Nay, temperately! Your promise.
CORIOLANUS.
The fires i’ th’ lowest hell fold in the people!
Call me their traitor? Thou injurious tribune!
Within thine eyes sat twenty thousand deaths,
In thy hands clutched 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.
SICINIUS.
Mark you this, people?
ALL PLEBEIANS.
To th’ rock, to th’ rock with him!
SICINIUS.
Peace!
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 th’ extremest death.
BRUTUS.
But since he hath
Served well for Rome—
CORIOLANUS.
What do you prate of service?
BRUTUS.
I talk of that that know it.
CORIOLANUS.
You?
MENENIUS.
Is this the promise that you made your mother?
COMINIUS.
Know, I pray you—
CORIOLANUS.
I’ll 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 at the price of one fair word,
Nor check my courage for what they can give,
To have’t with saying “Good morrow.”
SICINIUS.
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’ th’ 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’ th’ people’s name,
I say it shall be so.
ALL PLEBEIANS.
It shall be so, it shall be so! Let him away!
He’s banished, and it shall be so.
COMINIUS.
Hear me, my masters and my common friends—
SICINIUS.
He’s sentenced. No more hearing.
COMINIUS.
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—
SICINIUS.
We know your drift. Speak what?
BRUTUS.
There’s no more to be said, but he is banished
As enemy to the people and his country.
It shall be so.
ALL PLEBEIANS.
It shall be so, it shall be so!
CORIOLANUS.
You common cry of curs, whose breath I hate
As reek o’ th’ 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,
Making but reservation of yourselves,
Still your own foes—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.
[_Exeunt Coriolanus, Cominius, with other Senators._]
AEDILE.
The people’s enemy is gone, is gone.
ALL PLEBEIANS.
Our enemy is banished; he is gone. Hoo, hoo!
[_They all shout and throw up their caps._]
SICINIUS.
Go see him out at gates, and follow him,
As he hath followed you, with all despite.
Give him deserved vexation. Let a guard
Attend us through the city.
ALL PLEBEIANS.
Come, come, let’s see him out at gates! Come!
The gods preserve our noble tribunes! Come.
[_Exeunt._]
ACT IV
SCENE I. Rome. Before a gate of the city
Enter Coriolanus, Volumnia, Virgilia, Menenius, Cominius with the young
nobility of Rome.
CORIOLANUS.
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 extremities was the trier of spirits;
That common chances common men could bear;
That when the sea was calm, all boats alike
Showed mastership in floating; fortune’s blows
When most struck home, being gentle wounded craves
A noble cunning. You were used to load me
With precepts that would make invincible
The heart that conned them.
VIRGILIA.
O heavens! O heavens!
CORIOLANUS.
Nay, I prithee, woman—
VOLUMNIA.
Now the red pestilence strike all trades in Rome,
And occupations perish!
CORIOLANUS.
What, what, what!
I shall be loved when I am lacked. Nay, 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.—Cominius,
Droop not. Adieu.—Farewell, my wife, my mother.
I’ll do well yet.—Thou old and true Menenius,
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-hard’ning spectacles. Tell these sad women
’Tis fond to wail inevitable strokes
As ’tis to laugh at ’em.—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 feared and talked of more than seen, your son
Will or exceed the common or be caught
With cautelous baits and practice.
VOLUMNIA.
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’ th’ way before thee.
VIRGILIA.
O the gods!
COMINIUS.
I’ll follow thee a month, devise with thee
Where thou shalt rest, that thou mayst 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’ th’ absence of the needer.
CORIOLANUS.
Fare ye well.
Thou hast years upon thee, and thou art too full
Of the wars’ surfeits to go rove with one
That’s yet unbruised. Bring me but out at gate.—
Come, my sweet wife, my dearest mother, and
My friends of noble 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.
MENENIUS.
That’s worthily
As any ear can hear. Come, let’s not weep.
If I could shake off but one seven years
From these old arms and legs, by the good gods,
I’d with thee every foot.
CORIOLANUS.
Give me thy hand.
Come.
[_Exeunt._]
SCENE II. Rome. A street near the gate
Enter two Tribunes, Sicinius, Brutus with the Aedile.
SICINIUS.
Bid them all home. He’s gone, and we’ll no further.
The nobility are vexed, whom we see have sided
In his behalf.
BRUTUS.
Now we have shown our power,
Let us seem humbler after it is done
Than when it was a-doing.
SICINIUS.
Bid them home.
Say their great enemy is gone, and they
Stand in their ancient strength.
BRUTUS.
Dismiss them home.
[_Exit Aedile._]
Here comes his mother.
Enter Volumnia, Virgilia and Menenius.
SICINIUS.
Let’s not meet her.
BRUTUS.
Why?
SICINIUS.
They say she’s mad.
BRUTUS.
They have ta’en note of us. Keep on your way.
VOLUMNIA.
O, you’re well met. The hoarded plague o’ th’ gods
Requite your love!
MENENIUS.
Peace, peace! Be not so loud.
VOLUMNIA.
If that I could for weeping, you should hear—
Nay, and you shall hear some. [_To Sicinius_.] Will you be gone?
VIRGILIA.
[_To Brutus_.] You shall stay too. I would I had the power
To say so to my husband.
SICINIUS.
Are you mankind?
VOLUMNIA.
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?
SICINIUS.
O blessed heavens!
VOLUMNIA.
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.
SICINIUS.
What then?
VIRGILIA.
What then?
He’d make an end of thy posterity.
VOLUMNIA.
Bastards and all.
Good man, the wounds that he does bear for Rome!
MENENIUS.
Come, come, peace.
SICINIUS.
I would he had continued to his country
As he began, and not unknit himself
The noble knot he made.
BRUTUS.
I would he had.
VOLUMNIA.
“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.
BRUTUS.
Pray, let’s go.
VOLUMNIA.
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 have banished, does exceed you all.
BRUTUS.
Well, well, we’ll leave you.
SICINIUS.
Why stay we to be baited
With one that wants her wits?
[_Exeunt Tribunes._]
VOLUMNIA.
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.
MENENIUS.
You have told them home,
And, by my troth, you have cause. You’ll sup with me?
VOLUMNIA.
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.
[_Exeunt._]
MENENIUS.
Fie, fie, fie!
[_Exit Menenius._]
SCENE III. A highway between Rome and Antium
Enter a Roman and a Volsce.
ROMAN.
I know you well, sir, and you know me. Your name I think is Adrian.
VOLSCE.
It is so, sir. Truly, I have forgot you.
