{"collection":"sks","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/browse/sks/ff/cor.htm","path":"sks/ff/cor.htm","source_url":"https://sacred-texts.com/sks/ff/cor.htm","text":"Actus Primus. Scoena Prima.\nEnter a Company of Mutinous Citizens, with Staues, Clubs, and\nother\nweapons.\n1. Citizen. Before we proceed any further, heare me speake\nAll. Speake, speake\n1.Cit. You are all resolu'd rather to dy then\nto famish?\nAll. Resolu'd, resolu'd\n1.Cit. First you know, Caius Martius is chiefe enemy\nto the people\nAll. We know't, we know't\n1.Cit. Let vs kill him, and wee'l haue Corne at our own\nprice. Is't a Verdict?\nAll. No more talking on't; Let it be done, away, away\n2.Cit. One word, good Citizens\n1.Cit. We are accounted poore Citizens, the Patricians\ngood: what Authority surfets one, would releeue\nvs. If they would yeelde vs but the superfluitie while it\nwere wholsome, wee might guesse they releeued vs humanely:\nBut they thinke we are too deere, the leannesse\nthat afflicts vs, the obiect of our misery, is as an inuentory\nto particularize their abundance, our sufferance is a\ngaine to them. Let vs reuenge this with our Pikes, ere\nwe become Rakes. For the Gods know, I speake this in\nhunger for Bread, not in thirst for Reuenge\n2.Cit. Would you proceede especially against Caius\nMartius\nAll. Against him first: He's a very dog to the Commonalty\n2.Cit. Consider you what Seruices he ha's done for his\nCountry?\n1.Cit. Very well, and could bee content to giue him\ngood report for't, but that hee payes himselfe with beeing\nproud\nAll. Nay, but speak not maliciously\n1.Cit. I say vnto you, what he hath done Famouslie,\nhe did it to that end: though soft conscienc'd men can be\ncontent to say it was for his Countrey, he did it to please\nhis Mother, and to be partly proud, which he is, euen to\nthe altitude of his vertue\n2.Cit. What he cannot helpe in his Nature, you account\na Vice in him: You must in no way say he is couetous\n1.Cit. If I must not, I neede not be barren of Accusations\nhe hath faults (with surplus) to tyre in repetition.\nShowts within.\nWhat showts are these? The other side a'th City is risen:\nwhy stay we prating heere? To th' Capitoll\nAll. Come, come\n1 Cit. Soft, who comes heere?\nEnter Menenius Agrippa.\n2 Cit. Worthy Menenius Agrippa, one that hath alwayes\nlou'd the people\n1 Cit. He's one honest enough, wold al the rest wer so\nMen. What work's my Countrimen in hand?\nWhere go you with Bats and Clubs? The matter\nSpeake I pray you\n2 Cit. Our busines is not vnknowne to th' Senat, they\nhaue had inkling this fortnight what we intend to do, w\nnow wee'l shew em in deeds: they say poore Suters haue\nstrong breaths, they shal know we haue strong arms too\nMenen. Why Masters, my good Friends, mine honest\nNeighbours, will you vndo your selues?\n2 Cit. We cannot Sir, we are vndone already\nMen. I tell you Friends, most charitable care\nHaue the Patricians of you for your wants.\nYour suffering in this dearth, you may as well\nStrike at the Heauen with your staues, as lift them\nAgainst the Roman State, whose course will on\nThe way it takes: cracking ten thousand Curbes\nOf more strong linke assunder, then can euer\nAppeare in your impediment. For the Dearth,\nThe Gods, not the Patricians make it, and\nYour knees to them (not armes) must helpe. Alacke,\nYou are transported by Calamity\nThether, where more attends you, and you slander\nThe Helmes o'th State; who care for you like Fathers,\nWhen you curse them, as Enemies\n2 Cit. Care for vs? True indeed, they nere car'd for vs\nyet. Suffer vs to famish, and their Store-houses cramm'd\nwith Graine: Make Edicts for Vsurie, to support Vsurers;\nrepeale daily any wholsome Act established against\nthe rich, and prouide more piercing Statutes daily, to\nchaine vp and restraine the poore. If the Warres eate vs\nnot vppe, they will; and there's all the loue they beare\nvs\nMenen. Either you must\nConfesse your selues wondrous Malicious,\nOr be accus'd of Folly. I shall tell you\nA pretty Tale, it may be you haue heard it,\nBut since it serues my purpose, I will venture\nTo scale't a little more\n2 Citizen. Well,\nIle heare it Sir: yet you must not thinke\nTo fobbe off our disgrace with a tale:\nBut and't please you deliuer\nMen. There was a time, when all the bodies members\nRebell'd against the Belly; thus accus'd it:\nThat onely like a Gulfe it did remaine\nI'th midd'st a th' body, idle and vnactiue,\nStill cubbording the Viand, neuer bearing\nLike labour with the rest, where th' other Instruments\nDid see, and heare, deuise, instruct, walke, feele,\nAnd mutually participate, did minister\nVnto the appetite; and affection common\nOf the whole body, the Belly answer'd\n2.Cit. Well sir, what answer made the Belly\nMen. Sir, I shall tell you with a kinde of Smile,\nWhich ne're came from the Lungs, but euen thus:\nFor looke you I may make the belly Smile,\nAs well as speake, it taintingly replyed\nTo'th' discontented Members, the mutinous parts\nThat enuied his receite: euen so most fitly,\nAs you maligne our Senators, for that\nThey are not such as you\n2.Cit. Your Bellies answer: What\nThe Kingly crown'd head, the vigilant eye,\nThe Counsailor Heart, the Arme our Souldier,\nOur Steed the Legge, the Tongue our Trumpeter,\nWith other Muniments and petty helpes\nIn this our Fabricke, if that they-\nMen. What then? Fore me, this Fellow speakes.\nWhat then? What then?\n2.Cit. Should by the Cormorant belly be restrain'd,\nWho is the sinke a th' body\nMen. Well, what then?\n2.Cit. The former Agents, if they did complaine,\nWhat could the Belly answer?\nMen. I will tell you,\nIf you'l bestow a small (of what you haue little)\nPatience awhile; you'st heare the Bellies answer\n2.Cit. Y'are long about it\nMen. Note me this good Friend;\nYour most graue Belly was deliberate,\nNot rash like his Accusers, and thus answered.\nTrue is it my Incorporate Friends (quoth he)\nThat I receiue the generall Food at first\nWhich you do liue vpon: and fit it is,\nBecause I am the Store-house, and the Shop\nOf the whole Body. But, if you do remember,\nI send it through the Riuers of your blood\nEuen to the Court, the Heart, to th' seate o'th' Braine,\nAnd through the Crankes and Offices of man,\nThe strongest Nerues, and small inferiour Veines\nFrom me receiue that naturall competencie\nWhereby they liue. And though that all at once\n(You my good Friends, this sayes the Belly) marke me\n2.Cit. I sir, well, well\nMen. Though all at once, cannot\nSee what I do deliuer out to each,\nYet I can make my Awdit vp, that all\nFrom me do backe receiue the Flowre of all,\nAnd leaue me but the Bran. What say you too't?\n2.Cit. It was an answer, how apply you this?\nMen. The Senators of Rome, are this good Belly,\nAnd you the mutinous Members: For examine\nTheir Counsailes, and their Cares; disgest things rightly,\nTouching the Weale a'th Common, you shall finde\nNo publique benefit which you receiue\nBut it proceeds, or comes from them to you,\nAnd no way from your selues. What do you thinke?\nYou, the great Toe of this Assembly?\n2.Cit. I the great Toe? Why the great Toe?\nMen. For that being one o'th lowest, basest, poorest\nOf this most wise Rebellion, thou goest formost:\nThou Rascall, that art worst in blood to run,\nLead'st first to win some vantage.\nBut make you ready your stiffe bats and clubs,\nRome, and her Rats, are at the point of battell,\nThe one side must haue baile.\nEnter Caius Martius.\nHayle, Noble Martius\nMar. Thanks. What's the matter you dissentious rogues\nThat rubbing the poore Itch of your Opinion,\nMake your selues Scabs\n2.Cit. We haue euer your good word\nMar. He that will giue good words to thee, wil flatter\nBeneath abhorring. What would you haue, you Curres,\nThat like nor Peace, nor Warre? The one affrights you,\nThe other makes you proud. He that trusts to you,\nWhere he should finde you Lyons, findes you Hares:\nWhere Foxes, Geese you are: No surer, no,\nThen is the coale of fire vpon the Ice,\nOr Hailstone in the Sun. Your Vertue is,\nTo make him worthy, whose offence subdues him,\nAnd curse that Iustice did it. Who deserues Greatnes,\nDeserues your Hate: and your Affections are\nA sickmans Appetite; who desires most that\nWhich would encrease his euill. He that depends\nVpon your fauours, swimmes with finnes of Leade,\nAnd hewes downe Oakes, with rushes. Hang ye: trust ye?\nWith euery Minute you do change a Minde,\nAnd call him Noble, that was now your Hate:\nHim vilde, that was your Garland. What's the matter,\nThat in these seuerall places of the Citie,\nYou cry against the Noble Senate, who\n(Vnder the Gods) keepe you in awe, which else\nWould feede on one another? What's their seeking?\nMen. For Corne at their owne rates, wherof they say\nThe Citie is well stor'd\nMar. Hang 'em: They say?\nThey'l sit by th' fire, and presume to know\nWhat's done i'th Capitoll: Who's like to rise,\nWho thriues, & who declines: Side factions, & giue out\nConiecturall Marriages, making parties strong,\nAnd feebling such as stand not in their liking,\nBelow their cobled Shooes. They say ther's grain enough?\nWould the Nobility lay aside their ruth,\nAnd let me vse my Sword, I'de make a Quarrie\nWith thousands of these quarter'd slaues, as high\nAs I could picke my Lance\nMenen. Nay these are almost thoroughly perswaded:\nFor though abundantly they lacke discretion\nYet are they passing Cowardly. But I beseech you,\nWhat sayes the other Troope?\nMar. They are dissolu'd: Hang em;\nThey said they were an hungry, sigh'd forth Prouerbes\nThat Hunger-broke stone wals: that dogges must eate\nThat meate was made for mouths. That the gods sent not\nCorne for the Richmen onely: With these shreds\nThey vented their Complainings, which being answer'd\nAnd a petition granted them, a strange one,\nTo breake the heart of generosity,\nAnd make bold power looke pale, they threw their caps\nAs they would hang them on the hornes a'th Moone,\nShooting their Emulation\nMenen. What is graunted them?