Whether for east, or west: The dearth is great;| (Who is of Rome worse hated than of you,) Auf Nor did you think it folly, It seem'd, appear'd to Rome. By the discovery, 2 Sen. Noble Aufidius, If they set down before us, for the remove Auf. O, doubt not that; The gods assist you! 1 Sen. 2 Sen. All. Farewell. Farewell. Farewell. [Exeunt. SCENE III-Rome. An apartment in Marcius' house. Enter Volumnia, and Virgilia: They sit down on two low stools, and sew. Vir. 'Beseech you, give me leave to retire Vol. Indeed, you shall not. Vir. His bloody brow! O, Jupiter, no blood! Re-enter Gentlewoman, with Valeria and her Val. My ladies both, good day to you. Vir. I am glad to see your ladyship. Val. How do you both? you are manifest housekeepers. What, are you sewing here? A fine spot,4 in good faith.-How does your little son? Vir. I thank your ladyship; well, good madam. Vol. He had rather see the swords, and hear a drum, than look upon his school-master. 'tis Val. O'my word, the father's son: I'll swear, a very pretty boy. O'my troth, I look'd upon him o'Wednesday half an hour together: he has such a confirmed countenance. I saw him run after a Vol. One of his father's moods. gilded butterfly; and when he caught it, he let it go again; and after it again; and over and over he comes, and up again; catched it again: or Vol. I pray you, daughter, sing; or express your-whether his fall enraged him, or how 'twas, he did self in a more comfortable sort: If my son were so set his teeth, and tear it; O, I warrant, how he my husband, I should freelier rejoice in that ab-mammocked it! sence wherein he won honour, than in the embracements of his bed, where he would show most love. When yet he was but tender-bodied, and the only son of my womb; when youth with comeliness plucked all gaze his way 2 when, for a day of king's entreaties, a mother should not sell him an hour from her beholding; I,-considering how honour would become such a person: that it was no better than picture-like to hang by the wall, if renown made it not stir,-was pleased to let him seek danger where he was like to find fame. To a cruel war I sent him; from whence he returned, his brows bound with oak. I tell thee, daughter,-I sprang not more in joy at first hearing he was a man-child, than now in first seeing he had proved himself a Val. Come, lay aside your stitchery; I must have you play the idle huswife with me this afternoon. Vir. No, good madam; I will not out of doors. Vir. Indeed, no, by your patience: I will not over the threshold, till my lord return from the wars. Val. Fie, you confine yourself most unreasonably; Come, you must go visit the good lady that lies in. Vir. I will wish her speedy strength, and visit her with my prayers; but I cannot go thither. Vol. Why, I pray you? Vir. 'Tis not to save labour, nor that I want love. Val. You would be another Penelope: yet, they say, all the yarn she spun, in Ulysses' absence, did but fill Ithaca full of moths. Come; I would, your cambric were sensible as your finger, that you might leave pricking it for pity. Come, you shall go with us. Vir. No, good madam, pardon me; indeed, I will not forth. Val. In truth, la, go with me; and I'll tell you excellent news of your husband. Vir. O, good madam, there can be none yet. Val. Verily, I do not jest with you; there came news from him last night. Vir. Indeed, madam? Val. In earnest, it's true; I heard a senator speak it.. Thus it is:-The Volces have an army forth; against whom Cominius the general is gone, with one part of our Roman power: your lord, and Titus Lartius, are set down before their city Corioli; they nothing doubt prevailing, and to make it brief wars. This is true, on mine honour; and so, I pray, go with us. Vir. Give me excuse, good madam; I will obey you in every thing hereafter. Vol. Let her alone, lady; as she is now, she will but disease our better mirth. Val. In troth, I think, she would:-Fare you well then.-Come, good sweet lady.-Pr'ythee, Virgilia, turn thy solemness out o'door, and go along with us. Vir. No: at a word, madam; indeed, 1 must not. I wish you much mirth. Val. Well, then farewell. [Exeunt. SCENE IV.-Before Corioli. Enter, with drum and colours, Marcius, Titus Lartius, Officers and Soldiers. To them a Messenger. Mar. Yonder comes news:-A wager, they have Agreed. Lart. For half a hundred years.-Summon the town. Mess. ours. Now, Mars, I pr'ythee, make us quick in work; To help our fielded2 friends!--Come, blow thy blast. Tullus Aufidius, is he within your walls? 