ROMAN.
I am a Roman, and my services are, as you are, against ’em. Know you me
yet?
VOLSCE.
Nicanor, no?
ROMAN.
The same, sir.
VOLSCE.
You had more beard when I last saw you, but your favour is well
approved by your tongue. What’s the news in Rome? I have a note from
the Volscian state to find you out there. You have well saved me a
day’s journey.
ROMAN.
There hath been in Rome strange insurrections, the people against the
senators, patricians, and nobles.
VOLSCE.
Hath been? Is it ended, then? Our state thinks not so. They are in a
most warlike preparation and hope to come upon them in the heat of
their division.
ROMAN.
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.
VOLSCE.
Coriolanus banished?
ROMAN.
Banished, sir.
VOLSCE.
You will be welcome with this intelligence, Nicanor.
ROMAN.
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.
VOLSCE.
He cannot choose. I am most fortunate thus accidentally to encounter
you. You have ended my business, and I will merrily accompany you home.
ROMAN.
I shall between this and supper tell you most strange things from Rome,
all tending to the good of their adversaries. Have you an army ready,
say you?
VOLSCE.
A most royal one. The centurions and their charges, distinctly
billeted, already in th’ entertainment, and to be on foot at an hour’s
warning.
ROMAN.
I am joyful to hear of their readiness and am the man, I think, that
shall set them in present action. So, sir, heartily well met, and most
glad of your company.
VOLSCE.
You take my part from me, sir. I have the most cause to be glad of
yours.
ROMAN.
Well, let us go together.
[_Exeunt._]
SCENE IV. Antium. Before Aufidius’s house
Enter Coriolanus in mean apparel, disguised and muffled.
CORIOLANUS.
A goodly city is this Antium. City,
’Tis I that made thy widows. 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.
Enter a Citizen.
Save you, sir.
CITIZEN.
And you.
CORIOLANUS.
Direct me, if it be your will,
Where great Aufidius lies. Is he in Antium?
CITIZEN.
He is, and feasts the nobles of the state
At his house this night.
CORIOLANUS.
Which is his house, beseech you?
CITIZEN.
This here before you.
CORIOLANUS.
Thank you, sir. Farewell.
[_Exit Citizen._]
O world, thy slippery turns! Friends now fast sworn,
Whose double bosoms seems 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 doit, 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.
[_Exit._]
SCENE V. Antium. A hall in Aufidius’s house
Music plays. Enter a Servingman.
FIRST SERVINGMAN.
Wine, wine, wine! What service is here? I think our fellows are asleep.
[_Exit._]
Enter another Servingman.
SECOND SERVINGMAN.
Where’s Cotus? My master calls for him. Cotus!
[_Exit._]
Enter Coriolanus.
CORIOLANUS.
A goodly house. The feast smells well, but I
Appear not like a guest.
Enter the First Servingman.
FIRST SERVINGMAN.
What would you have, friend? Whence are you? Here’s no place for you.
Pray go to the door.
[_Exit._]
CORIOLANUS.
I have deserved no better entertainment
In being Coriolanus.
Enter Second Servingman.
SECOND SERVINGMAN.
Whence are you, sir?—Has the porter his eyes in his head, that he gives
entrance to such companions?—Pray, get you out.
CORIOLANUS.
Away!
SECOND SERVINGMAN.
Away? Get you away.
CORIOLANUS.
Now th’ art troublesome.
SECOND SERVINGMAN.
Are you so brave? I’ll have you talked with anon.
Enter Third Servingman; the First, entering, meets him.
THIRD SERVINGMAN.
What fellow’s this?
FIRST SERVINGMAN.
A strange one as ever I looked on. I cannot get him out o’ th’ house.
Prithee call my master to him.
THIRD SERVINGMAN.
What have you to do here, fellow? Pray you, avoid the house.
CORIOLANUS.
Let me but stand. I will not hurt your hearth.
THIRD SERVINGMAN.
What are you?
CORIOLANUS.
A gentleman.
THIRD SERVINGMAN.
A marv’llous poor one.
CORIOLANUS.
True, so I am.
THIRD SERVINGMAN.
Pray you, poor gentleman, take up some other station. Here’s no place
for you. Pray you, avoid. Come.
CORIOLANUS.
Follow your function, go, and batten on cold bits.
[_Pushes him away from him_.]
THIRD SERVINGMAN.
What, you will not?—Prithee, tell my master what a strange guest he has
here.
SECOND SERVINGMAN.
And I shall.
[_Exit._]
THIRD SERVINGMAN.
Where dwell’st thou?
CORIOLANUS.
Under the canopy.
THIRD SERVINGMAN.
Under the canopy?
CORIOLANUS.
Ay.
THIRD SERVINGMAN.
Where’s that?
CORIOLANUS.
I’ th’ city of kites and crows.
THIRD SERVINGMAN.
I’ th’ city of kites and crows? What an ass it is! Then thou dwell’st
with daws too?
CORIOLANUS.
No, I serve not thy master.
THIRD SERVINGMAN.
How, sir? Do you meddle with my master?
CORIOLANUS.
Ay, ’tis an honester service than to meddle with thy mistress. Thou
prat’st and prat’st. Serve with thy trencher, hence!
[_Beats him away_.]
[_Exit Third Servingman._]
Enter Aufidius with the Second Servingman.
AUFIDIUS.
Where is this fellow?
SECOND SERVINGMAN.
Here, sir. I’d have beaten him like a dog, but for disturbing the lords
within.
AUFIDIUS.
Whence com’st thou? What wouldst thou?
Thy name? Why speak’st not? Speak, man. What’s thy name?
CORIOLANUS.
[_Removing his muffler_.] If, Tullus,
Not yet thou know’st me, and, seeing me, dost not
Think me for the man I am, necessity
Commands me name myself.
AUFIDIUS.
What is thy name?
CORIOLANUS.
A name unmusical to the Volscians’ ears
And harsh in sound to thine.
AUFIDIUS.
Say, what’s thy name?
Thou has 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?
CORIOLANUS.
Prepare thy brow to frown. Know’st thou me yet?
AUFIDIUS.
I know thee not. Thy name?
CORIOLANUS.
My name is Caius Martius, 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 devoured the rest,
And suffered me by th’ voice of slaves to be
Whooped 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 feared death, of all the men i’ th’ 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 cankered country with the spleen
Of all the under fiends. But if so be
Thou dar’st 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 have ever followed thee with hate,
Drawn tuns of blood out of thy country’s breast,
And cannot live but to thy shame, unless
It be to do thee service.
