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Corioli. A Public Place. | |
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Enter TULLUS AUFIDIUS, with Attendants. | |
| Auf. Go tell the lords o’ the city I am here: | |
| Deliver them this paper: having read it, | |
| Bid them repair to the market-place; where I, | 5 |
| Even in theirs and in the commons’ ears, | |
| Will vouch the truth of it. Him I accuse | |
| The city ports by this hath enter’d, and | |
| Intends to appear before the people, hoping | |
| To purge himself with words: dispatch. [Exeunt Attendants. | 10 |
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Enter three or four Conspirators of AUFIDIUS’ faction. | |
| Most welcome! | |
| First Con. How is it with our general? | |
| Auf. Even so | |
| As with a man by his own alms empoison’d, | 15 |
| And with his charity slain. | |
| Sec. Con. Most noble sir, | |
| If you do hold the same intent wherein | |
| You wish’d us parties, we’ll deliver you | |
| Of your great danger. | 20 |
| Auf. Sir, I cannot tell: | |
| We must proceed as we do find the people. | |
| Third Con. The people will remain uncertain whilst | |
| ’Twixt you there’s difference; but the fall of either | |
| Makes the survivor heir of all. | 25 |
| Auf. I know it; | |
| And my pretext to strike at him admits | |
| A good construction. I rais’d him, and I pawn’d | |
| Mine honour for his truth: who being so heighten’d, | |
| He water’d his new plants with dews of flattery, | 30 |
| Seducing so my friends; and, to this end, | |
| He bow’d his nature, never known before | |
| But to be rough, unswayable, and free. | |
| Third Con. Sir, his stoutness | |
| When he did stand for consul, which he lost | 35 |
| 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: I took him; | |
| Made him joint-servant with me; gave him way | 40 |
| In all his own desires; nay, let him choose | |
| Out of my files, his projects to accomplish, | |
| My best and freshest men; serv’d his designments | |
| In mine own person; holp to reap the fame | |
| Which he did end all his; and took some pride | 45 |
| To do myself 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. | |
| First Con. So he did, my lord: | 50 |
| The army marvell’d at it; and, in the last, | |
| When we had carried Rome, and that we look’d | |
| For no less spoil than glory,— | |
| Auf. There was it; | |
| For which my sinews shall be stretch’d upon him. | 55 |
| 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 sound, with great shouts of the People. | |
| First Con. Your native town you enter’d like a post, | 60 |
| And had no welcomes home; but he returns, | |
| Splitting the air with noise. | |
| Sec. Con. And patient fools, | |
| Whose children he hath slain, their base throats tear | |
| With giving him glory. | 65 |
| Third 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 | 70 |
| His reasons with his body. | |
| Auf. Say no more: | |
| Here come the lords. | |
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Enter the Lords of the city. | |
| Lords. You are most welcome home. | 75 |
| Auf. I have not deserv’d it. | |
| But, worthy lords, have you with heed perus’d | |
| What I have written to you? | |
| Lords. We have. | |
| First Lord. And grieve to hear ’t. | 80 |
| What faults he made before the last, I think | |
| Might have found easy 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 | 85 |
| There was a yielding, this admits no excuse. | |
| Auf. He approaches: you shall hear him. | |
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Enter CORIOLANUS, with drums and colours; a crowd of Citizens with him. | |
| Cor. Hail, lords! I am return’d your soldier; | |
| No more infected with my country’s love | 90 |
| Than when I parted hence, but still subsisting | |
| Under your great command. You are to know, | |
| That prosperously I have attempted and | |
| With bloody passage led your wars even to | |
| The gates of Rome. Our spoils we have brought home | 95 |