\nMar. Fiue Tribunes to defend their vulgar wisdoms\nOf their owne choice. One's Iunius Brutus,\nSicinius Velutus, and I know not. Sdeath,\nThe rabble should haue first vnroo'st the City\nEre so preuayl'd with me; it will in time\nWin vpon power, and throw forth greater Theames\nFor Insurrections arguing\nMenen. This is strange\nMar. Go get you home you Fragments.\nEnter a Messenger hastily.\nMess. Where's Caius Martius?\nMar. Heere: what's the matter!\nMes. The newes is sir, the Volcies are in Armes\nMar. I am glad on't, then we shall ha meanes to vent\nOur mustie superfluity. See our best Elders.\nEnter Sicinius Velutus, Annius Brutus Cominius, Titus Lartius,\nwith other\nSenatours.\n1.Sen. Martius 'tis true, that you haue lately told vs,\nThe Volces are in Armes\nMar. They haue a Leader,\nTullus Auffidius that will put you too't:\nI sinne in enuying his Nobility:\nAnd were I any thing but what I am,\nI would wish me onely he\nCom. You haue fought together?\nMar. Were halfe to halfe the world by th' eares, & he\nvpon my partie, I'de reuolt to make\nOnely my warres with him. He is a Lion\nThat I am proud to hunt\n1.Sen. Then worthy Martius,\nAttend vpon Cominius to these Warres\nCom. It is your former promise\nMar. Sir it is,\nAnd I am constant: Titus Lucius, thou\nShalt see me once more strike at Tullus face.\nWhat art thou stiffe? Stand'st out?\nTit. No Caius Martius,\nIle leane vpon one Crutch, and fight with tother,\nEre stay behinde this Businesse\nMen. Oh true-bred\nSen. Your Company to'th' Capitoll, where I know\nOur greatest Friends attend vs\nTit. Lead you on: Follow Cominius, we must followe\nyou, right worthy your Priority\nCom. Noble Martius\nSen. Hence to your homes, be gone\nMar. Nay let them follow,\nThe Volces haue much Corne: take these Rats thither,\nTo gnaw their Garners. Worshipfull Mutiners,\nYour valour puts well forth: Pray follow.\nExeunt.\nCitizens steale away. Manet Sicin. & Brutus.\nSicin. Was euer man so proud as is this Martius?\nBru. He has no equall\nSicin. When we were chosen Tribunes for the people\nBru. Mark'd you his lip and eyes\nSicin. Nay, but his taunts\nBru. Being mou'd, he will not spare to gird the Gods\nSicin. Bemocke the modest Moone\nBru. The present Warres deuoure him, he is growne\nToo proud to be so valiant\nSicin. Such a Nature, tickled with good successe, disdaines\nthe shadow which he treads on at noone, but I do\nwonder, his insolence can brooke to be commanded vnder\nCominius?\nBru. Fame, at the which he aymes,\nIn whom already he's well grac'd, cannot\nBetter be held, nor more attain'd then by\nA place below the first: for what miscarries\nShall be the Generals fault, though he performe\nTo th' vtmost of a man, and giddy censure\nWill then cry out of Martius: Oh, if he\nHad borne the businesse\nSicin. Besides, if things go well,\nOpinion that so stickes on Martius, shall\nOf his demerits rob Cominius\nBru. Come: halfe all Cominius Honors are to Martius\nThough Martius earn'd them not: and all his faults\nTo Martius shall be Honors, though indeed\nIn ought he merit not\nSicin. Let's hence, and heare\nHow the dispatch is made, and in what fashion\nMore then his singularity, he goes\nVpon this present Action\nBru. Let's along.\nExeunt.\nEnter Tullus Auffidius with Senators of Coriolus.\n1.Sen. So, your opinion is Auffidius,\nThat they of Rome are entred in our Counsailes,\nAnd know how we proceede,\nAuf. Is it not yours?\nWhat euer haue bin thought one in this State\nThat could be brought to bodily act, ere Rome\nHad circumuention: 'tis not foure dayes gone\nSince I heard thence, these are the words, I thinke\nI haue the Letter heere: yes, heere it is;\nThey haue prest a Power, but it is not knowne\nWhether for East or West: the Dearth is great,\nThe people Mutinous: And it is rumour'd,\nCominius, Martius your old Enemy\n(Who is of Rome worse hated then of you)\nAnd Titus Lartius, a most valiant Roman,\nThese three leade on this Preparation\nWhether 'tis bent: most likely, 'tis for you:\nConsider of it\n1.Sen. Our Armie's in the Field:\nWe neuer yet made doubt but Rome was ready\nTo answer vs\nAuf. Nor did you thinke it folly,\nTo keepe your great pretences vayl'd, till when\nThey needs must shew themselues, which in the hatching\nIt seem'd appear'd to Rome. By the discouery,\nWe shalbe shortned in our ayme, which was\nTo take in many Townes, ere (almost) Rome\nShould know we were a-foot\n2.Sen. Noble Auffidius,\nTake your Commission, hye you to your Bands,\nLet vs alone to guard Corioles\nIf they set downe before's: for the remoue\nBring vp your Army: but (I thinke) you'l finde\nTh'haue not prepar'd for vs\nAuf. O doubt not that,\nI speake from Certainties. Nay more,\nSome parcels of their Power are forth already,\nAnd onely hitherward. I leaue your Honors.\nIf we, and Caius Martius chance to meete,\n'Tis sworne betweene vs, we shall euer strike\nTill one can do no more\nAll. The Gods assist you\nAuf. And keepe your Honors safe\n1.Sen. Farewell\n2.Sen. Farewell\nAll. Farewell.\nExeunt. omnes.\nEnter Volumnia and Virgilia, mother and wife to Martius: They set\nthem\ndowne on two lowe stooles and sowe.\nVolum. I pray you daughter sing, or expresse your selfe\nin a more comfortable sort: If my Sonne were my Husband,\nI should freelier reioyce in that absence wherein\nhe wonne Honor, then in the embracements of his Bed,\nwhere he would shew most loue. When yet hee was but\ntender-bodied, and the onely Sonne of my womb; when\nyouth with comelinesse pluck'd all gaze his way; when\nfor a day of Kings entreaties, a Mother should not sel him\nan houre from her beholding; I considering how Honour\nwould become such a person, that it was no better then\nPicture-like to hang by th' wall, if renowne made it not\nstirre, was pleas'd to let him seeke danger, where he was\nlike to finde fame: To a cruell Warre I sent him, from\nwhence he return'd, his browes bound with Oake. I tell\nthee Daughter, I sprang not more in ioy at first hearing\nhe was a Man-child, then now in first seeing he had proued\nhimselfe a man\nVirg. But had he died in the Businesse Madame, how\nthen?\nVolum. Then his good report should haue beene my\nSonne, I therein would haue found issue. Heare me professe\nsincerely, had I a dozen sons each in my loue alike,\nand none lesse deere then thine, and my good Martius, I\nhad rather had eleuen dye Nobly for their Countrey, then\none voluptuously surfet out of Action.\nEnter a Gentlewoman.\nGent. Madam, the lady Valeria is come to visit you\nVirg. Beseech you giue me leaue to retire my selfe\nVolum. Indeed you shall not:\nMe thinkes, I heare hither your Husbands Drumme:\nSee him plucke Auffidius downe by th' haire:\n(As children from a Beare) the Volces shunning him:\nMe thinkes I see him stampe thus, and call thus,\nCome on you Cowards, you were got in feare\nThough you were borne in Rome; his bloody brow\nWith his mail'd hand, then wiping, forth he goes\nLike to a Haruest man, that task'd to mowe\nOr all, or loose his hyre\nVirg. His bloody Brow? Oh Iupiter, no blood\nVolum. Away you Foole; it more becomes a man\nThen gilt his Trophe. The brests of Hecuba\nWhen she did suckle Hector, look'd not louelier\nThen Hectors forhead, when it spit forth blood\nAt Grecian sword. Contenning, tell Valeria\nWe are fit to bid her welcome.\nExit Gent.\nVir. Heauens blesse my Lord from fell Auffidius\nVol. Hee'l beat Auffidius head below his knee,\nAnd treade vpon his necke.\nEnter Valeria with an Vsher, and a Gentlewoman.\nVal. My Ladies both good day to you\nVol. Sweet Madam\nVir. I am glad to see your Ladyship\nVal. How do you both? You are manifest house-keepers.\nWhat are you sowing heere? A fine spotte in good\nfaith. How does your little Sonne?\nVir. I thanke your Lady-ship: Well good Madam\nVol. He had rather see the swords, and heare a Drum,\nthen looke vpon his Schoolmaster\nVal. A my word the Fathers Sonne: Ile sweare 'tis a\nvery pretty boy. A my troth, I look'd vpon him a Wensday\nhalfe an houre together: ha's such a confirm'd countenance.\nI saw him run after a gilded Butterfly, & when\nhe caught it, he let it go againe, and after it againe, and ouer\nand ouer he comes, and vp againe: catcht it again: or\nwhether his fall enrag'd him, or how 'twas, hee did so set\nhis teeth, and teare it. Oh, I warrant how he mammockt\nit\nVol. One on's Fathers moods\nVal. Indeed la, tis a Noble childe\nVirg. A Cracke Madam\nVal. Come, lay aside your stitchery, I must haue you\nplay the idle Huswife with me this afternoone\nVirg. No (good Madam)\nI will not out of doores\nVal. Not out of doores?\nVolum. She shall, she shall\nVirg. Indeed no, by your patience; Ile not ouer the\nthreshold, till my Lord returne from the Warres\nVal. Fye, you confine your selfe most vnreasonably:\nCome, you must go visit the good Lady that lies in\nVirg. I will wish her speedy strength, and visite her\nwith my prayers: but I cannot go thither\nVolum. Why I pray you\nVlug. 'Tis not to saue labour, nor that I want loue\nVal. You would be another Penelope: yet they say, all\nthe yearne she spun in Vlisses absence, did but fill Athica\nfull of Mothes. Come, I would your Cambrick were sensible\nas your finger, that you might leaue pricking it for\npitie. Come you shall go with vs\nVir. No good Madam, pardon me, indeed I will not\nfoorth\nVal. In truth la go with me, and Ile tell you excellent\nnewes of your Husband\nVirg. Oh good Madam, there can be none yet\nVal. Verily I do not iest with you: there came newes\nfrom him last night\nVir. Indeed Madam\nVal. In earnest it's true; I heard a Senatour speake it.