AUFIDIUS.
O Martius, Martius,
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 Martius. Let me twine
Mine arms about that body, whereagainst
My grained ash an hundred times hath broke
And scarred 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. Know thou first,
I loved the maid I married; never man
Sighed 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 mine 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, fisting each other’s throat,
And waked half dead with nothing. Worthy Martius,
Had we no other quarrel else to Rome but that
Thou art thence banished, we would muster all
From twelve to seventy and, pouring war
Into the bowels of ungrateful Rome,
Like a bold flood o’erbear ’t. O, come, go in,
And take our friendly senators by th’ hands,
Who now are here, taking their leaves of me,
Who am prepared against your territories,
Though not for Rome itself.
CORIOLANUS.
You bless me, gods!
AUFIDIUS.
Therefore, most absolute sir, if thou wilt have
The leading of thine own revenges, take
Th’ one half of my commission and set down—
As best thou art 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, Martius, that was much. Your hand. Most welcome!
[_Exeunt Coriolanus and Aufidius._]
Two of the Servingmen come forward.
FIRST SERVINGMAN.
Here’s a strange alteration!
SECOND SERVINGMAN.
By my hand, I had thought to have strucken him with a cudgel, and yet
my mind gave me his clothes made a false report of him.
FIRST SERVINGMAN.
What an arm he has! He turned me about with his finger and his thumb as
one would set up a top.
SECOND SERVINGMAN.
Nay, I knew by his face that there was something in him. He had, sir, a
kind of face, methought—I cannot tell how to term it.
FIRST SERVINGMAN.
He had so, looking as it were—Would I were hanged, but I thought there
was more in him than I could think.
SECOND SERVINGMAN.
So did I, I’ll be sworn. He is simply the rarest man i’ th’ world.
FIRST SERVINGMAN.
I think he is. But a greater soldier than he you wot one.
SECOND SERVINGMAN.
Who, my master?
FIRST SERVINGMAN.
Nay, it’s no matter for that.
SECOND SERVINGMAN.
Worth six on him.
FIRST SERVINGMAN.
Nay, not so neither. But I take him to be the greater soldier.
SECOND SERVINGMAN.
Faith, look you, one cannot tell how to say that. For the defence of a
town our general is excellent.
FIRST SERVINGMAN.
Ay, and for an assault too.
Enter the Third Servingman.
THIRD SERVINGMAN.
O slaves, I can tell you news, news, you rascals!
FIRST and SECOND SERVINGMAN.
What, what, what? Let’s partake.
THIRD SERVINGMAN.
I would not be a Roman, of all nations; I had as lief be a condemned
man.
FIRST and SECOND SERVINGMAN.
Wherefore? Wherefore?
THIRD SERVINGMAN.
Why, here’s he that was wont to thwack our general, Caius Martius.
FIRST SERVINGMAN.
Why do you say, “thwack our general”?
THIRD SERVINGMAN.
I do not say “thwack our general,” but he was always good enough for
him.
SECOND SERVINGMAN.
Come, we are fellows and friends. He was ever too hard for him; I have
heard him say so himself.
FIRST SERVINGMAN.
He was too hard for him directly, to say the troth on’t, before
Corioles; he scotched him and notched him like a carbonado.
SECOND SERVINGMAN.
An he had been cannibally given, he might have boiled and eaten him
too.
FIRST SERVINGMAN.
But, more of thy news?
THIRD SERVINGMAN.
Why, he is so made on here within as if he were son and heir to Mars;
set at upper end o’ th’ table; no question asked him by any of the
senators but they stand bald before him. Our general himself makes a
mistress of him, sanctifies himself with’s hand, and turns up the white
o’ th’ eye to his discourse. But the bottom of the news is, our general
is cut i’ th’ middle and but one half of what he was yesterday, for the
other has half, by the entreaty and grant of the whole table. He’ll go,
he says, and sowl the porter of Rome gates by th’ ears. He will mow all
down before him and leave his passage polled.
SECOND SERVINGMAN.
And he’s as like to do’t as any man I can imagine.
THIRD SERVINGMAN.
Do’t? He will do’t! For look you, sir, he has as many friends as
enemies, which friends, sir, as it were, durst not, look you, sir, show
themselves, as we term it, his friends whilest he’s in directitude.
FIRST SERVINGMAN.
Directitude? What’s that?
THIRD SERVINGMAN.
But when they shall see, sir, his crest up again, and the man in blood,
they will out of their burrows like coneys after rain, and revel all
with him.
FIRST SERVINGMAN.
But when goes this forward?
THIRD SERVINGMAN.
Tomorrow, today, presently. You shall have the drum struck up this
afternoon. ’Tis as it were parcel of their feast, and to be executed
ere they wipe their lips.
SECOND SERVINGMAN.
Why then, we shall have a stirring world again. This peace is nothing
but to rust iron, increase tailors, and breed ballad-makers.
FIRST SERVINGMAN.
Let me have war, say I. It exceeds peace as far as day does night. It’s
sprightly walking, audible, and full of vent. Peace is a very apoplexy,
lethargy; mulled, deaf, sleepy, insensible; a getter of more bastard
children than war’s a destroyer of men.
SECOND SERVINGMAN.
’Tis so, and as war in some sort, may be said to be a ravisher, so it
cannot be denied but peace is a great maker of cuckolds.
FIRST SERVINGMAN.
Ay, and it makes men hate one another.
THIRD SERVINGMAN.
Reason: because they then less need one another. The wars for my money!
I hope to see Romans as cheap as Volscians. They are rising; they are
rising.
ALL.
In, in, in, in!
[_Exeunt._]
SCENE VI. Rome. A public place
Enter the two Tribunes. Sicinius and Brutus.
SICINIUS.
We hear not of him, neither need we fear him.
His remedies are tame—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 pest’ring streets than see
Our tradesmen singing in their shops and going
About their functions friendly.
BRUTUS.
We stood to’t in good time.
Enter Menenius.
Is this Menenius?
SICINIUS.
’Tis he, ’tis he. O, he is grown most kind
Of late.—Hail, sir!
MENENIUS.
Hail to you both.
SICINIUS.
Your Coriolanus is not much missed
But with his friends. The commonwealth doth stand,
And so would do were he more angry at it.
MENENIUS.
All’s well, and might have been much better if
He could have temporized.
SICINIUS.
Where is he, hear you?
MENENIUS.
Nay, I hear nothing;
His mother and his wife hear nothing from him.
Enter three or four Citizens.
