Thou'lt not believe thy deeds: but I'll report it,
Where senators shall mingle tears with smiles;
Where great patricians shall attend, and shrug,
I' the end, admire; where ladies shall be frighted,
And, gladly quaked *, hear more; where the dull
Tribunes,

That, with the fusty plebeians, hate thine honours,
Shall say, against their hearts,-We thank the gods,

Our Rome hath such a soldier !—

Yet camest thou to a morsel of this feast,
Having fully dined before.

Enter TITUS LARTIUS, with his Power†, from the pursuit.

Lart. O general,

Here is the steed, we the caparison:
Hadst thou beheld-

Mar. Pray now, no more: my mother,
Who has a chartert 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'eu mine act.

Com. 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.

Com. 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 ali
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.

Mar. I thank you, general;

But cannot make my heart consent to take

* Thrown into grateful trepidation. † Forces.

Privilege.

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 Lartins 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-faced 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 loved my little should be dieted
In praises sauced with lies.

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 incensed, we'll put you
(Like one that means his propert harm), in ma-

nacles,

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

As to us, to all the world, that Caius Marcius
Wears this war's garland: in token of the which,
My noble steed, known to the camp, I give him,
With all his trim belonging; and, from this time,
For what he did before Corioli, call him,
With all the applause and clamour of the host,
Caius Marcius Coriolanus.-

Bear the addition nobly ever!

[Flourish.-Trumpets sound, and Drums.

All. Caius Marcius Coriolanus !
Cor. I will go wash ;

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

Weak, feeble.

Add more by doing his best.

+ Own.

Com. 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 articulatet,
For their own good, and ours.

Lart. I shall, my lord.

Cor. The gods begin to mock me. I that now
Refused most princely gifts, am bound to beg
Of my lord general.

Com. Take it: 'tis yours.-What is 't?
Cor. 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 Autidius was within my view,

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

Com. 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?

Cor. By Jupiter, forgot :

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

Com. Go we to our tent:

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

[Exeunt.

SCENE X-The Camp of the Volces.

A Flourish.-Cornets-Enter TULLUS AUPIDIUS, 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

* Chief men.

Enter into articles. ]

1

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 potcht, at him some

way;

Or wrath, or craft, may get him.

1 Sol. He's the devil.

With only suffering stain by him; for him E 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

Auf. Bolder, though not so subtle: my valour's poison'd,

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

I pray you,

at the cypress grove :

('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, Šir.

[Exeunt.

ACT II.

SCENE I.-Rome.-A public Place.

Enter MENENIUS, SICINIUS, and BRUTUS.

Men. The augurer tells me, we shall have news to night.

Bru. Good, or bad?

Men. Not according to the prayer of the people, for they love not Marcius.

Sic. Nature teaches beasts to know their friends.
Men. Pray you, who does the wolf love?
Sic. The lamb.

+ Poke, push.

Whereas.
My brother posted to protect him.
Waited for.

Men. Ay, to devour him; as the hungry plebeians would the noble Marcius.

Bru. He's a lamb, indeed, that baes like a bear. Men. He's a bear, indeed, that lives like a lamb. You two are old men; tell me one thing that I shall ask you.

Both Trib. Well, Sir.

Men. In what enormity is Marcius poor, that you two have not in abundance?

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

Sic. Especially, in pride.

Bru. And topping all others in boasting.

Men. This is strange now: Do you two know how you are censured here in the city, I mean of us o' the right hand file? Do you?

Both Trib. Why, how are we censured?

Men. Because you talk of pride now.-Will you not be angry

Both Trib. Well, well, Sir, well.

Men. Why 'tis no great matter; for a very little thief of occasion will rob you of a great deal of patience give your disposition 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?

Bru. We do it not alone, Sir.

Men. I know, you can do very little alone; for your helps are many; or else your actions would grow wondrous single your abilities are too infant-like, for doing much alone. You talk of pride: O, that you could turn your eyes towards the napes of your necks, and make but an interior survey of your good selves! O that you could!

Bru. What then, Sir?

Men. Why, then you should discover a brace of unmeriting, proud, violent, testy magistrates (alias, fools), as any in Rome.

Sic. Menenius, you are known well enough too. Men. I am known to be a humorous patrician, and one that loves a cup of hot wine with not a drop of allaying Tybert in't; said to be something im perfect, in favouring the first complaint: hasty, and tinder-like, upon too trivial motion; one that converses more with the buttock of the night, than with the forehead of the morning. What I think, I utter; and spend my malice in my breath: meeting two such weals t-men as you are (I cannot call + Water of the Tyber. + States.

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