« ForrigeFortsæt »
1 Sol. 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.
Lart. O noble fellow!
Who, sensible, outdares his senseless sword, And, when it bows,t stands up! Thou art left, Marcius:
A carbuncle entire, as big as thou art,
1 Sol. Look, Sir.
Lart. "Tis Marcius:
Let's fetch him off, or make remain alike.
[They fight, and all enter the city. SCENE V.-Within the town.-A Street. Enter certain ROMANS, with spoils.
1 Rom. This I will carry to Rome. 2 Rom. And I this.
3 Rom. A murrain on't! I took this for sil[Alarum continues still afar off. Enter MARCIUS, and TITUS LARTIUS, with a trumpet.
There is the man of my soul's hate, Anfidius, Piercing our Romans: Then, valiant Titus, take
Convenient numbers to make good the city; Whilst I, with those that have the spirit, will To help Cominius.
Lart. Worthy Sir, thou bleed'st; Thy exercise hath been too violent for A second course of fight.
Mar. Sir, praise me not:
My work hath yet not warm'd me: Fare you
Lart. Now the fair goddess, Fortune, Fall deep in love with thee; and her great charms [man, Misguide thy opposer's swords! Bold gentleProsperity be thy page!
Mar. Thy friend no less
Than those she placeth highest! So farewell.
SCENE VI.-Near the Camp of COMINIUS.
Like Romans, neither foolish in our stands, Nor cowardly in retire: believe me, Sirs, We shall be charg'd again. Whiles we have struck, [heard By interims, and conveying gusts, we have The charges of our friends:-The Roman gods, Lead their successes as we wish our own; That both our powers, with smiling fronts encountering,
Enter a MESSENGER.
May give you thankful sacrifice!-Thy news?
Com. Though thou speak'st truth, Methinks, thou speak'st not well. How long is't since?
Mess. Above an hour, my lord.
Com. 'Tis not a mile; briefly we heard their drums:
How could'st thou in a mile confound an hour. And bring thy news so late?
Mess. Spies of the Volces
Held me in chase, that I was forc'd to wheel
Com. Ay, if you come not in the blood of But mantled in your own. [others,
Mar. O! let me clip you
In arms as sound, as when I woo'd; in heart As merry, as when our nuptial day was done,' And tapers burn'd to bedward.
Com. Flower of warriors, How is't with Titus Lartius?
Mar. As with a man busied about decrees: Condemning some to death, and some to exile; Ransoming him, or pitying, threat'ning the other;
Holding Corioli in the name of Rome,
Com. Where is that slave, Which told me they had beat you to your Where is he? Call him hither.
Mar. Let him alone,
He did inform the truth: But for our gentleThe common file, (A plague!-Tribunes for them!) [budge
The mouse ne'er shunn'd the cat, as they did From rascals worse than they.
Com. But how prevail'd you?
Mar. Will the time serve to tell? I do not
Where is the enemy? Are you lords o'the
We have at disadvantage fought, and did
Mar. How lies their battle? Know you on
They have plac'd their men of trust?
And follow Marcius.
[They all shout, and wave their swords; take
Com. March on, my fellows:
Auf. If I fly, Marcius,
Halloo me like a hare.
Mar. Within these three hours, Tullus,
[They fight, and certain Volces come to the
Officious, and not valiant-you have sham'd
Alarum. A Retreat is sounded. Flourish. Enter
Com. If I should tell thee o'er this thy day's
Thou'lt not believe thy deeds: but I'll report it,
And, gladly quak'd,t hear more; where the
Shall say, against their hearts-We thank the
Yet cam'st thou to a morsel of this feast,
Enter TITUS LARTIUS, with his power, from the
Lart. O general,
Here is the steed, we the caparison;
Mar. Pray now, no more: my mother, Who has a charter to extol her blood, SCENE VII.-The Gates of Corioli. When she does praise me, grieves me. I have done, TITUS LARTIUS, having set a guard upon Corioli, As you have done; that's what I can; induc'd going with a drum and trumpet toward Co-As you have been; that's for my country: MINIUS and CAIUS MARCIUS, enters with a He, that has but effected his good will, LIEUTENANT, a party of soldiers, and a scout. Hath overta'en mine act.