ALL CITIZENS.
The gods preserve you both!
SICINIUS.
Good e’en, our neighbours.
BRUTUS.
Good e’en to you all, good e’en to you all.
FIRST CITIZEN.
Ourselves, our wives, and children, on our knees
Are bound to pray for you both.
SICINIUS.
Live and thrive!
BRUTUS.
Farewell, kind neighbours. We wished Coriolanus
Had loved you as we did.
CITIZENS.
Now the gods keep you!
BOTH TRIBUNES.
Farewell, farewell.
[_Exeunt Citizens._]
SICINIUS.
This is a happier and more comely time
Than when these fellows ran about the streets
Crying confusion.
BRUTUS.
Caius Martius was
A worthy officer i’ th’ war, but insolent,
O’ercome with pride, ambitious, past all thinking
Self-loving.
SICINIUS.
And affecting one sole throne, without assistance.
MENENIUS.
I think not so.
SICINIUS.
We should by this, to all our lamentation,
If he had gone forth consul, found it so.
BRUTUS.
The gods have well prevented it, and Rome
Sits safe and still without him.
Enter an Aedile.
AEDILE.
Worthy tribunes,
There is a slave, whom we have put in prison,
Reports the Volsces with two several powers
Are entered in the Roman territories,
And with the deepest malice of the war
Destroy what lies before ’em.
MENENIUS.
’Tis Aufidius,
Who, hearing of our Martius’ banishment,
Thrusts forth his horns again into the world,
Which were inshelled when Martius stood for Rome,
And durst not once peep out.
SICINIUS.
Come, what talk you of Martius?
BRUTUS.
Go see this rumourer whipped. It cannot be
The Volsces dare break with us.
MENENIUS.
Cannot be?
We have record that very well it can,
And three examples of the like hath been
Within my age. But reason with the fellow
Before you punish him, where he heard this,
Lest you shall chance to whip your information
And beat the messenger who bids beware
Of what is to be dreaded.
SICINIUS.
Tell not me.
I know this cannot be.
BRUTUS.
Not possible.
Enter a Messenger.
MESSENGER.
The nobles in great earnestness are going
All to the Senate House. Some news is coming
That turns their countenances.
SICINIUS.
’Tis this slave—
Go whip him ’fore the people’s eyes—his raising,
Nothing but his report.
MESSENGER.
Yes, worthy sir,
The slave’s report is seconded, and more,
More fearful, is delivered.
SICINIUS.
What more fearful?
MESSENGER.
It is spoke freely out of many mouths—
How probable I do not know—that Martius,
Joined with Aufidius, leads a power ’gainst Rome
And vows revenge as spacious as between
The young’st and oldest thing.
SICINIUS.
This is most likely!
BRUTUS.
Raised only that the weaker sort may wish
Good Martius home again.
SICINIUS.
The very trick on ’t.
MENENIUS.
This is unlikely;
He and Aufidius can no more atone
Than violent’st contrariety.
Enter a Second Messenger.
SECOND MESSENGER.
You are sent for to the Senate.
A fearful army, led by Caius Martius
Associated with Aufidius, rages
Upon our territories, and have already
O’erborne their way, consumed with fire and took
What lay before them.
Enter Cominius.
COMINIUS.
O, you have made good work!
MENENIUS.
What news? What news?
COMINIUS.
You have holp to ravish your own daughters and
To melt the city leads upon your pates,
To see your wives dishonoured to your noses—
MENENIUS.
What’s the news? What’s the news?
COMINIUS.
Your temples burned in their cement, and
Your franchises, whereon you stood, confined
Into an auger’s bore.
MENENIUS.
Pray now, your news?—
You have made fair work, I fear me.—Pray, your news?
If Martius should be joined with Volscians—
COMINIUS.
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.
MENENIUS.
You have made good work,
You and your apron-men, you that stood so much
Upon the voice of occupation and
The breath of garlic eaters!
COMINIUS.
He’ll shake your Rome about your ears.
MENENIUS.
As Hercules did shake down mellow fruit.
You have made fair work.
BRUTUS.
But is this true, sir?
COMINIUS.
Ay, and you’ll look pale
Before you find it other. All the regions
Do smilingly revolt, and who resists
Are mocked for valiant ignorance
And perish constant fools. Who is’t can blame him?
Your enemies and his find something in him.
MENENIUS.
We are all undone unless
The noble man have mercy.
COMINIUS.
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 showed like enemies.
MENENIUS.
’Tis true.
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 made fair hands,
You and your crafts! You have crafted fair!
COMINIUS.
You have brought
A trembling upon Rome such as was never
S’ incapable of help.
TRIBUNES.
Say not we brought it.
MENENIUS.
How? Was it we? We loved him, but like beasts
And cowardly nobles, gave way unto your clusters,
Who did hoot him out o’ th’ city.
COMINIUS.
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.
Enter a troop of Citizens.
MENENIUS.
Here comes the clusters.—
And is Aufidius with him? You are they
That made the air unwholesome when you cast
Your stinking, greasy caps in hooting at
Coriolanus’ exile. Now he’s coming,
And not a hair upon a soldier’s head
Which will not prove a whip. As many coxcombs
As you threw caps up will he tumble down
And pay you for your voices. ’Tis no matter.
If he could burn us all into one coal
We have deserved it.
ALL CITIZENS.
Faith, we hear fearful news.
FIRST CITIZEN.
For mine own part,
When I said banish him, I said ’twas pity.
SECOND CITIZEN.
And so did I.
THIRD CITIZEN.
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.
COMINIUS.
You are goodly things, you voices!
MENENIUS.
You have made good work, you and your cry!—
Shall’s to the Capitol?
COMINIUS.
O, ay, what else?
[_Exeunt Cominius and Menenius._]
SICINIUS.
Go, masters, get you home. Be not dismayed.
These are a side that would be glad to have
This true which they so seem to fear. Go home,
And show no sign of fear.
FIRST CITIZEN.
The gods be good to us! Come, masters, let’s home. I ever said we were
i’ th’ wrong when we banished him.
SECOND CITIZEN.
So did we all. But, come, let’s home.
[_Exeunt Citizens._]
BRUTUS.
I do not like this news.
SICINIUS.
Nor I.
BRUTUS.
Let’s to the Capitol. Would half my wealth
Would buy this for a lie!
SICINIUS.
Pray let’s go.
[_Exeunt._]
SCENE VII. A camp at a short distance from Rome
Enter Aufidius with his Lieutenant.
AUFIDIUS.
