Imágenes de páginas
[blocks in formation]

There is the man of my soul's hate, Aufidius,
Piercing our Romans: Then, valiant Titus, take
Convenient numbers to make good the city;
Whilst I, with those that have the spirit, will haste
To help Cominius.

Worthy sir, thou bleed'st;
Thy exercise hath been too violent for
A second course of fight.


Sir, praise me not:
My work hath yet not warm'd me: Fare you well.
The blood I drop is rather physical
Than dangerous to me: To Aufidius thus
I will appear, and fight.


Now the fair goddess, Fortune,
Fall deep in love with thee; and her great charms
Misguide thy opposers' swords! Bold gentleman,
Prosperity be thy page!

Thy friend no less
Than those she placeth highest! So farewell.
Lart. Thou worthiest Marcius! [Ex. Mar.
Go, sound thy trumpet in the market-place;
Call thither all the officers of the town,
Where they shall know our mind. Away. [Exe.
SCENE VI.-Near the camp of Cominius.
ter Cominius and forces, retreating.
Com. Breathe you, my friends; well fought, we
are come off

Like Romans, neither foolish in our stands,
Nor cowardly in retire: believe me, sirs,
We shall be charg'd again. Whiles we have struck,
By interims, and conveying gusts, we have heard
The charges of our friends:-The Roman gods
Lead their successes as we wish our own;

That both our powers, with smiling fronts encoun-

[blocks in formation]

Come I too late?
Com. The shepherd knows not thunder from a
More than I know the sound of Marcius' tongue,
From every meaner man's.

Let him alone,

He did inform the truth: But for our gentlemen,
The mouse ne'er shunn'd the cat, as they did budge
The common file, (A plague!-Tribunes for them!)
From rascals worse than they.

But how prevail'd you?
Mar. Will the time serve to tell? I do not
Where is the enemy? Are you lords of the field?
If not, why cease you till you are so?
En-We have at disadvantage fought, and did
Retire, to win our purpose.


Mar. How lies their battle? Know you on which side

(2) Expend.
(4) Soldiers of Antium.

Come I too late?
Com. Ay, if you come not in the blood of others,
But mantled in your own.
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.


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,
Even like a fawning greyhound in the leash,
To let him slip at will.

Where is that slave,
Which told me they had beat you to your trenches?
Where is he? Call him hither.

They have plac'd their men of trust?
As I guess, Marcius,
Their bands in the vawards are the Antiates,4
Of their best trust: o'er them Aufidius,
Their very heart of hope.


I do beseech you,
By all the battles wherein we have fought,
By the blood we have shed together, by the vows
We have made to endure friends, that you directly
Set me against Aufidius, and his Antiates:
And that you not delay the present; but,
Filling the air with swords advanc'd, and darts,
We prove this very hour.

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.


Those are they
That most are willing:-If any such be here
(As it were sin to doubt,) that love this painting
Wherein you see me smear'd; if any fear
Lesser his person than an ill report;
If any think, brave death outweighs bad life,
And that his country's dearer than himself;
Let him, alone, or so many, so minded,
Wave thus, [Waving his hand.] to express his dis-
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.

[blocks in formation]

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

We hate alike;

Not Afric owns a serpent, I abhor
More than thy fame and envy: Fix thy foot.
Mar. Let the first budger3 die the other's slave,
And the gods doom him after !

If I fly, Marcius,


Halloo me like a hare.

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.

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. 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,

Yet cam'st thou to a morsel of this feast,
Having fully dined before.

Should they not, En-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

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

That, with the fusty plebeians, hate thine honours,
Shall say, against their hearts-We thank the gods,
Our Rome hath such a soldier!-

(1) Gates.
(2) Companies of a hundred men.
(3) Stirrer. (4) Boast, crack.
(5) In sending such help.


Enter Titus Lartius, with his power, from the pursuit.

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.

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! Már-
cius! cast up their caps and lances: Co-
minius and Lartius stand bare.

Mar. May these same instruments, which you

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 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 debile9 wretch,-which, without note,
An acclamations hyperbolical;
many else have done,-you shout me forth

As if I lov'd my little should be dieted
In praises sauc'd with lies.

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

To hear themselves remember'd.

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.



Čom. 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 propert0 harm,) în manacles,

Then reason safely with you.-Therefore, be it

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,

(6) Thrown into grateful trepidation.
(7) Forces.
(8) Privilege.
(9) Weak, feeble. (10) Own.
2 Q

With all the applause and clamour of the host,
Caius Marcius Coriolanus.-

Bear the addition nobly ever!

[Flourish. Trumpets sound, and drums. Be hostages for Rome. All. Caius Marcius Coriolanus!

1 Sol.

Will not you go? Auf. I am attended at the cypress grove :

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,2 with whom we may articulate,3
For their own good, and ours.


I shall, my 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: 'tis 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.


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


By Jupiter, forgot :-
I am weary; yea, my memory is tir'd.-
Have we no wine here?


Go we to our tent:

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


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,
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 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 potch5 at him some way;
Or wrath, or craft, may get him.

1 Sol.
He's the devil.
Auf Bolder, though not so subtle: My val-
our's poison'd,

(1) Add more by doing his best.
(2) Chief men.
(4) Whereas.