Lart. So, let the ports be guarded: keep
As I have set them down. If I do send, despatch
Lieu. Fear not our care, Sir.
Com. You shall not be
The grave of your deserving; Rome must know
Worse than a theft, no less than a traduce
The value of her own: 'twere a concealment
To hide your doings; and to silence that,
Before the common distribution, at
Mar. I thank you, general;
But cannot make my heart consent to take
[A long flourish. They all cry, Marcius! Mar
SCENE X.-The Camp of Volces.
cius! cast up their caps and lances: COMI- A Flourish. Cornets. Enter TULLUS AUFIDIUS, NIUS and LARTIUS stand bare.
Mar. May these same instruments, which
Here's many else have done,-you shout me
Com. Too modest are you;
More cruel to your good report, than grateful
(Like one that means his propert harm,) in 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
My noble steed, known to the camp, I give him,
For what he did before Corioli, call him,
bloody, with two or three SOLDIERS.
Auf. The town is ta'en!
1 Sol. "Twill be delivered back on good condition.
Being a Volce, be that I am.-Condition!
1 Sol. He's the devil.
Auf. Bolder, though not so subtle: My val-
Against the hospitable canon, would I
[Flourish. Trumpets sound, and Drums. Learn, how 'tis held; and what they are, that
All. Caius Marcius Coriolanus!
Cor. I will go wash;
And when my face is fair, you shall perceive
I mean to stride your steed; and, at all times,
Com. So, to our tent:
Where, ere we do repose us, we will write
To Rome of our success.-You, Titus Lartius,
Lart. I shall, my lord.
Cor. The gods begin to mock me. I that
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?
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.
Add more by doing his best.
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 imperfect, 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 wealst-men as you are, (I cannot call you Lycurguses) if the drink you gave me, touch my palate adversely, I make a crooked face at it. I cannot say, your worships have delivered the matter well, when I find the ass in compound with the major part of your syllables: and though I must be content to bear with those that say you are reverend grave men; yet they lie deadly, that tell, you have good faces. If you see this in the map of my mycrocosm, follows it, that I am known well enough too? What harm can your bisson || conspectuities glean out of this character, if be known well enough too?
Bru. Come, Sir, come, we know you well enough.
Men. You know neither me, yourselves, nor any thing. You are ambitious for poor knaves' caps and legs; you wear out a good wholesome forenoon, in 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 cholic, you make faces like mummers; set up the bloody flag against all patience; and, in roaring for a chamberpot, 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. * Back. + Water of the Tiber. 1 Whole man. Il Blind.
↑ States. Obeisance.
Bru. Come, come, you are well understood to be a perfecter giber for the table, than a necessary bencher in the Capitol.
Men. Our very priests must become mockers, if they shall encounter such ridiculous subjects as you are. When you speak best unto the purpose, it is not worth the wagging of your beards; and your beards deserve not so honourable a grave, as to stuff a botcher's cushion, or to be entombed in an ass' pack-saddle. Yet you must be saying, Marcius is proud; who, in a cheap estimation, is worth all your predecessors, since Deucalion; though, perad-, venture, some of the best of them were hereditary hangmen. Good e'en to your worships; more of your conversation would infect my brain, being the herdsmen of the beastly plebeians: 1 will be bold to take my leave of you.
[BRU. and SIC. retire to the back of the Scene. Enter VOLUMNIA, VIRGILIA, and VALERIA, &c. How now, my as fair as noble ladies, (and the moon, were she earthly, no nobler,) whither do you follow your eyes so fast?
approaches; for the love of Juno, let's go. Vol. Honourable Menenius, my boy Marcius Men. Ha! Marcius coming home? Vol. Ay, worthy Menenius; and with most prosperous approbation.
thee:-Hoo! Marcius coming home? Men. Take my cap, Jupiter, and I thank
Two Ladies. Nay, 'tis true.
Vol. Look, here's a letter from him; the state there's one at home for you. hath another, his wife another; and, I think,
Men. I will make my very house reel to-night: -A letter for me?
Vir. Yes, certain, there's a letter for you; I saw it.
of seven years' health; in which time I will Men. A letter for me? It gives me an estate make a lip at the physician: the most sovereign prescription in Galen is but empiricutic, and, to this preservative, of no better report than a horse-drench. Is he not wounded? he was wont to come home wounded.