Do they still fly to th’ Roman?
LIEUTENANT.
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 dark’ned in this action, sir,
Even by your own.
AUFIDIUS.
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.
LIEUTENANT.
Yet I wish, sir—
I mean for your particular—you had not
Joined in commission with him, but either
Had borne the action of yourself or else
To him had left it solely.
AUFIDIUS.
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 th’ vulgar eye, that he bears all things fairly,
And shows good husbandry for the Volscian state,
Fights dragonlike, 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.
LIEUTENANT.
Sir, I beseech you, think you he’ll carry Rome?
AUFIDIUS.
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 th’ casque to th’ cushion, but commanding peace
Even with the same austerity and garb
As he controlled the war; but one of these—
As he hath spices of them all—not all,
For I dare so far free him—made him feared,
So hated, and so banished. But he has a merit
To choke it in the utt’rance. So our virtues
Lie in th’ interpretation of the time,
And power, unto itself most commendable,
Hath not a tomb so evident as a chair
T’ extol what it hath done.
One fire drives out one fire, one nail one nail;
Rights by rights falter; strengths by strengths do fail.
Come, let’s away. When, Caius, Rome is thine,
Thou art poor’st of all; then shortly art thou mine.
[_Exeunt._]
ACT V
SCENE I. Rome. A public place
Enter Menenius, Cominius, Sicinius, Brutus (the two Tribunes), with
others.
MENENIUS.
No, I’ll not go. You hear what he hath said
Which was sometime his general, who loved him
In a most dear particular. He called me father,
But what o’ that? Go you that banished him;
A mile before his tent, fall down, and knee
The way into his mercy. Nay, if he coyed
To hear Cominius speak, I’ll keep at home.
COMINIUS.
He would not seem to know me.
MENENIUS.
Do you hear?
COMINIUS.
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, forbade all names.
He was a kind of nothing, titleless,
Till he had forged himself a name i’ th’ fire
Of burning Rome.
MENENIUS.
Why, so; you have made good work!
A pair of tribunes that have wracked Rome
To make coals cheap! A noble memory!
COMINIUS.
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 punished.
MENENIUS.
Very well.
Could he say less?
COMINIUS.
I offered to awaken his regard
For’s 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 th’ offence.
MENENIUS.
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.
SICINIUS.
Nay, pray, be patient. If you refuse your aid
In this so-never-needed help, yet do not
Upbraid’s with our distress. But sure, if you
Would be your country’s pleader, your good tongue,
More than the instant army we can make,
Might stop our countryman.
MENENIUS.
No, I’ll not meddle.
SICINIUS.
Pray you, go to him.
MENENIUS.
What should I do?
BRUTUS.
Only make trial what your love can do
For Rome, towards Martius.
MENENIUS.
Well, and say that Martius
Return me, as Cominius is returned, unheard,
What then? But as a discontented friend,
Grief-shot with his unkindness? Say’t be so?
SICINIUS.
Yet your good will
Must have that thanks from Rome after the measure
As you intended well.
MENENIUS.
I’ll undertake’t.
I think he’ll hear me. Yet to bite his lip
And hum at good Cominius much unhearts me.
He was not taken well; he had not dined.
The veins unfilled, our blood is cold, and then
We pout upon the morning, are unapt
To give or to forgive; but when we have stuffed
These pipes and these conveyances of our blood
With wine and feeding, we have suppler souls
Than in our priestlike fasts. Therefore I’ll watch him
Till he be dieted to my request,
And then I’ll set upon him.
BRUTUS.
You know the very road into his kindness
And cannot lose your way.
MENENIUS.
Good faith, I’ll prove him,
Speed how it will. I shall ere long have knowledge
Of my success.
[_Exit._]
COMINIUS.
He’ll never hear him.
SICINIUS.
Not?
COMINIUS.
I tell you, he does sit in gold, his eye
Red as ’twould burn Rome; and his injury
The jailer to his pity. I kneeled before him;
’Twas very faintly he said “Rise”; dismissed me
Thus with his speechless hand. What he would do
He sent in writing after me; what he
Would not, bound with an oath to yield to his
Conditions. So that all hope is vain
Unless his noble mother and his wife,
Who, as I hear, mean to solicit him
For mercy to his country. Therefore let’s hence
And with our fair entreaties haste them on.
[_Exeunt._]
SCENE II. An Advanced post of the Volscian camp before Rome.
Enter Menenius to the Watch, or Guard.
FIRST WATCH.
Stay! Whence are you?
SECOND WATCH.
Stand, and go back.
MENENIUS.
You guard like men; ’tis well. But by your leave,
I am an officer of state and come
To speak with Coriolanus.
FIRST WATCH.
From whence?
MENENIUS.
From Rome.
FIRST WATCH.
You may not pass; you must return. Our general
Will no more hear from thence.
SECOND WATCH.
You’ll see your Rome embraced with fire before
You’ll speak with Coriolanus.
MENENIUS.
Good my friends,
If you have heard your general talk of Rome
And of his friends there, it is lots to blanks
My name hath touched your ears. It is Menenius.
FIRST WATCH.
Be it so; go back. The virtue of your name
Is not here passable.
MENENIUS.
I tell thee, fellow,
Thy general is my lover. I have been
The book of his good acts, whence men have read
His fame unparalleled happily amplified;
For I have ever verified my friends—
Of whom he’s chief—with all the size that verity
Would without lapsing suffer. Nay, sometimes,
Like to a bowl upon a subtle ground,
I have tumbled past the throw, and in his praise
Have almost stamped the leasing. Therefore, fellow,
I must have leave to pass.
FIRST WATCH.
Faith, sir, if you had told as many lies in his behalf as you have
uttered words in your own, you should not pass here, no, though it were
as virtuous to lie as to live chastely. Therefore, go back.
MENENIUS.
Prithee, fellow, remember my name is Menenius, always factionary on the
party of your general.
SECOND WATCH.
Howsoever you have been his liar, as you say you have, I am one that,
telling true under him, must say you cannot pass. Therefore go back.
MENENIUS.
Has he dined, can’st thou tell? For I would not speak with him till
after dinner.
FIRST WATCH.
You are a Roman, are you?
MENENIUS.
I am, as thy general is.
FIRST WATCH.
Then you should hate Rome as he does. Can you, when you have pushed out
your gates the very defender of them, and, in a violent popular
ignorance given your enemy your shield, think to front his revenges
with the easy groans of old women, the virginal palms of your
daughters, or with the palsied intercession of such a decayed dotant as
you seem to be? Can you think to blow out the intended fire your city
is ready to flame in with such weak breath as this? No, you are
deceived. Therefore back to Rome and prepare for your execution. You
are condemned. Our general has sworn you out of reprieve and pardon.