\nThus it is: the Volcies haue an Army forth, against who[m]\nCominius the Generall is gone, with one part of our Romane\npower. Your Lord, and Titus Lartius, are set down\nbefore their Citie Carioles, they nothing doubt preuailing,\nand to make it breefe Warres. This is true on mine\nHonor, and so I pray go with vs\nVirg. Giue me excuse good Madame, I will obey you\nin euery thing heereafter\nVol. Let her alone Ladie, as she is now:\nShe will but disease our better mirth\nValeria. In troth I thinke she would:\nFare you well then. Come good sweet Ladie.\nPrythee Virgilia turne thy solemnesse out a doore,\nAnd go along with vs\nVirgil. No\nAt a word Madam; Indeed I must not,\nI wish you much mirth\nVal. Well, then farewell.\nExeunt. Ladies.\nEnter Martius, Titus Lartius, with Drumme and Colours, with\nCaptaines and\nSouldiers, as before the City Corialus: to them a Messenger.\nMartius. Yonder comes Newes:\nA Wager they haue met\nLar. My horse to yours, no\nMar. Tis done\nLart. Agreed\nMar. Say, ha's our Generall met the Enemy?\nMess. They lye in view, but haue not spoke as yet\nLart. So, the good Horse is mine\nMart. Ile buy him of you\nLart. No, Ile nor sel, nor giue him: Lend you him I will\nFor halfe a hundred yeares: Summon the Towne\nMar. How farre off lie these Armies?\nMess. Within this mile and halfe\nMar. Then shall we heare their Larum, & they Ours.\nNow Mars, I prythee make vs quicke in worke,\nThat we with smoaking swords may march from hence\nTo helpe our fielded Friends. Come, blow thy blast.\nThey Sound a Parley: Enter two Senators with others on the Walles\nof\nCorialus.\nTullus Auffidious, is he within your Walles?\n1.Senat. No, nor a man that feares you lesse then he,\nThat's lesser then a little:\nDrum a farre off.\nHearke, our Drummes\nAre bringing forth our youth: Wee'l breake our Walles\nRather then they shall pound vs vp our Gates,\nWhich yet seeme shut, we haue but pin'd with Rushes,\nThey'le open of themselues. Harke you, farre off\nAlarum farre off.\nThere is Auffidious. List what worke he makes\nAmong'st your clouen Army\nMart. Oh they are at it\nLart. Their noise be our instruction. Ladders hoa.\nEnter the Army of the Volces.\nMar. They feare vs not, but issue forth their Citie.\nNow put your Shields before your hearts, and fight\nWith hearts more proofe then Shields.\nAduance braue Titus,\nThey do disdaine vs much beyond our Thoughts,\nwhich makes me sweat with wrath. Come on my fellows\nHe that retires, Ile take him for a Volce,\nAnd he shall feele mine edge.\nAlarum, the Romans are beat back to their Trenches Enter Martius\nCursing.\nMar. All the contagion of the South, light on you,\nYou Shames of Rome: you Heard of Byles and Plagues\nPlaister you o're, that you may be abhorr'd\nFarther then seene, and one infect another\nAgainst the Winde a mile: you soules of Geese,\nThat beare the shapes of men, how haue you run\nFrom Slaues, that Apes would beate; Pluto and Hell,\nAll hurt behinde, backes red, and faces pale\nWith flight and agued feare, mend and charge home,\nOr by the fires of heauen, Ile leaue the Foe,\nAnd make my Warres on you: Looke too't: Come on,\nIf you'l stand fast, wee'l beate them to their Wiues,\nAs they vs to our Trenches followes.\nAnother Alarum, and Martius followes them to gates, and is shut\nin.\nSo, now the gates are ope: now proue good Seconds,\n'Tis for the followers Fortune, widens them,\nNot for the flyers: Marke me, and do the like.\nEnter the Gati.\n1.Sol. Foole-hardinesse, not I\n2.Sol. Nor I\n1.Sol. See they haue shut him in.\nAlarum continues\nAll. To th' pot I warrant him.\nEnter Titus Lartius\nTit. What is become of Martius?\nAll. Slaine (Sir) doubtlesse\n1.Sol. Following the Flyers at the very heeles,\nWith them he enters: who vpon the sodaine\nClapt to their Gates, he is himselfe alone,\nTo answer all the City\nLar. Oh Noble Fellow!\nWho sensibly out-dares his sencelesse Sword,\nAnd when it bowes, stand'st vp: Thou art left Martius,\nA Carbuncle intire: as big as thou art\nWeare not so rich a Iewell. Thou was't a Souldier\nEuen to Calues wish, not fierce and terrible\nOnely in strokes, but with thy grim lookes, and\nThe Thunder-like percussion of thy sounds\nThou mad'st thine enemies shake, as if the World\nWere Feauorous, and did tremble.\nEnter Martius bleeding, assaulted by the Enemy.\n1.Sol. Looke Sir\nLar. O 'tis Martius.\nLet's fetch him off, or make remaine alike.\nThey fight, and all enter the City.\nEnter certaine Romanes with spoiles.\n1.Rom. This will I carry to Rome\n2.Rom. And I this\n3.Rom. A Murrain on't, I tooke this for Siluer.\nExeunt.\nAlarum continues still a-farre off.\nEnter Martius, and Titus with a Trumpet.\nMar. See heere these mouers, that do prize their hours\nAt a crack'd Drachme: Cushions, Leaden Spoones,\nIrons of a Doit, Dublets that Hangmen would\nBury with those that wore them. These base slaues,\nEre yet the fight be done, packe vp, downe with them.\nAnd harke, what noyse the Generall makes: To him\nThere is the man of my soules hate, Auffidious,\nPiercing our Romanes: Then Valiant Titus take\nConuenient Numbers to make good the City,\nWhil'st I with those that haue the spirit, wil haste\nTo helpe Cominius\nLar. Worthy Sir, thou bleed'st,\nThy exercise hath bin too violent,\nFor a second course of Fight\nMar. Sir, praise me not:\nMy worke hath yet not warm'd me. Fare you well:\nThe blood I drop, is rather Physicall\nThen dangerous to me: To Auffidious thus, I will appear and fight\nLar. Now the faire Goddesse Fortune,\nFall deepe in loue with thee, and her great charmes\nMisguide thy Opposers swords, Bold Gentleman:\nProsperity be thy Page\nMar. Thy Friend no lesse,\nThen those she placeth highest: So farewell\nLar. Thou worthiest Martius,\nGo sound thy Trumpet in the Market place,\nCall thither all the Officers a'th' Towne,\nWhere they shall know our minde. Away.\nExeunt.\nEnter Cominius as it were in retire, with soldiers.\nCom. Breath you my friends, wel fought, we are come off,\nLike Romans, neither foolish in our stands,\nNor Cowardly in retyre: Beleeue me Sirs,\nWe shall be charg'd againe. Whiles we haue strooke\nBy Interims and conueying gusts, we haue heard\nThe Charges of our Friends. The Roman Gods,\nLeade their successes, as we wish our owne,\nThat both our powers, with smiling Fronts encountring,\nMay giue you thankfull Sacrifice. Thy Newes?\nEnter a Messenger.\nMess. The Cittizens of Corioles haue yssued,\nAnd giuen to Lartius and to Martius Battaile:\nI saw our party to their Trenches driuen,\nAnd then I came away\nCom. Though thou speakest truth,\nMe thinkes thou speak'st not well. How long is't since?\nMes. Aboue an houre, my Lord\nCom. 'Tis not a mile: briefely we heard their drummes.\nHow could'st thou in a mile confound an houre,\nAnd bring thy Newes so late?\nMes. Spies of the Volces\nHeld me in chace, that I was forc'd to wheele\nThree or foure miles about, else had I sir\nHalfe an houre since brought my report.\nEnter Martius.\nCom. Whose yonder,\nThat doe's appeare as he were Flead? O Gods,\nHe has the stampe of Martius, and I haue\nBefore time seene him thus\nMar. Come I too late?\nCom. The Shepherd knowes not Thunder fro[m] a Taber,\nMore then I know the sound of Martius Tongue\nFrom euery meaner man\nMartius. Come I too late?\nCom. I, if you come not in the blood of others,\nBut mantled in your owne\nMart. Oh! let me clip ye\nIn Armes as sound, as when I woo'd in heart;\nAs merry, as when our Nuptiall day was done,\nAnd Tapers burnt to Bedward\nCom. Flower of Warriors, how is't with Titus Lartius?\nMar. As with a man busied about Decrees:\nCondemning some to death, and some to exile,\nRansoming him, or pittying, threatning th' other;\nHolding Corioles in the name of Rome,\nEuen like a fawning Grey-hound in the Leash,\nTo let him slip at will\nCom. Where is that Slaue\nWhich told me they had beate you to your Trenches?\nWhere is he? Call him hither\nMar. Let him alone,\nHe did informe the truth: but for our Gentlemen,\nThe common file, (a plague-Tribunes for them)\nThe Mouse ne're shunn'd the Cat, as they did budge\nFrom Rascals worse then they\nCom. But how preuail'd you?\nMar. Will the time serue to tell, I do not thinke:\nWhere is the enemy? Are you Lords a'th Field?\nIf not, why cease you till you are so?\nCom. Martius, we haue at disaduantage fought,\nAnd did retyre to win our purpose\nMar. How lies their Battell? Know you on w side\nThey haue plac'd their men of trust?\nCom. As I guesse Martius,\nTheir Bands i'th Vaward are the Antients\nOf their best trust: O're them Auffidious,\nTheir very heart of Hope\nMar. I do beseech you,\nBy all the Battailes wherein we haue fought,\nBy th' Blood we haue shed together,\nBy th' Vowes we haue made\nTo endure Friends, that you directly set me\nAgainst Affidious, and his Antiats,\nAnd that you not delay the present (but\nFilling the aire with Swords aduanc'd) and Darts,\nWe proue this very houre\nCom. Though I could wish,\nYou were conducted to a gentle Bath,\nAnd Balmes applyed to you, yet dare I neuer\nDeny your asking, take your choice of those\nThat best can ayde your action\nMar. Those are they\nThat most are willing; if any such be heere,\n(As it were sinne to doubt) that loue this painting\nWherein you see me smear'd, if any feare\nLessen his person, then an ill report:\nIf any thinke, braue death out-weighes bad life,\nAnd that his Countries deerer then himselfe,\nLet him alone: Or so many so minded,\nWaue thus to expresse his disposition,\nAnd follow Martius.\nThey all shout and waue their swords, take him vp in their Armes,\nand cast\nvp their Caps.\nOh me alone, make you a sword of me:\nIf these shewes be not outward, which of you\nBut is foure Volces? None of you, but is\nAble to beare against the great Auffidious\nA Shield, as hard as his. A certaine number\n(Though thankes to all) must I select from all:\nThe rest shall beare the businesse in some other fight\n(As cause will be obey'd:) please you to March,\nAnd foure shall quickly draw out my Command,\nWhich men are best inclin'd\nCom. March on my Fellowes:\nMake good this ostentation, and you shall\nDiuide in all, with vs.