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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 should'st not scape me here.
[They fight, and certain Volsces come to the aid of
Officious, and not valiant - you have sham'd me
In your condemned seconds.
[Exeunt fighting, all driven in by MARCIUS.
The Roman Camp. Alarum. A Retreat sounded. Flourish. Enter at one side, Co
MINIUS, 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,
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 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 pursuit.
Here is the steed, we the caparison:
Hadst thou beheld -
Pray now, no more : my mother,
Who has a charter to extol her blood,
When she does praise me, grieves me. I have done,
As you have done; that's what I can; 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: 't were 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! MAR
cius! 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 them 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 sauc'd 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 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 th' 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.
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.
lord. Cor. The gods begin to mock me. I, that now
Refus'd most princely gifts, am bound to beg
Of my lord general.
Take it: 't is 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.
0, 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: -
I am weary; yea, my memory is tir’d.
Have we no wine here?
Go we to our tente
The blood upon your visage dries; 't is time
It should be look'd to. Come.
The Camp of the Volsces.
A Flourish. Cornets. Enter Tullus AUFIDIUS, bloody, with
two or three Soldiers.
Auf. The town is ta’en!
1 Sol. 'T will be deliver'd back on good 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 would'st 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.
He's the devil.
Auf Bolder, though not so subtle. My valour's poison'd,
With only suffering stain by him; for him
Shall fly out of itself. Nor sleep, nor sanctuary,
Being naked, sick; nor fane, nor Capitol,
The prayers of priests, nor times of sacrifice,
Embarquements all of fury, shall lift up
Their rotten privilege and custom 'gainst
My hate to Marcius. Where I find him, were it
At home, upon my brother's guard, even there,
Against the hospitable canon, would I
Wash my fierce hand in's heart. Go you to the city:
Learn, how 't is held; and what they are, that must
Be hostages for Rome.
Will not you go?
Auf. I am attended at the cypress grove: I pray you,
('T is south the city mills,) bring me word thither
How the world goes,
that to the
of it I may spur on my journey. 1 Sol.
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, whom does the wolf love?
Sic. The lamb.