MENENIUS.
Sirrah, if thy captain knew I were here, he would use me with
estimation.
SECOND WATCH.
Come, my captain knows you not.
MENENIUS.
I mean thy general.
FIRST WATCH.
My general cares not for you. Back, I say, go, lest I let forth your
half pint of blood. Back! That’s the utmost of your having. Back!
MENENIUS.
Nay, but fellow, fellow—
Enter Coriolanus with Aufidius.
CORIOLANUS.
What’s the matter?
MENENIUS.
Now, you companion, I’ll say an errand for you. You shall know now that
I am in estimation; you shall perceive that a Jack guardant cannot
office me from my son Coriolanus. Guess but by my entertainment with
him if thou stand’st not i’ th’ state of hanging or of some death more
long in spectatorship and crueller in suffering; behold now presently,
and swoon for what’s to come upon thee. [_to Coriolanus_.] The glorious
gods sit in hourly synod about thy particular prosperity and love thee
no worse than thy old father Menenius does! O my son, my son! Thou art
preparing fire for us; look thee, here’s water to quench it. I was
hardly moved to come to thee; but being assured none but myself could
move thee, I have been blown out of your gates with sighs, and conjure
thee to pardon Rome and thy petitionary countrymen. The good gods
assuage thy wrath and turn the dregs of it upon this varlet here, this,
who, like a block, hath denied my access to thee.
CORIOLANUS.
Away!
MENENIUS.
How? Away?
CORIOLANUS.
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 begone.
Mine ears against your suits are stronger than
Your gates against my force. Yet, for I loved thee,
Take this along; I writ it for thy sake,
[_He gives Menenius a paper._]
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.
AUFIDIUS.
You keep a constant temper.
[_They exit._]
[_The Guard and Menenius remain._]
FIRST WATCH.
Now, sir, is your name Menenius?
SECOND WATCH.
’Tis a spell, you see, of much power. You know the way home again.
FIRST WATCH.
Do you hear how we are shent for keeping your Greatness back?
SECOND WATCH.
What cause do you think I have to swoon?
MENENIUS.
I neither care for th’ world nor your general. For such things as you,
I can scarce think there’s any, you’re so slight. He that hath a will
to die by himself fears it not from another. Let your general do his
worst. For you, be that you are, long; and your misery increase with
your age! I say to you, as I was said to, away!
[_Exit._]
FIRST WATCH.
A noble fellow, I warrant him.
SECOND WATCH.
The worthy fellow is our general. He is the rock, the oak not to be
wind-shaken.
[_Exeunt._]
SCENE III. The tent of Coriolanus
Enter Coriolanus and Aufidius.
CORIOLANUS.
We will before the walls of Rome tomorrow
Set down our host. My partner in this action,
You must report to th’ Volscian lords how plainly
I have borne this business.
AUFIDIUS.
Only their ends
You have respected, stopped your ears against
The general suit of Rome; never admitted
A private whisper, no, not with such friends
That thought them sure of you.
CORIOLANUS.
This last old man,
Whom with cracked 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 showed sourly to him—once more offered
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.
[_Shout within._]
Ha? What shout is this?
Shall I be tempted to infringe my vow
In the same time ’tis made? I will not.
Enter Virgilia, Volumnia, Valeria, young Martius with attendants.
My wife comes foremost, then the honoured mold
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 curtsy 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.
VIRGILIA.
My lord and husband.
CORIOLANUS.
These eyes are not the same I wore in Rome.
VIRGILIA.
The sorrow that delivers us thus changed
Makes you think so.
CORIOLANUS.
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.”
[_They kiss._]
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 virgined it e’er since. You gods! I prate
And the most noble mother of the world
Leave unsaluted. Sink, my knee, i’ th’ earth;
[_Kneels._]
Of thy deep duty more impression show
Than that of common sons.
VOLUMNIA.
O, stand up blest,
[_He rises_.]
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.
[_She kneels._]
CORIOLANUS.
What is this?
Your knees to me? To your corrected son?
[_He raises her up._]
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.
VOLUMNIA.
Thou art my warrior;
I holp to frame thee. Do you know this lady?
CORIOLANUS.
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.
VOLUMNIA.
This is a poor epitome of yours,
Which by th’ interpretation of full time
May show like all yourself.
CORIOLANUS.
The god of soldiers,
With the consent of supreme Jove, inform
Thy thoughts with nobleness, that thou mayst prove
To shame unvulnerable, and stick i’ th’ wars
Like a great seamark standing every flaw
And saving those that eye thee.
VOLUMNIA.
[_To young Martius_.] Your knee, sirrah.
[_He kneels._]
CORIOLANUS.
That’s my brave boy!
VOLUMNIA.
Even he, your wife, this lady, and myself
Are suitors to you.
[_Young Martius rises._]
CORIOLANUS.
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. Do not bid me
Dismiss my soldiers or capitulate
Again with Rome’s mechanics. Tell me not
Wherein I seem unnatural; desire not
T’ allay my rages and revenges with
Your colder reasons.
VOLUMNIA.
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.
CORIOLANUS.
Aufidius, and you Volsces, mark, for we’ll
Hear naught from Rome in private. Your request?
VOLUMNIA.
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 husband, and the father tearing
His country’s bowels out. And to poor we
Thine enmity’s most capital. Thou barr’st us
Our prayers to the gods, which is a comfort
That all but we enjoy. For how can we—
Alas, how can we—for our country pray,
Whereto we are bound, together with thy victory,
Whereto we are bound? Alack, or we must lose
The country, our dear nurse, or else thy person,
Our comfort in the country. We must find
An evident calamity, though we had
Our wish, which side should win, for either thou
Must as a foreign recreant be led
With manacles through our streets, or else
Triumphantly tread on thy country’s ruin
And bear the palm for having bravely shed
Thy wife and 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 parts
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
That brought thee to this world.
VIRGILIA.
Ay, and mine,
That brought you forth this boy to keep your name
Living to time.
YOUNG MARTIUS.
He shall not tread on me.
I’ll run away till I am bigger, but then I’ll fight.
CORIOLANUS.
Not of a woman’s tenderness to be
Requires nor child nor woman’s face to see.—
I have sat too long.
[_He rises._]
VOLUMNIA.