\nExeunt.\nTitus Lartius, hauing set a guard vpon Carioles, going with Drum\nand\nTrumpet toward Cominius, and Caius Martius, Enters with a\nLieutenant,\nother Souldiours, and a Scout.\nLar. So, let the Ports be guarded; keepe your Duties\nAs I haue set them downe. If I do send, dispatch\nThose Centuries to our ayd, the rest will serue\nFor a short holding, if we loose the Field,\nWe cannot keepe the Towne\nLieu. Feare not our care Sir\nLart. Hence; and shut your gates vpon's:\nOur Guider come, to th' Roman Campe conduct vs.\nExit\nAlarum, as in Battaile.\nEnter Martius and Auffidius at seueral doores.\nMar. Ile fight with none but thee, for I do hate thee\nWorse then a Promise-breaker\nAuffid. We hate alike:\nNot Affricke ownes a Serpent I abhorre\nMore then thy Fame and Enuy: Fix thy foot\nMar. Let the first Budger dye the others Slaue,\nAnd the Gods doome him after\nAuf. If I flye Martius, hollow me like a Hare\nMar. Within these three houres Tullus\nAlone I fought in your Corioles walles,\nAnd made what worke I pleas'd: 'Tis not my blood,\nWherein thou seest me maskt, for thy Reuenge\nWrench vp thy power to th' highest\nAuf. Wer't thou the Hector,\nThat was the whip of your bragg'd Progeny,\nThou should'st not scape me heere.\nHeere they fight, and certaine Volces come in the ayde of Auffi.\nMartius\nfights til they be driuen in breathles.\nOfficious and not valiant, you haue sham'd me\nIn your condemned Seconds.\nFlourish. Alarum. A Retreat is sounded. Enter at one Doore\nCominius, with\nthe Romanes: At another Doore Martius, with his Arme in a\nScarfe.\nCom. If I should tell thee o're this thy dayes Worke,\nThou't not beleeue thy deeds: but Ile report it,\nWhere Senators shall mingle teares with smiles,\nWhere great Patricians shall attend, and shrug,\nI'th' end admire: where Ladies shall be frighted,\nAnd gladly quak'd, heare more: where the dull Tribunes,\nThat with the fustie Plebeans, hate thine Honors,\nShall say against their hearts, We thanke the Gods\nOur Rome hath such a Souldier.\nYet cam'st thou to a Morsell of this Feast,\nHauing fully din'd before.\nEnter Titus with his Power, from the Pursuit.\nTitus Lartius. Oh Generall:\nHere is the Steed, wee the Caparison:\nHadst thou beheld-\nMartius. Pray now, no more:\nMy Mother, who ha's a Charter to extoll her Bloud,\nWhen she do's prayse me, grieues me:\nI haue done as you haue done, that's what I can,\nInduc'd as you haue beene, that's for my Countrey:\nHe that ha's but effected his good will,\nHath ouerta'ne mine Act\nCom. You shall not be the Graue of your deseruing,\nRome must know the value of her owne:\n'Twere a Concealement worse then a Theft,\nNo lesse then a Traducement,\nTo hide your doings, and to silence that,\nWhich to the spire, and top of prayses vouch'd,\nWould seeme but modest: therefore I beseech you,\nIn signe of what you are, not to reward\nWhat you haue done, before our Armie heare me\nMartius. I haue some Wounds vpon me, and they smart\nTo heare themselues remembred\nCom. Should they not:\nWell might they fester 'gainst Ingratitude,\nAnd tent themselues with death: of all the Horses,\nWhereof we haue ta'ne good, and good store of all,\nThe Treasure in this field atchieued, and Citie,\nWe render you the Tenth, to be ta'ne forth,\nBefore the common distribution,\nAt your onely choyse\nMartius. I thanke you Generall:\nBut cannot make my heart consent to take\nA Bribe, to pay my Sword: I doe refuse it,\nAnd stand vpon my common part with those,\nThat haue beheld the doing.\nA long flourish. They all cry, Martius, Martius, cast vp their Caps\nand\nLaunces: Cominius and Lartius stand bare.\nMar. May these same Instruments, which you prophane,\nNeuer sound more: when Drums and Trumpets shall\nI'th' field proue flatterers, let Courts and Cities be\nMade all of false-fac'd soothing:\nWhen Steele growes soft, as the Parasites Silke,\nLet him be made an Ouerture for th' Warres:\nNo more I say, for that I haue not wash'd\nMy Nose that bled, or foyl'd some debile Wretch,\nWhich without note, here's many else haue done,\nYou shoot me forth in acclamations hyperbolicall,\nAs if I lou'd my little should be dieted\nIn prayses, sawc'st with Lyes\nCom. Too modest are you:\nMore cruell to your good report, then gratefull\nTo vs, that giue you truly: by your patience,\nIf 'gainst your selfe you be incens'd, wee'le put you\n(Like one that meanes his proper harme) in Manacles,\nThen reason safely with you: Therefore be it knowne,\nAs to vs, to all the World, That Caius Martius\nWeares this Warres Garland: in token of the which,\nMy Noble Steed, knowne to the Campe, I giue him,\nWith all his trim belonging; and from this time,\nFor what he did before Corioles, call him,\nWith all th' applause and Clamor of the Hoast,\nMarcus Caius Coriolanus. Beare th' addition Nobly euer?\nFlourish. Trumpets sound, and Drums.\nOmnes. Marcus Caius Coriolanus\nMartius. I will goe wash:\nAnd when my Face is faire, you shall perceiue\nWhether I blush or no: howbeit, I thanke you,\nI meane to stride your Steed, and at all times\nTo vnder-crest your good Addition,\nTo th' fairenesse of my power\nCom. So, to our Tent:\nWhere ere we doe repose vs, we will write\nTo Rome of our successe: you Titus Lartius\nMust to Corioles backe, send vs to Rome\nThe best, with whom we may articulate,\nFor their owne good, and ours\nLartius. I shall, my Lord\nMartius. The Gods begin to mocke me:\nI that now refus'd most Princely gifts,\nAm bound to begge of my Lord Generall\nCom. Tak't, 'tis yours: what is't?\nMartius. I sometime lay here in Corioles,\nAt a poore mans house: he vs'd me kindly,\nHe cry'd to me: I saw him Prisoner:\nBut then Auffidius was within my view,\nAnd Wrath o're-whelm'd my pittie: I request you\nTo giue my poore Host freedome\nCom. Oh well begg'd:\nWere he the Butcher of my Sonne, he should\nBe free, as is the Winde: deliuer him, Titus\nLartius. Martius, his Name\nMartius. By Iupiter forgot:\nI am wearie, yea, my memorie is tyr'd:\nHaue we no Wine here?\nCom. Goe we to our Tent:\nThe bloud vpon your Visage dryes, 'tis time\nIt should be lookt too: come.\nExeunt.\nA flourish. Cornets. Enter Tullus Auffidius bloudie, with two or\nthree\nSouldiors.\nAuffi. The Towne is ta'ne\nSould. 'Twill be deliuer'd backe on good Condition\nAuffid. Condition?\nI would I were a Roman, for I cannot,\nBeing a Volce, be that I am. Condition?\nWhat good Condition can a Treatie finde\nI'th' part that is at mercy? fiue times, Martius,\nI haue fought with thee; so often hast thou beat me:\nAnd would'st doe so, I thinke, should we encounter\nAs often as we eate. By th' Elements,\nIf ere againe I meet him beard to beard,\nHe's mine, or I am his: Mine Emulation\nHath not that Honor in't it had: For where\nI thought to crush him in an equall Force,\nTrue Sword to Sword: Ile potche at him some way,\nOr Wrath, or Craft may get him\nSol. He's the diuell\nAuf. Bolder, though not so subtle: my valors poison'd,\nWith onely suff'ring staine by him: for him\nShall flye out of it selfe, nor sleepe, nor sanctuary,\nBeing naked, sicke; nor Phane, nor Capitoll,\nThe Prayers of Priests, nor times of Sacrifice:\nEmbarquements all of Fury, shall lift vp\nTheir rotten Priuiledge, and Custome 'gainst\nMy hate to Martius. Where I finde him, were it\nAt home, vpon my Brothers Guard, euen there\nAgainst the hospitable Canon, would I\nWash my fierce hand in's heart. Go you to th' Citie,\nLearne how 'tis held, and what they are that must\nBe Hostages for Rome\nSoul. Will not you go?\nAuf. I am attended at the Cyprus groue. I pray you\n('Tis South the City Mils) bring me word thither\nHow the world goes: that to the pace of it\nI may spurre on my iourney\nSoul. I shall sir.\nActus Secundus.\nEnter Menenius with the two Tribunes of the people, Sicinius &\nBrutus.\nMen. The Agurer tels me, wee shall haue Newes to\nnight\nBru. Good or bad?\nMen. Not according to the prayer of the people, for\nthey loue not Martius\nSicin. Nature teaches Beasts to know their Friends\nMen. Pray you, who does the Wolfe loue?\nSicin. The Lambe\nMen. I, to deuour him, as the hungry Plebeians would\nthe Noble Martius\nBru. He's a Lambe indeed, that baes like a Beare\nMen. Hee's a Beare indeede, that liues like a Lambe.\nYou two are old men, tell me one thing that I shall aske\nyou\nBoth. Well sir\nMen. In what enormity is Martius poore in, that you\ntwo haue not in abundance?\nBru. He's poore in no one fault, but stor'd withall\nSicin. Especially in Pride\nBru. And topping all others in boasting\nMen. This is strange now: Do you two know, how\nyou are censured heere in the City, I mean of vs a'th' right\nhand File, do you?\nBoth. Why? how are we censur'd?\nMen. Because you talke of Pride now, will you not\nbe angry\nBoth. Well, well sir, well\nMen. Why 'tis no great matter: for a very little theefe\nof Occasion, will rob you of a great deale of Patience:\nGiue your dispositions the reines, and bee angry at your\npleasures (at the least) if you take it as a pleasure to you, in\nbeing so: you blame Martius for being proud\nBrut. We do it not alone, sir\nMen. I know you can doe very little alone, for your\nhelpes are many, or else your actions would growe wondrous\nsingle: your abilities are to Infant-like, for dooing\nmuch alone. You talke of Pride: Oh, that you could turn\nyour eyes toward the Napes of your neckes, and make\nbut an Interiour suruey of your good selues. Oh that you\ncould\nBoth. What then sir?\nMen. Why then you should discouer a brace of vnmeriting,\nproud, violent, testie Magistrates (alias Fooles)\nas any in Rome\nSicin. Menenius, you are knowne well enough too\nMen. I am knowne to be a humorous Patritian, and\none that loues a cup of hot Wine, with not a drop of alaying\nTiber in't: Said, to be something imperfect in fauouring\nthe first complaint, hasty and Tinder-like vppon, to\ntriuiall motion: One, that conuerses more with the Buttocke\nof the night, then with the forhead of the morning.