The Roman Camp. | |
| |
Alarum. A retreat sounded. Flourish. Enter from one side, COMINIUS and Romans; from 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 | 4 |
| 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, hear more; where the dull Tribunes, | 8 |
| That, with the fusty plebeians, hate thine honours, | |
| Shall say, against their hearts, | |
| ‘We thank the gods our Rome hath such a soldier!’ | |
| Yet cam’st thou to a morsel of this feast, | 12 |
| Having fully din’d before. | |
| |
Enter TITUS LARTIUS, with his power, from the pursuit. | |
| Lart. O general, | |
| Here is the steed, we the caparison: | 16 |
| Hadst thou beheld— | |
| Mar. Pray now, no more: my mother, | |
| Who has a charter to extol her blood, | |
| When she does praise me grieves me. I have done | 20 |
| 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. | 24 |
| 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, | 28 |
| 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 | 32 |
| 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. | 36 |
| 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 | |
| The treasure, in this field achiev’d and city, | 40 |
| We render you the tenth; to be ta’en forth, | |
| Before the common distribution, | |
| At your only choice. | |
| Mar. I thank you, general; | 44 |
| 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! Marcius!’ cast up their caps and lances: COMINIUS and LARTIUS stand bare. | 48 |
| Mar. 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-fac’d soothing! | 52 |
| When steel grows soft as is 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, | 56 |
| Which, without note, here’s many else have done, | |
| You shout me forth | |
| In acclamations hyperbolical; | |
| As if I lov’d my little should be dieted | 60 |
| In praises sauc’d with lies. | |
| Com. Too modest are you; | |
| More cruel to your good report than grateful | |
| To us that give you truly. By your patience, | 64 |
| If’ gainst yourself you be incens’d, we’ll put you, | |
| Like one that means his proper harm, in manacles, | |
| Then reason safely with you. Therefore, be it known, | |
| As to us, to all the world, that Caius Marcius | 68 |
| 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, | 72 |
| With all the applause and clamour of the host, | |
| CAIUS MARCIUS CORIOLANUS! Bear | |
| The addition nobly ever! | |
| All. Caius Marcius Coriolanus! [Flourish. Trumpets sound, and drums. | 76 |
| 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 | 80 |
| 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 | 84 |
| To Rome of our success. You, Titus Lartius, | |
| Must to Corioli back: send us to Rome | |
| The best, with whom we may articulate, | |
| For their own good and ours. | 88 |
| Lart. 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. | 92 |
| Com. 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; | 96 |
| But then Aufidius was within my view, | |
| And wrath o’erwhelm’d my pity: I request you | |
| To give my poor host freedom. | |
| Com. O! well begg’d! | 100 |
| Were he the butcher of my son, he should | |
| Be free as is the wind. Deliver him, Titus. | |
| Lart. Marcius, his name? | |
| Cor. By Jupiter! forgot. | 104 |
| I am weary; yea, my memory is tir’d. | |
| Have we no wine here? | |
| Com. Go we to our tent: | |
| The blood upon your visage dries; ’tis time | 108 |
| It should be look’d to: come. [Exeunt. | |