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 have showed,” the Romans
“This we received,” and each in either side
Give the all-hail to thee and cry, “Be blessed
For making up this peace!” Thou know’st, great son,
The end of war’s uncertain, but this certain,
That, if thou conquer Rome, the benefit
Which thou shalt thereby reap is such a name
Whose repetition will be dogged with curses,
Whose chronicle thus writ: “The man was noble,
But with his last attempt he wiped it out;
Destroyed his country, and his name remains
To th’ ensuing age abhorred.” 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’ th’ 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.—Speak thou, boy.
Perhaps thy childishness will move him more
Than can our reasons.—There’s no man in the world
More bound to’s mother, yet here he lets me prate
Like one i’ th’ stocks. Thou hast never in thy life
Showed thy dear mother any courtesy
When she, poor hen, fond of no second brood,
Has clucked thee to the wars and safely home,
Loaden with honour. Say my request’s unjust
And spurn me back; but if it be not so,
Thou art not honest, and the gods will plague thee
That thou restrain’st from me the duty which
To a mother’s part belongs.—He turns away.—
Down, ladies! Let us shame him with our knees.
To his surname Coriolanus ’longs more pride
Than pity to our prayers. Down! An end.
[_They kneel._]
This is the last. So we will home to Rome
And die among our neighbours.—Nay, behold’s.
This boy that cannot tell what he would have,
But kneels and holds up hands for fellowship,
Does reason our petition with more strength
Than thou hast to deny’t.—Come, let us go.
[_They rise._]
This fellow had a Volscian to his mother,
His wife is in Corioles, and his child
Like him by chance.—Yet give us our dispatch.
I am hushed until our city be afire,
And then I’ll speak a little.
[_He holds her by the hand, silent._]
CORIOLANUS.
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 prevailed,
If not most mortal to him. But let it come.—
Aufidius, though I cannot make true wars,
I’ll frame convenient peace. Now, good Aufidius,
Were you in my stead, would you have heard
A mother less? Or granted less, Aufidius?
AUFIDIUS.
I was moved withal.
CORIOLANUS.
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.—O mother!—Wife!
[_He speaks with them aside._]
AUFIDIUS.
[_Aside_.] 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.
CORIOLANUS.
[_To the Women_.] Ay, by and by;
But we’ll drink together, and you shall bear
A better witness back than words, which we,
On like conditions, will have countersealed.
Come, enter with us. Ladies, you deserve
To have a temple built you. All the swords
In Italy, and her confederate arms,
Could not have made this peace.
[_Exeunt._]
SCENE IV. Rome. A public place
Enter Menenius and Sicinius.
MENENIUS.
See you yond coign o’ the Capitol, yond cornerstone?
SICINIUS.
Why, what of that?
MENENIUS.
If it be possible for you to displace it with your little finger, there
is some hope the ladies of Rome, especially his mother, may prevail
with him. But I say there is no hope in’t. Our throats are sentenced
and stay upon execution.
SICINIUS.
Is’t possible that so short a time can alter the condition of a man?
MENENIUS.
There is differency between a grub and a butterfly, yet your butterfly
was a grub. This Martius is grown from man to dragon. He has wings;
he’s more than a creeping thing.
SICINIUS.
He loved his mother dearly.
MENENIUS.
So did he me; and he no more remembers his mother now than an
eight-year-old horse. The tartness of his face sours ripe grapes. When
he walks, he moves like an engine, and the ground shrinks before his
treading. He is able to pierce a corslet with his eye, talks like a
knell, and his hum is a battery. He sits in his state as a thing made
for Alexander. What he bids be done is finished with his bidding. He
wants nothing of a god but eternity and a heaven to throne in.
SICINIUS.
Yes, mercy, if you report him truly.
MENENIUS.
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.
SICINIUS.
The gods be good unto us.
MENENIUS.
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.
Enter a Messenger.
MESSENGER.
Sir, if you’d save your life, fly to your house.
The plebeians have got your fellow tribune
And hale him up and down, all swearing if
The Roman ladies bring not comfort home,
They’ll give him death by inches.
Enter another Messenger.
SICINIUS.
What’s the news?
SECOND MESSENGER.
Good news, good news! The ladies have prevailed.
The Volscians are dislodged and Martius gone.
A merrier day did never yet greet Rome,
No, not th’ expulsion of the Tarquins.
SICINIUS.
Friend,
Art thou certain this is true? Is’t most certain?
SECOND MESSENGER.
As certain as I know the sun is fire.
Where have you lurked that you make doubt of it?
Ne’er through an arch so hurried the blown tide
As the recomforted through th’ gates. Why, hark you!
[_Trumpets, hautboys, drums beat, all together._]
The trumpets, sackbuts, psalteries, and fifes,
Tabors and cymbals, and the shouting Romans
Make the sun dance. Hark you!
[_A shout within._]
MENENIUS.
This is good news.
I will go meet the ladies. This Volumnia
Is worth of consuls, senators, patricians
A city full; of tribunes such as you
A sea and land full. You have prayed well today.
This morning for ten thousand of your throats
I’d not have given a doit. Hark, how they joy!
[_Sound still with the shouts._]
SICINIUS.
First, the gods bless you for your tidings; next, accept my
thankfulness.
SECOND MESSENGER.
Sir, we have all great cause to give great thanks.
SICINIUS.
They are near the city?
MESSENGER.
Almost at point to enter.
SICINIUS.
We’ll meet them, and help the joy.
[_Exeunt._]
SCENE V. Rome. A street near the gate
Enter two Senators, with Ladies (Volumnia, Virgilia, Valeria) passing
over the stage, with other Lords.
SENATOR.
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 banished Martius,
Repeal him with the welcome of his mother.
Cry “Welcome, ladies, welcome!”
ALL.
Welcome, ladies, welcome!
[_A flourish with drums and trumpets._]
[_Exeunt._]
SCENE VI. Antium. A public place
Enter Tullus Aufidius with Attendants.
AUFIDIUS.
Go tell the lords o’ th’ city I am here.
Deliver them this paper.
[_He gives them a paper_.]
Having read it,
Bid them repair to th’ marketplace, where I,
Even in theirs and in the commons’ ears,
Will vouch the truth of it. Him I accuse
The city ports by this hath entered and
Intends t’ appear before the people, hoping
To purge himself with words. Dispatch.
[_Exeunt Attendants._]
Enter three or four Conspirators of Aufidius’s faction.
Most welcome!
FIRST CONSPIRATOR.
How is it with our general?
AUFIDIUS.
Even so
As with a man by his own alms empoisoned
And with his charity slain.
