| ACT I SCENE IX. The Roman camp. |
| [
Flourish. Alarum. A retreat is sounded. Flourish.
Enter, from one side, COMINIUS with the Romans; from
the other side, MARCIUS, with his arm in a scarf
] |
| COMINIUS | If I should tell thee o'er this thy day's work, |
| Thou'ldst 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, | 5 |
| And, gladly quaked, 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.' | 10 |
| Yet camest thou to a morsel of this feast, |
| Having fully dined before. |
| [
Enter TITUS LARTIUS, with his power,
from the pursuit
] |
| LARTIUS | O general, |
| Here is the steed, we the caparison: |
| Hadst thou beheld-- | 15 |
| MARCIUS | Pray now, no more: my mother, |
| Who has a charter to extol her blood, |
| When she does praise me grieves me. I have done |
| As you have done; that's what I can; induced |
| As you have been; that's for my country: | 20 |
| He that has but effected his good will |
| Hath overta'en mine act. |
| COMINIUS | You shall not be |
| The grave of your deserving; Rome must know |
| The value of her own: 'twere a concealment | 25 |
| 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 | 30 |
| What you have done--before our army hear me. |
| MARCIUS | I have some wounds upon me, and they smart |
| To hear themselves remember'd. |
| COMINIUS | Should they not, |
| Well might they fester 'gainst ingratitude, | 35 |
| And tent themselves with death. Of all the horses, |
| Whereof we have ta'en good and good store, of all |
| The treasure in this field achieved and city, |
| We render you the tenth, to be ta'en forth, |
| Before the common distribution, at | 40 |
| Your only choice. |
| MARCIUS | 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 | 45 |
| That have beheld the doing. |
| [
A long flourish. They all cry 'Marcius! Marcius!'
cast up their caps and lances: COMINIUS and LARTIUS
stand bare
] |
| MARCIUS | May these same instruments, which you profane, |
| Never sound more! when drums and trumpets shall |
| I' the field prove flatterers, let courts and cities be |
| Made all of false-faced soothing! | 50 |
| When steel grows soft as the parasite's silk, |
| Let him be made a coverture for the wars! |
| No more, I say! For that I have not wash'd |
| My nose that bled, or foil'd some debile wretch.-- |
| Which, without note, here's many else have done,-- | 55 |
| You shout me forth |
| In acclamations hyperbolical; |
| As if I loved my little should be dieted |
| In praises sauced with lies. |
| COMINIUS | Too modest are you; | 60 |
| More cruel to your good report than grateful |
| To us that give you truly: by your patience, |
| If 'gainst yourself you be incensed, we'll put you, |
| Like one that means his proper harm, in manacles, |
| Then reason safely with you. Therefore, be it known, | 65 |
| 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, | 70 |
| With all the applause and clamour of the host, |
| CAIUS MARCIUS CORIOLANUS! Bear |
| The addition nobly ever! |
| [Flourish. Trumpets sound, and drums] |
| All | Caius Marcius Coriolanus! |
| CORIOLANUS | I will go wash; | 75 |
| 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. | 80 |
| COMINIUS | 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, with whom we may articulate, | 85 |
| For their own good and ours. |
| LARTIUS | I shall, my lord. |
| CORIOLANUS | The gods begin to mock me. I, that now |
| Refused most princely gifts, am bound to beg |
| Of my lord general. | 90 |
| COMINIUS | Take't; 'tis yours. What is't? |
| CORIOLANUS | I sometime lay here in Corioli |
| At a poor man's house; he used me kindly: |
| He cried to me; I saw him prisoner; |
| But then Aufidius was within my view, | 95 |
| And wrath o'erwhelm'd my pity: I request you |
| To give my poor host freedom. |
| COMINIUS | O, well begg'd! |
| Were he the butcher of my son, he should |
| Be free as is the wind. Deliver him, Titus. | 100 |
| LARTIUS | Marcius, his name? |
| CORIOLANUS | By Jupiter! forgot. |
| I am weary; yea, my memory is tired. |
| Have we no wine here? |
| COMINIUS | Go we to our tent: | 105 |
| The blood upon your visage dries; 'tis time |
| It should be look'd to: come. |
| [Exeunt] |
Shakespeare's Sources for Coriolanus