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,6 even there
Against the hospitable canon, would I

Wash my fierce hand in his heart. Go you to the city;

Learn, how 'tis held; and what they are, that must

(3) Enter into articles. (5) Poke, push.

pray you

(Tis south the city mills,) bring me word thither
How the world goes; that to the pace of it
may spur on my journey.
1 Sol.

I shall, sir.


[blocks in formation]

Bru. And topping all others in boasting. SCENE X-The camp of the Volces. A flour-how you are censured here in the city, I mean of Men. This is strange now: Do you two know ish. Cornets. Enter Tullus Aufidius, bloody,||us o'the right hand file? Do you?

with two or three Soldiers.

[blocks in formation]

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

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 Tyber 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.
(7) Waited for.
(8) Back.
(9) Water of the Tyber.

Vir. O, no, no, no.

with the forehead of the morning. What I think,ption in Galen îs but empiricutic, and, to this preI utter; and spend my malice in my breath: Meet-servative, of no better report than a horse-drench. ing two such weals-men as you are (I cannot call Is he not wounded? he was wont to come home 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'a 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 microcosm,2 follows it, that I am known well enough too? What harm can your bisson3 conspectuities glean out of this character, if I be known well enough too?

Vol. O, he is wounded, I thank the gods for't. Men. So do I too, if it be not too much:-Brings victory in his pocket?-The wounds become him.

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 colic, 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.

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 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's pack-saddle. Yet you must be saying, Marcius is proud; who, in a cheap estimation, is worth all your predecessors, since Deucalion; though, peradventure, 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: I 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?

Vol. Honourable Menenius, my boy Marcius approaches; for the love of Juno, let's


Men. Ha! Marcius coming home? Vol. Ay, worthy Menenius; and with most prosperous approbation.

Men. Take my cap, Jupiter, and I thank thee:Hoo! Marcius coming home?

Two Ladies. Nay, 'tis true.

Vol. Look, here's a letter from him; the state hath another, his wife another; and, I think, there's one at home for you.

Men. I will make my very house reel to-night:A letter for me?

[blocks in formation]


Vol. On's brows, Menenius: he comes the 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 him that: an he had staid by him, I would not have been so fidiused for all the chests in Corioli, and the gold that's in them. Is the senate possessed5 of this?

Vol. Good ladies, let's go :-Yes, yes, yes: the senate has letters from the general, wherein he gives my son the whole name of the war: he hath in this action outdone his former deeds doubly.

Val. In troth, there's wondrous things spoke of


Men. Wondrous? ay, I warrant you, and not without his true purchasing.

Vir. The gods grant them true!
Vol. True? pow, wow.

Men. True? I'll be sworn they are true:Where is he wounded?--God save your good 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, twentyfive wounds upon him.

Men. Now it's twenty-seven: every gash was an enemy's grave: [A shout, and flourish.] Hark! the trumpets.

Vol. These are the ushers of Marcius: before him He carries noise, and behind him he leaves tears; Death, that dark spirit, in's nervy arm doth lie; Which being advanc'd, declines; and then men die. A sennet.6 Trumpets sound. Enter Cominius and Titus Lartius; between them, Coriolanus, crowned with an oaken garland; with Captains, Soldiers, and a Herald.

[merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors]
[blocks in formation]

Are smother'd up, leads fill'd, and ridges hors'd,
With variable complexions; all agreeing
In earnestness to see him seld6-shown flamens7
Do press among the popular throngs, and puff
To win a vulgar station :8 our veil'd dames
Commit the war of white and damask, in

Their nicely-gawded cheeks, to the wanton spoil
Of Phoebus' burning kisses: such a pother,
As if that whatsoever god, who leads him,
Were slily crept into his human powers,
And gave him graceful posture,


On the sudden,

I warrant him consul.

Then our office may,
During his power, go sleep.

Sic. He cannot temperately transport his honours From where he should begin, and end; but will

(2) Fit. (4) Best linen. (5) Soiled with sweat and smoke. (6) Seldom.

(1) Graceful. (3) Maid.

[blocks in formation]

Enter a Messenger. What's the matter? Mess. You are sent for to the Capitol. "Tis thought,


That Marcius shall be consul: I have seen
The dumb men throng to see him, and the blind
To hear him speak: The matrons flung their gloves,
Ladies and maids their scarfs and handkerchiefs,
Upon him as he pass'd: the nobles bended,
As to Jove's statue; and the commons made
A shower, and thunder, with their caps, and shouts :
I never saw the like.

Let's to the Capitol;
And carry with us ears and eyes for the time,
But hearts for the event.

SCENE II.—The same.

Have with you. [Exeunt. The Capitol. Enter two Officers, to lay cushions.

1 Off. Come, come, they are almost here: How many stand for consulships?

2 Off Three, they say: but 'tis thought of every one, Coriolanus will carry it.

1 Off That's a brave fellow; but he's vengeance proud, and loves not the common people.

2 Off. 'Faith, there have been many great me that have flatter'd the people, who ne'er lov'd them;

[blocks in formation]
« AnteriorContinuar »