SECOND CONSPIRATOR.
Most noble sir,
If you do hold the same intent wherein
You wished us parties, we’ll deliver you
Of your great danger.
AUFIDIUS.
Sir, I cannot tell.
We must proceed as we do find the people.
THIRD CONSPIRATOR.
The people will remain uncertain whilst
’Twixt you there’s difference, but the fall of either
Makes the survivor heir of all.
AUFIDIUS.
I know it,
And my pretext to strike at him admits
A good construction. I raised him, and I pawned
Mine honour for his truth, who being so heightened,
He watered his new plants with dews of flattery,
Seducing so my friends; and to this end,
He bowed his nature, never known before
But to be rough, unswayable, and free.
THIRD CONSPIRATOR.
Sir, his stoutness
When he did stand for consul, which he lost
By lack of stooping—
AUFIDIUS.
That I would have spoke of.
Being banished for’t, he came unto my hearth,
Presented to my knife his throat. I took him,
Made him joint servant with me, gave him way
In all his own desires; nay, let him choose
Out of my files, 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 seemed his follower, not partner; and
He waged me with his countenance as if
I had been mercenary.
FIRST CONSPIRATOR.
So he did, my lord.
The army marvelled at it, and, in the last,
When he had carried Rome and that we looked
For no less spoil than glory—
AUFIDIUS.
There was it
For which my sinews shall be stretched 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. But, hark!
[_Drums and trumpets sound, with great shouts of the people._]
FIRST CONSPIRATOR.
Your native town you entered like a post
And had no welcomes home, but he returns
Splitting the air with noise.
SECOND CONSPIRATOR.
And patient fools,
Whose children he hath slain, their base throats tear
With giving him glory.
THIRD CONSPIRATOR.
Therefore at your vantage,
Ere he express himself or move the people
With what he would say, let him feel your sword,
Which we will second. When he lies along,
After your way his tale pronounced shall bury
His reasons with his body.
AUFIDIUS.
Say no more.
Here come the lords.
Enter the Lords of the city.
ALL LORDS.
You are most welcome home.
AUFIDIUS.
I have not deserved it.
But, worthy lords, have you with heed perused
What I have written to you?
ALL LORDS.
We have.
FIRST LORD.
And grieve to hear’t.
What faults he made before the last, I think
Might have found easy fines, but there to end
Where he was to begin and give away
The benefit of our levies, answering us
With our own charge, making a treaty where
There was a yielding—this admits no excuse.
Enter Coriolanus marching with Drum and Colours, the Commoners being
with him.
AUFIDIUS.
He approaches. You shall hear him.
CORIOLANUS.
Hail, lords! I am returned your soldier,
No more infected with my country’s love
Than when I parted hence, but still subsisting
Under your great command. You are to know
That prosperously I have attempted, and
With bloody passage led your wars even to
The gates of Rome. Our spoils we have brought home
Doth more than counterpoise a full third part
The charges of the action. We have made peace
With no less honour to the Antiates
Than shame to th’ Romans, and we here deliver,
Subscribed by th’ Consuls and patricians,
Together with the seal o’ th’ Senate, what
We have compounded on.
[_He offers the lords a paper._]
AUFIDIUS.
Read it not, noble lords,
But tell the traitor in the highest degree
He hath abused your powers.
CORIOLANUS.
“Traitor?” How now?
AUFIDIUS.
Ay, traitor, Martius.
CORIOLANUS.
Martius?
AUFIDIUS.
Ay, Martius, Caius Martius. Dost thou think
I’ll grace thee with that robbery, thy stol’n name
Coriolanus, in Corioles?
You lords and heads o’ th’ state, perfidiously
He has betrayed your business and given up
For certain drops of salt your city Rome—
I say your city—to his wife and mother,
Breaking his oath and resolution like
A twist of rotten silk, never admitting
Counsel o’ th’ war, but at his nurse’s tears
He whined and roared away your victory,
That pages blushed at him and men of heart
Looked wond’ring each at other.
CORIOLANUS.
Hear’st thou, Mars?
AUFIDIUS.
Name not the god, thou boy of tears.
CORIOLANUS.
Ha?
AUFIDIUS.
No more.
CORIOLANUS.
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 impressed upon him, that
Must bear my beating to his grave—shall join
To thrust the lie unto him.
FIRST LORD.
Peace, both, and hear me speak.
CORIOLANUS.
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 dovecote, I
Fluttered your Volscians in Corioles,
Alone I did it. “Boy”!
AUFIDIUS.
Why, noble lords,
Will you be put in mind of his blind fortune,
Which was your shame, by this unholy braggart,
’Fore your own eyes and ears?
ALL CONSPIRATORS.
Let him die for’t.
ALL PEOPLE
Tear him to pieces! Do it presently! He killed my son! My daughter! He
killed my cousin Marcus! He killed my father!
SECOND LORD.
Peace, ho! No outrage! Peace!
The man is noble, and his fame folds in
This orb o’ th’ Earth. His last offences to us
Shall have judicious hearing. Stand, Aufidius,
And trouble not the peace.
CORIOLANUS.
O that I had him,
With six Aufidiuses, or more, his tribe,
To use my lawful sword.
AUFIDIUS.
Insolent villain!
ALL CONSPIRATORS.
Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill him!
[_Draw the Conspirators, and kills Martius, who falls. Aufidius stands
on him._]
LORDS.
Hold, hold, hold, hold!
AUFIDIUS.
My noble masters, hear me speak.
FIRST LORD.
O Tullus!
SECOND LORD.
Thou hast done a deed whereat valour will weep.
THIRD LORD.
Tread not upon him.—Masters, all be quiet.—
Put up your swords.
AUFIDIUS.
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. Please it your Honours
To call me to your senate, I’ll deliver
Myself your loyal servant, or endure
Your heaviest censure.
FIRST LORD.
Bear from hence his body,
And mourn you for him. Let him be regarded
As the most noble corse that ever herald
Did follow to his urn.
SECOND LORD.
His own impatience
Takes from Aufidius a great part of blame.
Let’s make the best of it.
AUFIDIUS.
My rage is gone,
And I am struck with sorrow.—Take him up.
Help, three o’ th’ chiefest soldiers; I’ll be one.—
Beat thou the drum that it speak mournfully.—
Trail your steel pikes. Though in this city he
Hath widowed and unchilded many a one,
Which to this hour bewail the injury,
Yet he shall have a noble memory.
Assist.
[_Exeunt, bearing the body of Martius. A dead march sounded._]