Vir. O, no, no, no.
Vol. O, he is wounded, I thank the gods
Brings 'a victory in his pocket?-The wounds
third time home with the oaken garland.
Men. Has he disciplined Aufidius soundly? Vol. Titus Lartius writes,--they fought together, but Aufidius got off.
Men. And 'twas time for him too, I'll warrant have been so fidiused for all the chests in Cohim that: an he had staid by him, I would not rioli, and the gold that's in them. Is the senate possessed of this?
the senate has letters from the general, wherein
not without his true purchasing.
Vir. The gods grant them true!
Men. True? I'll be sworn they are true:
* Fully informed.
Where is he wounded?-God save your good f worships! [To the Tribunes, who come forward.] Marcius is coming home: he has more cause to be proud. Where is he wounded?
Vol. I'the shoulder, and i'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.
Men. One in the neck, and two in the thigh,there's nine that I know.
Vol. He had, before this last expedition, twenty-five wounds upon him.
Men. Now it's twenty-seven: every gash was an enemy's grave: [Å Shout, and Flourish.] Hark! the trumpets.
Vol. These are the ushers of Marcius: before him [tears; He carries noise, and behind him he leaves Death, that dark spirit, in's nervy arm doth lie; Which being advanc'd, declines; and then men die.
A Sennet. Trumpets sound. Enter COMINIUS and TITUS LARTIUS; between them, CORIOLANUS, crowned with an oaken Garland; with Captains, Soldiers, and a Herald.
Her. Know, Rome, that all alone Marcius did fight
Within Corioli' gates: where he hath won,
Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus!
[Flourish. All. Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus!
Cor. No more of this, it does offend my heart; Pray now, no more.
Com. Look, Sir, your mother,
You have, I know, petition'd all the gods For my prosperity.
Vol. Nay, my good soldier, up;
My gentle Marcius, worthy Caius, and
Cor. My gracioust silence, hail! Would'st thou have laugh'd, had I come coffin'd home,
That weep'st to see me triumph? Ah, my dear,
Men. Now the gods crown thee! Cor. And live you yet?-O my sweet lady, pardon. [To VALERIA. Vol. I know not where to turn:-O welcome home; And welcome, general;-And you are welcome all.
Men. A hundred thousand welcomes: I could weep, [Welcome: And I could laugh; I am light, and heavy: A curse begin at very root of his heart, That is not glad to see thee!-You are three, That Rome should dote on: yet, by the faith
Cor. Your hand, and yours:
[To his Wife and Mother.
To see inherited my very wishes,
Cor. Know, good mother,
I had rather be their servant in my way,
[Flourish. Coronets. Exeunt in state, as before. The Tribunes remain. Bru. All tongues speak of him, and the bleared sights
Are spectacled to see him: Your pratling nurse Into a rapture lets her baby cry,
While she chats him: the kitchen malkint pins
Are smother'd up, leads fill'd, and ridges hors'd
Do press among the popular throngs, and puff
Of Phoebus' burning kisses: such a pother,
Sic. On the sudden,
I warrant him consul.
Bru. Then our office may, During his power, go sleep.
Sic. He cannot temperately transport his
[will From where he should begin, and end; but Lose those that he hath won.
Bru. In that there's comfort.
Sic. Doubt not, the commoners, for whom we stand,
But they, upon their ancient malice, will Forget, with the least cause, these his new honours; [tion Which that he'll give them, make as little quesAs he is proud to do't.
Bru. I heard him swear, Were he to stand for consul, never would he Appear i'the market-place, nor on him put The napless‡‡ vesture of humility; Nor, showing (as the manner is) his wounds To the people, beg their stinking breaths. Sic. "Tis right.
Bru. It was his word : O, he would miss it, rather
Than carry it, but by the suit o'the gentry to And the desire of the nobles. [him,
Sic. I wish no better,
Than have him hold that purpose, and to put it In execution.
Bru. 'Tis most like, he will.
Sic. It shall be to him then, as our good wills A sure destruction.
Bru. So it must fall out
To him, or our authorities. For an end,
* Fit. + Maid. ↑ Best linen.
** Common standing-place.
sweat and smoke.
3 Soiled with