« PreviousContinue »
You wish'd us parties; we'll deliver you
Of your great danger.
Auf. Sir, I cannot tell;
We must proceed, as we do find the people.
3 Con. The people will remain uncertain, whilst 'Twixt you there's difference; but the Fall of either Makes the Survivor heir of all.
Auf. I know it; And my pretext to strike at him admits A good construction. I rais'd him, and pawn'd Mine honour for his truth; who being so heighten'd, He water'd his new plants with dews of dattery, Seducing so my friends; and to this end, He bow'd his nature, never known before But to be rough, unswayable, and free.
3 Con. Sir, his stoutness
When he did stand for Consul, which he lost
By lack of stooping
Auf. That I would have spoke of:
Being banish'd for't, he came unto my hearth,
Presented to my knife his throat ;
Made him joint servant with me; gave him way
In all his own desires ; nay, let him chuse
Out of my files, his projects to accomplish,
My best and freshest men; serv'd his designments
In mine own person; holpe to reap the Fame,
Which he did make all his; and took some pride
To do my self this wrong; 'till, at the last,
I seem'd his follower, not partner; and
He wag'd me with his countenance, as if
I had been mercenary.
i Con. So he did, my lord :
The army marvellid at it, and, at last,
When he had carried Rome, and that we look'd
For no less Spoil, than Glory
Auf. There was it;
(For which my finews shall be stretch'd upon him;
At a few drops of women's rheum, which are
As cheap as lies, he sold the Blood and Labour
Of our great Action; therefore shall he die,
And I'll renew me in his Fall. But, hark! [Drums and trumpets found, with great jouts of the
people. i Con. Your native Town you enter'd like a Post, And had no welcomes home; but he returns, Splitting the Air with noise.
2 Con. And patient fools, Whose children he hath slain, their base throats tear, Giving him glory.
3 Con. Therefore at your vantage,
Ere he express himself, or move the people
With what he would say, let him feel your sword,
Which we will second. When he lies along,
After your way his Tale pronounc'd shall bury
His reasons with his body.
Auf. Say no more,
Here come the lords.
Enter the Lords of the City.
All Lords. You're most welcome home.
Auf. I have not desery'd it.
But, worthy lords, have you with heed perus’d
What I have written to you?
All. We have.
i Lord. And grieve to hear it.
What faults he inade before the last, I think,
Might have found easie fines : but there to end,
Where he was to begin, and give away
The benefit of our Levies, answering us
With our own charge, making a treaty
where There was a yielding, This admits no excuse.
Auf. He approaches, you shall hear him.
Enter Coriolanus, marching with drums and colours i
the Commons being with him.
Cor. Hail, lords; I am return'd, your soldier;
No more infected with my country's love,
Than when I parted hence, but still subfisting
Under your great Command. You are to know,
That prosperously I have attempted, and
With bloody paffage led your wars, even to
The gates of Rome : Our spoils, we have brought home,
Do more than counterpoise, a full third part,
The charges of the action. We've made peace
With no less honour to the Antiates,
Than shame to th’ Romans : and we here deliver,
Subscribed by the Consuls and Patricians,
Together with the seal o'th' Senate, what
We have compounded on.
Auf. Read it not, noble lords.
Buţ tell the traitor, in the highest degree
He hath abus'd your powers.
Cor. Traitor!-how now !
Auf. Ay, traitor, Marcius.
Cor. Marcius! -
Auf. Ay, Marcius, Caius Marcius ; dost thou think,
I'll grace thee with that robbery, thy stoln name
Coriolanus, in Corioli ?
You Lords and Heads o'th' State, perfidioully
He has betray'd your business, and given up,
For certain drops of salt, your city Rome;
I say, your city, to his wife and mother;
Breaking his oath and resolution, like
A twist of rotten silk, never admitting
Counsel o'th' war; but at his nurse's tears
He whin'd and roar'd away your victory,
That Pages blush'd at him; and men of heart
Look'd wondring each at other.
Cor. Hear'st thou, Mars!
Auf. Name not the God, thou boy of tears!
Auf. No more
Cor. Measureless liar, thou hast made my
Too great for what contains it. Boy? O slave!
Pardon me, lords, 'tis the first time that ever
I'm forc'd to scold. Your judgments, my grave lords,
Must give this Cur the Lie; and his own Notion,
(Who wears my stripes impreft upon him; that
Must bear my bearing to his Grave; ) fhall join
To thrust the lie unto him.
i Lord. Peace both, and hear me speak.
Cor. Cut me to pieces, Volscians, men and lads,
Stain all your edges in me. Boy! false hound!
have writ your annals true, 'tis there,
That, like an eagle in a dove-coat, I
Flutter'd your Volscians in Corioli,
Alone I did it. Boy!
Auf. Why, noble lords,
in mind of his blind fortune,
Which was your shame, by this unholy braggart,
'Fore your own eyes and ears?
All Con. Let him die for’t.
All People. Tear him to pieces, do it presently:
He kill'd my son,--my daughter, - kill'd my cousin,
He kill'd my father. - The Croud Speak promiscuously.
2 Lord. Peace, no outrage peace
The man is noble, and his Fame folds in
This Orb o'th' earth; his last offences to us
Shall have judicious Hearing. Stand, Aufidius,
And trouble not the peace.
Cor. O that I had him,
With six Aufidius's, or more, his tribe,
To use my lawful sword
Auf. Insolent villain!
All Con. Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill him.
[The conspirators all draw, and kill Marcius,
who falls, and Aufidius stands on him.
Lords. Hold, hold, hold, hold.
Auf. My noble Masters, hear me speak.
I Lord. O Tullus
2 Lord. Thou hast done a deed, whereat
Valour will weep.
3 Lord. Tread not upon him— masters all, be quiet;
Put up your swords.
Auf. My lords, when you shall know (as in this
Provok'd by him, you cannot) the great danger
Which this man's life did owe you, you'll rejoice
That he is thus cut off. Please it
To call me to your Senate, I'll deliver
My self your loyal servant, or endure
Your heaviest censure.
i Lord. Bear from hence his body,
And mourn you for him. Let him be regarded
As the most noble Coarse, that ever Herald
Did follow to his urn.
2 Lord. His own impatience
Takes from Aufidius a great part of blame :
Let's make the best of it.
Auf. My Rage is gone,
And I am struck with sorrow: take him
Help, three o'th' chiefest soldiers; I'll be one. (42)
Beat thou the drum, that it speak mournfully:
Trail your steel pikes. Though in this city he
Hath widowed and unchilded many a one,
Which to this hour bewail the injury,
Yet he shall have a noble memory.
[Exeunt, bearing the body of Marcius. A dead
March founded. (42) Help, three oth chiefeft Soldiers ; I ll be One.] Not One of the three, but One to assist them: he would make the fourth Man. So, in the Conclusion of Hamlet ;
Let four Captains
Bear Hamlet like a Soldier to the Stage :