be
Made all of false-fac'd soothing: When steel grows
Soft as the parasite's silk, let him be made
An overture for the wars! No more, I say;
For that I have not wash'd my nose that bled,
Or foil'd some debile wretch,-which, without note,
Here's many else have done, you shout me forth
In acclamations hyperbolical;

As if I lov'd my little should be dieted
In praises sauc'd with lies.

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Com. 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 incens'd, we'll put you (Like one that means his proper harm), in manacles, Then reason safely with you. Therefore, be it known, As to us, to all the world, that Caius Marcius Wears this war's garland: in token of the which,

My noble steed, known to the camp, I give him,
With all his trim belonging; and, from this time,
For what he did before Corioli, call him,

With all the applause and clamour of the host,

Bear the addition nobly ever!

[Flourish. Trumpets sound, and Drums.

All. Caius Marcius Coriolanus!

Cor. 1 will go wash;

And when my face is fair, you shall perceive
Whether I blush, or no : Howbeit, I thank you :-
I mean to stride your steed; and, at all times,
To undercrest your good addition,

To the fairness of my power.


So, to our tent:

Where, ere we do repose us, we will write
To Rome of our success.- -You, Titus Lartius,
Must to Corioli back: send us to Rome
The best, with whom we may articulate,
For their own good, and ours.
I shall, my lord.
Cor. The gods begin to mock me.
Í that now
Refus'd most princely gifts, am bound to beg
Of my lord general.


Take it: 'tis yours.-What is't?

Cor. I sometime lay, here in Corioli,

At a poor man's house; he us'd me kindly:
He cried to me; I saw him prisoner;
But then Aufidius was within my view,

And wrath o'erwhelm'd my pity: I request you
To give my poor host freedom.


O, well begg'd!

Were he the butcher of my son, he should
Be free as is the wind. Deliver him, Titus.
Lart. Marcius, his name?


By Jupiter, forgot:

Go we to our tent:

I am weary; yea, my memory is tird'.-
Have we no wine here?


The blood upon your visage dries: 'tis time
It should be look'd to: come.


SCENE X. The Camp of the VOLCES.

A Flourish. Cornets. Enter TULLUS AUFIDIUS, bloody, with two or three Soldiers.

Auf. The town is ta'en!

1 Sol. "Twill be deliver'd back on good condition. Auf. Condition?—

I would, I were a Roman; for I cannot,
Being a Volce, 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 is 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.

1 Sol.

He's the devil.
Auf. Bolder, though not so subtle: My valour's
With only suffering stain by him; for him [poison'd,
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. Go you to the city;
Learn, how 'tis held; and what they are," that must
Be hostages for Rome.

1 Sol.

Will not you go?

Auf. I am attended at the cypress grove:

I pray you

("Tis south the city mills), bring me word thither How the world goes; that to the pace of it

I may spur on my journey.

1 Sol.

I shall, sir.


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