\nWhat I think, I vtter, and spend my malice in my breath.\nMeeting two such Weales men as you are (I cannot call\nyou Licurgusses,) if the drinke you giue me, touch my Palat\naduersly, I make a crooked face at it, I can say, your\nWorshippes haue deliuer'd the matter well, when I finde\nthe Asse in compound, with the Maior part of your syllables.\nAnd though I must be content to beare with those,\nthat say you are reuerend graue men, yet they lye deadly,\nthat tell you haue good faces, if you see this in the Map\nof my Microcosme, followes it that I am knowne well enough\ntoo? What harme can your beesome Conspectuities\ngleane out of this Charracter, if I be knowne well enough\ntoo\nBru. Come sir come, we know you well enough\nMenen. You know neither mee, your selues, nor any\nthing: you are ambitious, for poore knaues cappes and\nlegges: you weare out a good wholesome Forenoone, in\nhearing a cause betweene an Orendge wife, and a Forfetseller,\nand then reiourne the Controuersie of three-pence\nto a second day of Audience. When you are hearing a\nmatter betweene party and party, if you chaunce to bee\npinch'd with the Collike, you make faces like Mummers,\nset vp the bloodie Flagge against all Patience, and\nin roaring for a Chamber-pot, dismisse the Controuersie\nbleeding, the more intangled by your hearing: All the\npeace you make in their Cause, is calling both the parties\nKnaues. You are a payre of strange ones\nBru. Come, come, you are well vnderstood to bee a\nperfecter gyber for the Table, then a necessary Bencher in\nthe Capitoll\nMen. Our very Priests must become Mockers, if they\nshall encounter such ridiculous Subiects as you are, when\nyou speake best vnto the purpose. It is not woorth the\nwagging of your Beards, and your Beards deserue not so\nhonourable a graue, as to stuffe a Botchers Cushion, or to\nbe intomb'd in an Asses Packe-saddle; yet you must bee\nsaying, Martius is proud: who in a cheape estimation, is\nworth all your predecessors, since Deucalion, though peraduenture\nsome of the best of 'em were hereditarie hangmen.\nGodden to your Worships, more of your conuersation\nwould infect my Braine, being the Heardsmen of\nthe Beastly Plebeans. I will be bold to take my leaue of\nyou.\nBru. and Scic. Aside.\nEnter Volumnia, Virgilia, and Valeria.\nHow now (my as faire as Noble) Ladyes, and the Moone\nwere shee Earthly, no Nobler; whither doe you follow\nyour Eyes so fast?\nVolum. Honorable Menenius, my Boy Martius approches:\nfor the loue of Iuno let's goe\nMenen. Ha? Martius comming home?\nVolum. I, worthy Menenius, and with most prosperous\napprobation\nMenen. Take my Cappe Iupiter, and I thanke thee:\nhoo, Martius comming home?\n2.Ladies. Nay, 'tis true\nVolum. Looke, here's a Letter from him, the State hath\nanother, his Wife another, and (I thinke) there's one at\nhome for you\nMenen. I will make my very house reele to night:\nA Letter for me?\nVirgil. Yes certaine, there's a Letter for you, I saw't\nMenen. A Letter for me? it giues me an Estate of seuen\nyeeres health; in which time, I will make a Lippe at\nthe Physician: The most soueraigne Prescription in Galen,\nis but Emperickqutique; and to this Preseruatiue, of no\nbetter report then a Horse-drench. Is he not wounded?\nhe was wont to come home wounded?\nVirgil. Oh no, no, no\nVolum. Oh, he is wounded, I thanke the Gods for't\nMenen. So doe I too, if it be not too much: brings a\nVictorie in his Pocket? the wounds become him\nVolum. On's Browes: Menenius, hee comes the third\ntime home with the Oaken Garland\nMenen. Ha's he disciplin'd Auffidius soundly?\nVolum. Titus Lartius writes, they fought together, but\nAuffidius got off\nMenen. And 'twas time for him too, Ile warrant him\nthat: and he had stay'd by him, I would not haue been so\nfiddious'd, for all the Chests in Carioles, and the Gold\nthat's in them. Is the Senate possest of this?\nVolum. Good Ladies let's goe. Yes, yes, yes: The\nSenate ha's Letters from the Generall, wherein hee giues\nmy Sonne the whole Name of the Warre: he hath in this\naction out-done his former deeds doubly\nValer. In troth, there's wondrous things spoke of him\nMenen. Wondrous: I, I warrant you, and not without\nhis true purchasing\nVirgil. The Gods graunt them true\nVolum. True? pow waw\nMene. True? Ile be sworne they are true: where is\nhee wounded, God saue your good Worships? Martius\nis comming home: hee ha's more cause to be prowd:\nwhere is he wounded?\nVolum. Ith' Shoulder, and ith' left Arme: there will be\nlarge Cicatrices to shew the People, when hee shall stand\nfor his place: he receiued in the repulse of Tarquin seuen\nhurts ith' Body\nMene. One ith' Neck, and two ith' Thigh, there's nine\nthat I know\nVolum. Hee had, before this last Expedition, twentie\nfiue Wounds vpon him\nMene. Now it's twentie seuen; euery gash was an\nEnemies Graue. Hearke, the Trumpets.\nA showt, and flourish.\nVolum. These are the Vshers of Martius:\nBefore him, hee carryes Noyse;\nAnd behinde him, hee leaues Teares:\nDeath, that darke Spirit, in's neruie Arme doth lye,\nWhich being aduanc'd, declines, and then men dye.\nA Sennet. Trumpets sound. Enter Cominius the Generall, and Titus\nLatius:\nbetweene them Coriolanus, crown'd with an Oaken Garland, with\nCaptaines and\nSouldiers, and a Herauld.\nHerauld. Know Rome, that all alone Martius did fight\nWithin Corioles Gates: where he hath wonne,\nWith Fame, a Name to Martius Caius:\nThese in honor followes Martius Caius Coriolanus.\nWelcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus.\nSound. Flourish.\nAll. Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus\nCoriol. No more of this, it does offend my heart: pray\nnow no more\nCom. Looke, Sir, your Mother\nCoriol. Oh! you haue, I know, petition'd all the Gods\nfor my prosperitie.\nKneeles.\nVolum. Nay, my good Souldier, vp:\nMy gentle Martius, worthy Caius,\nAnd by deed-atchieuing Honor newly nam'd,\nWhat is it (Coriolanus) must I call thee?\nBut oh, thy Wife\nCorio. My gracious silence, hayle:\nWould'st thou haue laugh'd, had I come Coffin'd home,\nThat weep'st to see me triumph? Ah my deare,\nSuch eyes the Widowes in Carioles were,\nAnd Mothers that lacke Sonnes\nMene. Now the Gods Crowne thee\nCom. And liue you yet? Oh my sweet Lady, pardon\nVolum. I know not where to turne.\nOh welcome home: and welcome Generall,\nAnd y'are welcome all\nMene. A hundred thousand Welcomes:\nI could weepe, and I could laugh,\nI am light, and heauie; welcome:\nA Curse begin at very root on's heart,\nThat is not glad to see thee.\nYou are three, that Rome should dote on:\nYet by the faith of men, we haue\nSome old Crab-trees here at home,\nThat will not be grafted to your Rallish.\nYet welcome Warriors:\nWee call a Nettle, but a Nettle;\nAnd the faults of fooles, but folly\nCom. Euer right\nCor. Menenius, euer, euer\nHerauld. Giue way there, and goe on\nCor. Your Hand, and yours?\nEre in our owne house I doe shade my Head,\nThe good Patricians must be visited,\nFrom whom I haue receiu'd not onely greetings,\nBut with them, change of Honors\nVolum. I haue liued,\nTo see inherited my very Wishes,\nAnd the Buildings of my Fancie:\nOnely there's one thing wanting,\nWhich (I doubt not) but our Rome\nWill cast vpon thee\nCor. Know, good Mother,\nI had rather be their seruant in my way,\nThen sway with them in theirs\nCom. On, to the Capitall.\nFlourish. Cornets.\nExeunt. in State, as before.\nEnter Brutus and Scicinius\nBru. All tongues speake of him, and the bleared sights\nAre spectacled to see him. Your pratling Nurse\nInto a rapture lets her Baby crie,\nWhile she chats him: the Kitchin Malkin pinnes\nHer richest Lockram 'bout her reechie necke,\nClambring the Walls to eye him:\nStalls, Bulkes, Windowes, are smother'd vp,\nLeades fill'd, and Ridges hors'd\nWith variable Complexions; all agreeing\nIn earnestnesse to see him: seld-showne Flamins\nDoe presse among the popular Throngs, and puffe\nTo winne a vulgar station: our veyl'd Dames\nCommit the Warre of White and Damaske\nIn their nicely gawded Cheekes, toth' wanton spoyle\nOf Phoebus burning Kisses: such a poother,\nAs if that whatsoeuer God, who leades him,\nWere slyly crept into his humane powers,\nAnd gaue him gracefull posture\nScicin. On the suddaine, I warrant him Consull\nBrutus. Then our Office may, during his power, goe\nsleepe\nScicin. He cannot temp'rately transport his Honors,\nFrom where he should begin, and end, but will\nLose those he hath wonne\nBrutus. In that there's comfort\nScici. Doubt not,\nThe Commoners, for whom we stand, but they\nVpon their ancient mallice, will forget\nWith the least cause, these his new Honors,\nWhich that he will giue them, make I as little question,\nAs he is prowd to doo't\nBrutus. I heard him sweare,\nWere he to stand for Consull, neuer would he\nAppeare i'th' Market place, nor on him put\nThe Naples Vesture of Humilitie,\nNor shewing (as the manner is) his Wounds\nToth' People, begge their stinking Breaths\nScicin. 'Tis right\nBrutus. It was his word:\nOh he would misse it, rather then carry it,\nBut by the suite of the Gentry to him,\nAnd the desire of the Nobles\nScicin. I wish no better, then haue him hold that purpose,\nand to put it in execution\nBrutus. 'Tis most like he will\nScicin. It shall be to him then, as our good wills; a\nsure destruction\nBrutus. So it must fall out\nTo him, or our Authorities, for an end.\nWe must suggest the People, in what hatred\nHe still hath held them: that to's power he would\nHaue made them Mules, silenc'd their Pleaders,\nAnd dispropertied their Freedomes; holding them,\nIn humane Action, and Capacitie,\nOf no more Soule, nor fitnesse for the World,\nThen Cammels in their Warre, who haue their Prouand\nOnely for bearing Burthens, and sore blowes\nFor sinking vnder them\nScicin. This (as you say) suggested,\nAt some time, when his soaring Insolence\nShall teach the People, which time shall not want,\nIf he be put vpon't, and that's as easie,\nAs to set Dogges on Sheepe, will be his fire\nTo kindle their dry Stubble: and their Blaze\nShall darken him for euer.