1 Sen. No, nor a man that fears you less than he, Rather than they shall pound us up: our gates, rushes; They'll open of themselves. Hark you, far off; Mar. The Volces enter, and pass over the stage. (1) Short. (2) In the field of battle. (3) Having sensation, feeling. They do disdain us much beyond our thoughts, He that retires, I'll take him for a Volce, Alarum, and exeunt Romans and Volces, fighting. Mar. All the contagion of the south light on you, Or, by the fires of heaven, I'll leave the foe, Another alarum. The Volces and Romans re- So, now the gates are ope:-Now prove good 'Tis for the followers fortune widens them, Have shut him in. All. Nor I. See, they [Alarum continues. To the pot, I warrant him. Enter Titus Lartius. Lart. What is become of Marcius? All. Slain, sir, doubtless. A carbuncle entire, as big as thou art, Were feverous and did tremble. 'Tis Marcius: 1 Rom. This I will carry to Rome. 2 Rom. And I this. 3 Rom. A murrain on't! I took this for silver. (4) When it is bent. Mar. Sir, praise me not: My work hath yet not warm'd me: Fare you well. Than dangerous to me: To Aufidius thus Now the fair goddess, Fortune, Mar. Let him alone, He did inform the truth: But for our gentlemen, Com. Marcius, ter Cominius and forces, retreating. Com. Breathe you, my friends; well fought, we are come off Like Romans, neither foolish in our stands, That both our powers, with smiling fronts encountering, Mar. How lies their battle? Know you on which side They have plac'd their men of trust? Com. Though I could wish You were conducted to a gentle bath, And balms applied to you, yet dare I never Deny your asking; take your choice of those That best can aid your action. Mar. Those are they If any think, brave death outweighs bad life, And follow Marcius. [They all shout, and wave their swords; take him up in their arms, and cast up their caps. O me, alone! Make you a sword of me? If these shows be not outward, which of you But is four Volces? None of you but is (5) Present time. Able to bear against the great Aufidius Com. Lart. So, let the ports! be guarded: keep your As I have set them down. If I do send, despatch Yet cam'st 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 charters 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. 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, SCENE VIII-A field of battle between the ter Marcius and Aufidius. Mar. I'll fight with none but thee; for I do hate thee Worse than a promise-breaker. We hate alike; Not Afric owns a serpent, I abhor Halloo me like a hare. Mar. If I fly, Marcius, Within these three hours, Tullus, Alone I fought in your Corioli walls, And made what work I pleas'd; 'Tis not my blood, Wherein thou seest me mask'd; for thy revenge, Wrench up thy power to the highest. Auf. Wert thou the Hector, That was the whip4 of your bragg'd progeny, Thou should'st not scape me here. [They fight, and certain Volces come to the aid of Aufidius. Officious, and not valiant-you have sham'd me In your condemned seconds.5 [Exeunt fighting, driven in by Marcius. SCENE IX-The Roman camp. Alarum. A retreat is sounded. Flourish. Enter at one side, Cominius, and Romans; at the other side, Marcius, with his arm in a scarf, and other Romans. Com. If I should tell thee o'er this thy day's work, 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,6 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! profane, Never sound more! When drums and trumpets shall Com. Too modest are you; More cruel to your good report, than grateful To us that give you truly by your patience, If 'gainst yourself you be incens'd, we'll put you (Like one that means his propero harm,) in manacles, Then reason safely with you.-Therefore, be it known, As to us, to all the world, that Caius Marcius (6) Thrown into grateful trepidation. With all the applause and clamour of the host, Wash my fierce hand in his heart. Go you to the city; Learn, how 'tis held; and what they are, that must [Flourish. Trumpets sound, and drums. Be hostages for Rome. 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. 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,2 with whom we may articulate,3 For their own good, and ours. Lart. I shall, my lord. I 1 Sol. Will not you go? Auf. I am attended at the cypress grove : pray you :-('Tis south the city mills,) bring me word thither How the world goes; that to the pace of it SCENE X-The camp of the Volces. A flourish. Cornets. Enter Tullus Aufidius, bloody, with two or three Soldiers. Auf. The town is ta'en! 1 Sol. "Twill be delivered back on good condition. Auf. Condition?— I would, I were a Roman; for I cannot, With only suffering stain by him; for him I may spur on my journey. 1 Sol. I shall, sir. [Exeunt. Men. Not according to the prayer of the people, for they love not Marcius. Sic. Nature teaches beasts to know their friends. 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. how you are censured here in the city, I mean of Men. This is strange now: Do you two know 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 pleasure; 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 Tyber9 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 (6) My brother posted to protect him. |