| Do more than counterpoise a full third part | |
| The charges of the action. We have made peace | |
| With no less honour to the Antiates | |
| Than shame to the Romans; and we here deliver, | |
| Subscrib’d by the consuls and patricians, | 100 |
| Together with the seal o’ the senate, what | |
| We have compounded on. | |
| Auf. Read it not, noble lords; | |
| But tell the traitor in the highest degree | |
| He hath abus’d your powers. | 105 |
| 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 stol’n name | 110 |
| Coriolanus in Corioli? | |
| You lords and heads of the state, perfidiously | |
| 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; | 115 |
| Breaking his oath and resolution like | |
| A twist of rotten silk, never admitting | |
| Counsel o’ the 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 | 120 |
| Look’d wondering each at other. | |
| Cor. Hear’st thou, Mars? | |
| Auf. Name not the god, thou boy of tears. | |
| Cor. Ha! | |
| Auf. No more. | 125 |
| Cor. Measureless liar, thou hast made my heart | |
| Too great for what contains it. Boy! O slave! | |
| Pardon me, lords, ’tis the first time that ever | |
| I was forc’d to scold. Your judgments, my grave lords, | |
| Must give this cur the lie: and his own notion— | 130 |
| Who wears my stripes impress’d upon him, that | |
| Must bear my beating to his grave—shall join | |
| To thrust the lie unto him. | |
| First Lord. Peace, both, and hear me speak. | |
| Cor. Cut me to pieces, Volsces; men and lads, | 135 |
| Stain all your edges on me. Boy! False hound! | |
| If you have writ your annals true, ’tis there, | |
| That, like an eagle in a dove-cote, I | |
| Flutter’d your Volscians in Corioli: | |
| Alone I did it. Boy! | 140 |
| Auf. Why, noble lords, | |
| Will you be put in mind of his blind fortune, | |
| Which was your shame, by this unholy braggart, | |
| ’Fore your own eyes and ears? | |
| Conspirators. Let him die for ’t. | 145 |
| All the People. Tear him to pieces.—Do it presently.—He killed my son.—My daughter.—He killed my cousin Marcus.—He killed my father. | |
| Sec. Lord. Peace, ho! no outrage: peace! | |
| The man is noble and his fame folds in | |
| This orb o’ the earth. His last offences to us | |
| Shall have judicious hearing. Stand, Aufidius, | 150 |
| And trouble not the peace. | |
| Cor. O! that I had him, | |
| With six Aufidiuses, or more, his tribe, | |
| To use my lawful sword! | |
| Auf. Insolent villain! | 155 |
| Conspirators. Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill him! [AUFIDIUS and the Conspirators draw, and kill CORIOLANUS, who falls: AUFIDIUS stands on his body. | |
| Lords. Hold, hold, hold, hold! | |
| Auf. My noble masters, hear me speak. | |
| First Lord. O Tullus! | |
| Sec. Lord. Thou hast done a deed whereat valour will weep. | 160 |
| Third Lord. Tread not upon him. Masters all, be quiet. | |
| Put up your swords. | |
| Auf. My lords, when you shall know,—as in this rage, | |
| Provok’d by him, you cannot,—the great danger | |
| Which this man’s life did owe you, you’ll rejoice | 165 |
| That he is thus cut off. Please it your honours | |
| To call me to your senate, I’ll deliver | |
| Myself your loyal servant, or endure | |
| Your heaviest censure. | |
| First Lord. Bear from hence his body; | 170 |
| And mourn you for him! Let him be regarded | |
| As the most noble corse that ever herald | |
| Did follow to his urn. | |
| Sec. Lord. His own impatience | |
| Takes from Aufidius a great part of blame. | 175 |
| Let’s make the best of it. | |
| Auf. My rage is gone, | |
| And I am struck with sorrow. Take him up: | |
| Help, three o’ the chiefest soldiers; I’ll be one. | |
| Beat thou the drum, that it speak mournfully; | 180 |
| Trail your steel pikes. Though in this city he | |
| Hath widow’d and unchilded many a one, | |
| Which to this hour bewail the injury, | |
| Yet he shall have a noble memory. | |
| Assist. [Exeunt, bearing the body of CORIOLANUS. A dead march sounded. | 185 |
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