\nEnter a Messenger.\nBrutus. What's the matter?\nMess. You are sent for to the Capitoll:\n'Tis thought, that Martius shall be Consull:\nI haue seene the dumbe men throng to see him,\nAnd the blind to heare him speak: Matrons flong Gloues,\nLadies and Maids their Scarffes, and Handkerchers,\nVpon him as he pass'd: the Nobles bended\nAs to Ioues Statue, and the Commons made\nA Shower, and Thunder, with their Caps, and Showts:\nI neuer saw the like\nBrutus. Let's to the Capitoll,\nAnd carry with vs Eares and Eyes for th' time,\nBut Hearts for the euent\nScicin. Haue with you.\nExeunt.\nEnter two Officers, to lay Cushions, as it were, in the Capitoll.\n1.Off. Come, come, they are almost here: how many\nstand for Consulships?\n2.Off. Three, they say: but 'tis thought of euery one,\nCoriolanus will carry it\n1.Off. That's a braue fellow: but hee's vengeance\nprowd, and loues not the common people\n2.Off. 'Faith, there hath beene many great men that\nhaue flatter'd the people, who ne're loued them; and there\nbe many that they haue loued, they know not wherefore:\nso that if they loue they know not why, they hate vpon\nno better a ground. Therefore, for Coriolanus neyther to\ncare whether they loue, or hate him, manifests the true\nknowledge he ha's in their disposition, and out of his Noble\ncarelesnesse lets them plainely see't\n1.Off. If he did not care whether he had their loue, or\nno, hee waued indifferently, 'twixt doing them neyther\ngood, nor harme: but hee seekes their hate with greater\ndeuotion, then they can render it him; and leaues nothing\nvndone, that may fully discouer him their opposite. Now\nto seeme to affect the mallice and displeasure of the People,\nis as bad, as that which he dislikes, to flatter them for\ntheir loue\n2.Off. Hee hath deserued worthily of his Countrey,\nand his assent is not by such easie degrees as those, who\nhauing beene supple and courteous to the People, Bonnetted,\nwithout any further deed, to haue them at all into\ntheir estimation, and report: but hee hath so planted his\nHonors in their Eyes, and his actions in their Hearts, that\nfor their Tongues to be silent, and not confesse so much,\nwere a kinde of ingratefull Iniurie: to report otherwise,\nwere a Mallice, that giuing it selfe the Lye, would plucke\nreproofe and rebuke from euery Eare that heard it\n1.Off. No more of him, hee's a worthy man: make\nway, they are comming.\nA Sennet. Enter the Patricians, and the Tribunes of the People,\nLictors\nbefore them: Coriolanus, Menenius, Cominius the Consul:\nScicinius and\nBrutus take their places by themselues: Coriolanus stands.\nMenen. Hauing determin'd of the Volces,\nAnd to send for Titus Lartius: it remaines,\nAs the maine Point of this our after-meeting,\nTo gratifie his Noble seruice, that hath\nThus stood for his Countrey. Therefore please you,\nMost reuerend and graue Elders, to desire\nThe present Consull, and last Generall,\nIn our well-found Successes, to report\nA little of that worthy Worke, perform'd\nBy Martius Caius Coriolanus: whom\nWe met here, both to thanke, and to remember,\nWith Honors like himselfe\n1.Sen. Speake, good Cominius:\nLeaue nothing out for length, and make vs thinke\nRather our states defectiue for requitall,\nThen we to stretch it out. Masters a'th' People,\nWe doe request your kindest eares: and after\nYour louing motion toward the common Body,\nTo yeeld what passes here\nScicin. We are conuented vpon a pleasing Treatie, and\nhaue hearts inclinable to honor and aduance the Theame\nof our Assembly\nBrutus. Which the rather wee shall be blest to doe, if\nhe remember a kinder value of the People, then he hath\nhereto priz'd them at\nMenen. That's off, that's off: I would you rather had\nbeen silent: Please you to heare Cominius speake?\nBrutus. Most willingly: but yet my Caution was\nmore pertinent then the rebuke you giue it\nMenen. He loues your People, but tye him not to be\ntheir Bed-fellow: Worthie Cominius speake.\nCoriolanus rises, and offers to goe away.\nNay, keepe your place\nSenat. Sit Coriolanus: neuer shame to heare\nWhat you haue Nobly done\nCoriol. Your Honors pardon:\nI had rather haue my Wounds to heale againe,\nThen heare say how I got them\nBrutus. Sir, I hope my words dis-bench'd you not?\nCoriol. No Sir: yet oft,\nWhen blowes haue made me stay, I fled from words.\nYou sooth'd not, therefore hurt not: but your People,\nI loue them as they weigh-\nMenen. Pray now sit downe\nCorio. I had rather haue one scratch my Head i'th' Sun,\nWhen the Alarum were strucke, then idly sit\nTo heare my Nothings monster'd.\nExit Coriolanus\nMenen. Masters of the People,\nYour multiplying Spawne, how can he flatter?\nThat's thousand to one good one, when you now see\nHe had rather venture all his Limbes for Honor,\nThen on ones Eares to heare it. Proceed Cominius\nCom. I shall lacke voyce: the deeds of Coriolanus\nShould not be vtter'd feebly: it is held,\nThat Valour is the chiefest Vertue,\nAnd most dignifies the hauer: if it be,\nThe man I speake of, cannot in the World\nBe singly counter-poys'd. At sixteene yeeres,\nWhen Tarquin made a Head for Rome, he fought\nBeyond the marke of others: our then Dictator,\nWhom with all prayse I point at, saw him fight,\nWhen with his Amazonian Shinne he droue\nThe brizled Lippes before him: he bestrid\nAn o're-prest Roman, and i'th' Consuls view\nSlew three Opposers: Tarquins selfe he met,\nAnd strucke him on his Knee: in that dayes feates,\nWhen he might act the Woman in the Scene,\nHe prou'd best man i'th' field, and for his meed\nWas Brow-bound with the Oake. His Pupill age\nMan-entred thus, he waxed like a Sea,\nAnd in the brunt of seuenteene Battailes since,\nHe lurcht all Swords of the Garland: for this last,\nBefore, and in Corioles, let me say\nI cannot speake him home: he stopt the flyers,\nAnd by his rare example made the Coward\nTurne terror into sport: as Weeds before\nA Vessell vnder sayle, so men obey'd,\nAnd fell below his Stem: his Sword, Deaths stampe,\nWhere it did marke, it tooke from face to foot:\nHe was a thing of Blood, whose euery motion\nWas tim'd with dying Cryes: alone he entred\nThe mortall Gate of th' Citie, which he painted\nWith shunlesse destinie: aydelesse came off,\nAnd with a sudden re-inforcement strucke\nCarioles like a Planet: now all's his,\nWhen by and by the dinne of Warre gan pierce\nHis readie sence: then straight his doubled spirit\nRequickned what in flesh was fatigate,\nAnd to the Battaile came he, where he did\nRunne reeking o're the liues of men, as if 'twere\nA perpetuall spoyle: and till we call'd\nBoth Field and Citie ours, he neuer stood\nTo ease his Brest with panting\nMenen. Worthy man\nSenat. He cannot but with measure fit the Honors\nwhich we deuise him\nCom. Our spoyles he kickt at,\nAnd look'd vpon things precious, as they were\nThe common Muck of the World: he couets lesse\nThen Miserie it selfe would giue, rewards his deeds\nWith doing them, and is content\nTo spend the time, to end it\nMenen. Hee's right Noble, let him be call'd for\nSenat. Call Coriolanus\nOff. He doth appeare.\nEnter Coriolanus.\nMenen. The Senate, Coriolanus, are well pleas'd to make\nthee Consull\nCorio. I doe owe them still my Life, and Seruices\nMenen. It then remaines, that you doe speake to the\nPeople\nCorio. I doe beseech you,\nLet me o're-leape that custome: for I cannot\nPut on the Gowne, stand naked, and entreat them\nFor my Wounds sake, to giue their sufferage:\nPlease you that I may passe this doing\nScicin. Sir, the People must haue their Voyces,\nNeyther will they bate one iot of Ceremonie\nMenen. Put them not too't:\nPray you goe fit you to the Custome,\nAnd take to you, as your Predecessors haue,\nYour Honor with your forme\nCorio. It is a part that I shall blush in acting,\nAnd might well be taken from the People\nBrutus. Marke you that\nCorio. To brag vnto them, thus I did, and thus\nShew them th' vnaking Skarres, which I should hide,\nAs if I had receiu'd them for the hyre\nOf their breath onely\nMenen. Doe not stand vpon't:\nWe recommend to you Tribunes of the People\nOur purpose to them, and to our Noble Consull\nWish we all Ioy, and Honor\nSenat. To Coriolanus come all ioy and Honor.\nFlourish Cornets. Then Exeunt. Manet Sicinius and Brutus.\nBru. You see how he intends to vse the people\nScicin. May they perceiue's intent: he wil require them\nAs if he did contemne what he requested,\nShould be in them to giue\nBru. Come, wee'l informe them\nOf our proceedings heere on th' Market place,\nI know they do attend vs.\nEnter seuen or eight Citizens.\n1.Cit. Once if he do require our voyces, wee ought\nnot to deny him\n2.Cit. We may Sir if we will\n3.Cit. We haue power in our selues to do it, but it is\na power that we haue no power to do: For, if hee shew vs\nhis wounds, and tell vs his deeds, we are to put our tongues\ninto those wounds, and speake for them: So if he tel\nvs his Noble deeds, we must also tell him our Noble acceptance\nof them. Ingratitude is monstrous, and for the\nmultitude to be ingratefull, were to make a Monster of\nthe multitude; of the which, we being members, should\nbring our selues to be monstrous members\n1.Cit. And to make vs no better thought of a little\nhelpe will serue: for once we stood vp about the Corne,\nhe himselfe stucke not to call vs the many-headed Multitude\n3.Cit. We haue beene call'd so of many, not that our\nheads are some browne, some blacke, some Abram, some\nbald; but that our wits are so diuersly Coulord; and truely\nI thinke, if all our wittes were to issue out of one Scull,\nthey would flye East, West, North, South, and their consent\nof one direct way, should be at once to all the points\na'th Compasse\n2.Cit. Thinke you so? Which way do you iudge my\nwit would flye\n3.Cit. Nay your wit will not so soone out as another\nmans will, 'tis strongly wadg'd vp in a blocke-head: but\nif it were at liberty, 'twould sure Southward\n2 Cit. Why that way?\n3 Cit. To loose it selfe in a Fogge, where being three\nparts melted away with rotten Dewes, the fourth would\nreturne for Conscience sake, to helpe to get thee a Wife\n2 Cit. You are neuer without your trickes, you may,\nyou may\n3 Cit. Are you all resolu'd to giue your voyces? But\nthat's no matter, the greater part carries it, I say. If hee\nwould incline to the people, there was neuer a worthier\nman.\nEnter Coriolanus in a gowne of Humility, with Menenius.\nHeere he comes, and in the Gowne of humility, marke\nhis behauiour: we are not to stay altogether, but to come\nby him where he stands, by ones, by twoes, & by threes.\nHe's to make his requests by particulars, wherein euerie\none of vs ha's a single Honor, in giuing him our own voices\nwith our owne tongues, therefore follow me, and Ile\ndirect you how you shall go by him\nAll. Content, content\nMen. Oh Sir, you are not right: haue you not knowne\nThe worthiest men haue done't?\nCorio. What must I say, I pray Sir?\nPlague vpon't, I cannot bring\nMy tongue to such a pace. Looke Sir, my wounds,\nI got them in my Countries Seruice, when\nSome certaine of your Brethren roar'd, and ranne\nFrom th' noise of our owne Drummes\nMenen. Oh me the Gods, you must not speak of that,\nYou must desire them to thinke vpon you\nCoriol. Thinke vpon me? Hang 'em,\nI would they would forget me, like the Vertues\nWhich our Diuines lose by em\nMen. You'l marre all,\nIle leaue you: Pray you speake to em, I pray you\nIn wholsome manner.\nExit\nEnter three of the Citizens.\nCorio. Bid them wash their Faces,\nAnd keepe their teeth cleane: So, heere comes a brace,\nYou know the cause (Sir) of my standing heere\n3 Cit. We do Sir, tell vs what hath brought you too't\nCorio. Mine owne desert\n2 Cit. Your owne desert\nCorio. I, but mine owne desire\n3 Cit. How not your owne desire?\nCorio. No Sir, 'twas neuer my desire yet to trouble the\npoore with begging\n3 Cit. You must thinke if we giue you any thing, we\nhope to gaine by you\nCorio. Well then I pray, your price a'th' Consulship\n1 Cit. The price is, to aske it kindly\nCorio. Kindly sir, I pray let me ha't: I haue wounds to\nshew you, which shall bee yours in priuate: your good\nvoice sir, what say you?\n2 Cit. You shall ha't worthy Sir\nCorio. A match Sir, there's in all two worthie voyces\nbegg'd: I haue your Almes, Adieu\n3 Cit. But this is something odde\n2 Cit. And 'twere to giue againe: but 'tis no matter.\nExeunt. Enter two other Citizens.\nCoriol. Pray you now, if it may stand with the tune\nof your voices, that I may bee Consull, I haue heere the\nCustomarie Gowne\n1. You haue deserued Nobly of your Countrey, and\nyou haue not deserued Nobly\nCoriol. Your aenigma\n1. You haue bin a scourge to her enemies, you haue\nbin a Rod to her Friends, you haue not indeede loued the\nCommon people\nCoriol. You should account mee the more Vertuous,\nthat I haue not bin common in my Loue, I will sir flatter\nmy sworne Brother the people to earne a deerer estimation\nof them, 'tis a condition they account gentle: & since\nthe wisedome of their choice, is rather to haue my Hat,\nthen my Heart, I will practice the insinuating nod, and be\noff to them most counterfetly, that is sir, I will counterfet\nthe bewitchment of some popular man, and giue it\nbountifull to the desirers: Therefore beseech you, I may\nbe Consull\n2. Wee hope to finde you our friend: and therefore\ngiue you our voices heartily\n1. You haue receyued many wounds for your Countrey\nCoriol. I wil not Seale your knowledge with shewing\nthem. I will make much of your voyces, and so trouble\nyou no farther\nBoth. The Gods giue you ioy Sir heartily\nCoriol. Most sweet Voyces:\nBetter it is to dye, better to sterue,\nThen craue the higher, which first we do deserue.\nWhy in this Wooluish tongue should I stand heere,\nTo begge of Hob and Dicke, that does appeere\nTheir needlesse Vouches: Custome calls me too't.\nWhat Custome wills in all things, should we doo't?\nThe Dust on antique Time would lye vnswept,\nAnd mountainous Error be too highly heapt,\nFor Truth to o're-peere. Rather then foole it so,\nLet the high Office and the Honor go\nTo one that would doe thus. I am halfe through,\nThe one part suffered, the other will I doe.\nEnter three Citizens more.\nHere come moe Voyces.\nYour Voyces? for your Voyces I haue sought,\nWatcht for your Voyces: for your Voyces, beare\nOf Wounds, two dozen odde: Battailes thrice six\nI haue seene, and heard of: for your Voyces,\nHaue done many things, some lesse, some more:\nYour Voyces? Indeed I would be Consull\n1.Cit. Hee ha's done Nobly, and cannot goe without\nany honest mans Voyce\n2.Cit. Therefore let him be Consull: the Gods giue him\nioy, and make him good friend to the People\nAll. Amen, Amen. God saue thee, Noble Consull\nCorio. Worthy Voyces.\nEnter Menenius, with Brutus and Scicinius.\nMene. You haue stood your Limitation:\nAnd the Tribunes endue you with the Peoples Voyce,\nRemaines, that in th' Officiall Markes inuested,\nYou anon doe meet the Senate\nCorio. Is this done?\nScicin. The Custome of Request you haue discharg'd:\nThe People doe admit you, and are summon'd\nTo meet anon, vpon your approbation\nCorio. Where? at the Senate-house?\nScicin. There, Coriolanus\nCorio. May I change these Garments?\nScicin. You may, Sir\nCori. That Ile straight do: and knowing my selfe again,\nRepayre toth' Senatehouse\nMene. Ile keepe you company. Will you along?\nBrut. We stay here for the People\nScicin. Fare you well.\nExeunt. Coriol. and Mene.\nHe ha's it now: and by his Lookes, me thinkes,\n'Tis warme at's heart\nBrut. With a prowd heart he wore his humble Weeds:\nWill you dismisse the People?\nEnter the Plebeians.\nScici. How now, my Masters, haue you chose this man?\n1.Cit. He ha's our Voyces, Sir\nBrut. We pray the Gods, he may deserue your loues\n2.Cit. Amen, Sir: to my poore vnworthy notice,\nHe mock'd vs, when he begg'd our Voyces\n3.Cit. Certainely, he flowted vs downe-right\n1.Cit. No, 'tis his kind of speech, he did not mock vs\n2.Cit. Not one amongst vs, saue your selfe, but sayes\nHe vs'd vs scornefully: he should haue shew'd vs\nHis Marks of Merit, Wounds receiu'd for's Countrey\nScicin. Why so he did, I am sure\nAll. No, no: no man saw 'em\n3.Cit. Hee said hee had Wounds,\nWhich he could shew in priuate:\nAnd with his Hat, thus wauing it in scorne,\nI would be Consull, sayes he: aged Custome,\nBut by your Voyces, will not so permit me.\nYour Voyces therefore: when we graunted that,\nHere was, I thanke you for your Voyces, thanke you\nYour most sweet Voyces: now you haue left your Voyces,\nI haue no further with you. Was not this mockerie?\nScicin. Why eyther were you ignorant to see't?\nOr seeing it, of such Childish friendlinesse,\nTo yeeld your Voyces?\nBrut. Could you not haue told him,\nAs you were lesson'd: When he had no Power,\nBut was a pettie seruant to the State,\nHe was your Enemie, euer spake against\nYour Liberties, and the Charters that you beare\nI'th' Body of the Weale: and now arriuing\nA place of Potencie, and sway o'th' State,\nIf he should still malignantly remaine\nFast Foe toth' Plebeij, your Voyces might\nBe Curses to your selues. You should haue said,\nThat as his worthy deeds did clayme no lesse\nThen what he stood for: so his gracious nature\nWould thinke vpon you, for your Voyces,\nAnd translate his Mallice towards you, into Loue,\nStanding your friendly Lord\nScicin. Thus to haue said,\nAs you were fore-aduis'd, had toucht his Spirit,\nAnd try'd his Inclination: from him pluckt\nEyther his gracious Promise, which you might\nAs cause had call'd you vp, haue held him to;\nOr else it would haue gall'd his surly nature,\nWhich easily endures not Article,\nTying him to ought, so putting him to Rage,\nYou should haue ta'ne th' aduantage of his Choller,\nAnd pass'd him vnelected\nBrut. Did you perceiue,\nHe did sollicite you in free Contempt,\nWhen he did need your Loues: and doe you thinke,\nThat his Contempt shall not be brusing to you,\nWhen he hath power to crush? Why, had your Bodyes\nNo Heart among you? Or had you Tongues, to cry\nAgainst the Rectorship of Iudgement?\nScicin. Haue you, ere now, deny'd the asker:\nAnd now againe, of him that did not aske, but mock,\nBestow your su'd-for Tongues?\n3.Cit. Hee's not confirm'd, we may deny him yet\n2.Cit. And will deny him:\nIle haue fiue hundred Voyces of that sound\n1.Cit. I twice fiue hundred, & their friends, to piece 'em\nBrut. Get you hence instantly, and tell those friends,\nThey haue chose a Consull, that will from them take\nTheir Liberties, make them of no more Voyce\nThen Dogges, that are as often beat for barking,\nAs therefore kept to doe so\nScici. Let them assemble: and on a safer Iudgement,\nAll reuoke your ignorant election: Enforce his Pride,\nAnd his old Hate vnto you: besides, forget not\nWith what Contempt he wore the humble Weed,\nHow in his Suit he scorn'd you: but your Loues,\nThinking vpon his Seruices, tooke from you\nTh' apprehension of his present portance,\nWhich most gibingly, vngrauely, he did fashion\nAfter the inueterate Hate he beares you\nBrut. Lay a fault on vs, your Tribunes,\nThat we labour'd (no impediment betweene)\nBut that you must cast your Election on him\nScici. Say you chose him, more after our commandment,\nThen as guided by your owne true affections, and that\nYour Minds pre-occupy'd with what you rather must do,\nThen what you should, made you against the graine\nTo Voyce him Consull. Lay the fault on vs\nBrut. I, spare vs not: Say, we read Lectures to you,\nHow youngly he began to serue his Countrey,\nHow long continued, and what stock he springs of,\nThe Noble House o'th'Martians: from whence came\nThat Ancus Martius, Numaes Daughters Sonne:\nWho after great Hostilius here was King,\nOf the same House Publius and Quintus were,\nThat our best Water, brought by Conduits hither,\nAnd Nobly nam'd, so twice being Censor,\nWas his great Ancestor\nScicin. One thus descended,\nThat hath beside well in his person wrought,\nTo be set high in place, we did commend\nTo your remembrances: but you haue found,\nSkaling his present bearing with his past,\nThat hee's your fixed enemie; and reuoke\nYour suddaine approbation\nBrut. Say you ne're had don't,\n(Harpe on that still) but by our putting on:\nAnd presently, when you haue drawne your number,\nRepaire toth' Capitoll\nAll. We will so: almost all repent in their election.\nExeunt. Plebeians.\nBrut. Let them goe on:\nThis Mutinie were better put in hazard,\nThen stay past doubt, for greater:\nIf, as his nature is, he fall in rage\nWith their refusall, both obserue and answer\nThe vantage of his anger\nScicin. Toth' Capitoll, come:\nWe will be there before the streame o'th' People:\nAnd this shall seeme, as partly 'tis, their owne,\nWhich we haue goaded on-ward.\nExeunt.\nActus Tertius.\nCornets. Enter Coriolanus, Menenius, all the Gentry, Cominius,\nTitus\nLatius, and other Senators.\nCorio. Tullus Auffidius then had made new head\nLatius. He had, my Lord, and that it was which caus'd\nOur swifter Composition\nCorio. So then the Volces stand but as at first,\nReadie when time shall prompt them, to make roade\nVpon's againe\nCom. They are worne (Lord Consull) so,\nThat we shall hardly in our ages see\nTheir Banners waue againe\nCorio. Saw you Auffidius?\nLatius. On safegard he came to me, and did curse\nAgainst the Volces, for they had so vildly\nYeelded the Towne: he is retyred to Antium\nCorio. Spoke he of me?\nLatius. He did, my Lord\nCorio. How? what?\nLatius. How often he had met you Sword to Sword:\nThat of all things vpon the Earth, he hated\nYour person most: That he would pawne his fortunes\nTo hopelesse restitution, so he might\nBe call'd your Vanquisher\nCorio. At Antium liues he?\nLatius. At Antium\nCorio. I wish I had a cause to seeke him there,\nTo oppose his hatred fully. Welcome home.\nEnter Scicinius and Brutus.\nBehold, these are the Tribunes of the People,\nThe Tongues o'th' Common Mouth. I do despise them:\nFor they doe pranke them in Authoritie,\nAgainst all Noble sufferance\nScicin. Passe no further\nCor. Hah? what is that?\nBrut. It will be dangerous to goe on- No further\nCorio. What makes this change?\nMenen. The matter?\nCom. Hath he not pass'd the Noble, and the Common?\nBrut. Cominius, no\nCorio. Haue I had Childrens Voyces?\nSenat. Tribunes giue way, he shall toth' Market place\nBrut. The People are incens'd against him\nScicin. Stop, or all will fall in broyle\nCorio. Are these your Heard?\nMust these haue Voyces, that can yeeld them now,\nAnd straight disclaim their toungs? what are your Offices?\nYou being their Mouthes, why rule you not their Teeth?\nHaue you not set them on?\nMene. Be calme, be calme\nCorio. It is a purpos'd thing, and growes by Plot,\nTo curbe the will of the Nobilitie:\nSuffer't, and liue with such as cannot rule,\nNor euer will be ruled\nBrut. Call't not a Plot:\nThe People cry you mockt them: and of late,\nWhen Corne was giuen them gratis, you repin'd,\nScandal'd the Suppliants: for the People, call'd them\nTime-pleasers, flatterers, foes to Noblenesse\nCorio. Why this was knowne before\nBrut. Not to them all\nCorio. Haue you inform'd them sithence?\nBrut. How? I informe them?\nCom. You are like to doe such businesse\nBrut. Not vnlike each way to better yours\nCorio. Why then should I be Consull? by yond Clouds\nLet me deserue so ill as you, and make me\nYour fellow Tribune\nScicin. You shew too much of that,\nFor which the People stirre: if you will passe\nTo where you are bound, you must enquire your way,\nWhich you are out of, with a gentler spirit,\nOr neuer be so Noble as a Consull,\nNor yoake with him for Tribune\nMene. Let's be calme\nCom. The People are abus'd: set on, this paltring\nBecomes not Rome: nor ha's Coriolanus\nDeseru'd this so dishonor'd Rub, layd falsely\nI'th' plaine Way of his Merit\nCorio. Tell me of Corne: this was my speech,\nAnd I will speak't againe\nMene. Not now, not now\nSenat. Not in this heat, Sir, now\nCorio. Now as I liue, I will.\nMy Nobler friends, I craue their pardons:\nFor the mutable ranke-sented Meynie,\nLet them regard me, as I doe not flatter,\nAnd therein behold themselues: I say againe,\nIn soothing them, we nourish 'gainst our Senate\nThe Cockle of Rebellion, Insolence, Sedition,\nWhich we our selues haue plowed for, sow'd, & scatter'd,\nBy mingling them with vs, the honor'd Number,\nWho lack not Vertue, no, nor Power, but that\nWhich they haue giuen to Beggers\nMene. Well, no more\nSenat. No more words, we beseech you\nCorio. How? no more?\nAs for my Country, I haue shed my blood,\nNot fearing outward force: So shall my Lungs\nCoine words till their decay, against those Meazels\nWhich we disdaine should Tetter vs, yet sought\nThe very way to catch them\nBru. You speake a'th' people, as if you were a God,\nTo punish; Not a man, of their Infirmity\nSicin. 'Twere well we let the people know't\nMene. What, what? His Choller?\nCor. Choller? Were I as patient as the midnight sleep,\nBy Ioue, 'twould be my minde\nSicin. It is a minde that shall remain a poison\nWhere it is: not poyson any further\nCorio. Shall remaine?\nHeare you this Triton of the Minnoues? Marke you\nHis absolute Shall?\nCom. 'Twas from the Cannon\nCor. Shall? O God! but most vnwise Patricians: why\nYou graue, but wreaklesse Senators, haue you thus\nGiuen Hidra heere to choose an Officer,\nThat with his peremptory Shall, being but\nThe horne, and noise o'th' Monsters, wants not spirit\nTo say, hee'l turne your Current in a ditch,\nAnd make your Channell his? If he haue power,\nThen vale your Ignorance: If none, awake\nYour dangerous Lenity: If you are Learn'd,\nBe not as common Fooles; if you are not,\nLet them haue Cushions by you. You are Plebeians,\nIf they be Senators: and they are no lesse,\nWhen both your voices blended, the great'st taste\nMost pallates theirs. They choose their Magistrate,\nAnd such a one as he, who puts his Shall,\nHis popular Shall, against a grauer Bench\nThen euer frown'd in Greece. By Ioue himselfe,\nIt makes the Consuls base; and my Soule akes\nTo know, when two Authorities are vp,\nNeither Supreame; How soone Confusion\nMay enter 'twixt the gap of Both, and take\nThe one by th' other\nCom. Well, on to'th' Market place\nCorio. Who euer gaue that Counsell, to giue forth\nThe Corne a'th' Store-house gratis, as 'twas vs'd\nSometime in Greece\nMene. Well, well, no more of that\nCor. Thogh there the people had more absolute powre\nI say they norisht disobedience: fed, the ruin of the State\nBru. Why shall the people giue\nOne that speakes thus, their voyce?\nCorio. Ile giue my Reasons,\nMore worthier then their Voyces. They know the Corne\nWas not our recompence, resting well assur'd\nThey ne're did seruice for't; being prest to'th' Warre,\nEuen when the Nauell of the State was touch'd,\nThey would not thred the Gates: This kinde of Seruice\nDid not deserue Corne gratis. Being i'th' Warre,\nThere Mutinies and Reuolts, wherein they shew'd\nMost Valour spoke not for them. Th' Accusation\nWhich they haue often made against the Senate,\nAll cause vnborne, could neuer be the Natiue\nOf our so franke Donation. Well, what then?\nHow shall this Bosome-multiplied, digest\nThe Senates Courtesie? Let deeds expresse\nWhat's like to be their words, We did request it,\nWe are the greater pole, and in true feare\nThey gaue vs our demands. Thus we debase\nThe Nature of our Seats, and make the Rabble\nCall our Cares, Feares; which will in time\nBreake ope the Lockes a'th' Senate, and bring in\nThe Crowes to pecke the Eagles\nMene. Come enough\nBru. Enough, with ouer measure\nCorio. No, take more.\nWhat may be sworne by, both Diuine and Humane,\nSeale what I end withall. This double worship,\nWhereon part do's disdaine with cause, the other\nInsult without all reason: where Gentry, Title, wisedom\nCannot conclude, but by the yea and no\nOf generall Ignorance, it must omit\nReall Necessities, and giue way the while\nTo vnstable Slightnesse. Purpose so barr'd, it followes,\nNothing is done to purpose. Therefore beseech you,\nYou that will be lesse fearefull, then discreet,\nThat loue the Fundamentall part of State\nMore then you doubt the change on't: That preferre\nA Noble life, before a Long, and Wish,\nTo iumpe a Body with a dangerous Physicke,\nThat's sure of death without it: at once plucke out\nThe Multitudinous Tongue, let them not licke\nThe sweet which is their poyson. Your dishonor\nMangles true iudgement, and bereaues the State\nOf that Integrity which should becom't:\nNot hauing the power to do the good it would\nFor th' ill which doth controul't\nBru. Has said enough\nSicin. Ha's spoken like a Traitor, and shall answer\nAs Traitors do\nCorio. Thou wretch, despight ore-whelme thee:\nWhat should the people do with these bald Tribunes?\nOn whom depending, their obedience failes\nTo'th' greater Bench, in a Rebellion:\nWhen what's not meet, but what must be, was Law,\nThen were they chosen: in a better houre,\nLet what is meet, be saide it must be meet,\nAnd throw their power i'th' dust\nBru. Manifest Treason\nSicin. This a Consull? No.\nEnter an aedile.\nBru. The Ediles hoe: Let him be apprehended:\nSicin. Go call the people, in whose name my Selfe\nAttach thee as a Traitorous Innouator:\nA Foe to'th' publike Weale. Obey I charge thee,\nAnd follow to thine answer\nCorio. Hence old Goat\nAll. Wee'l Surety him\nCom. Ag'd sir, hands off\nCorio. Hence rotten thing, or I shall shake thy bones\nOut of thy Garments\nSicin. Helpe ye Citizens.\nEnter a rabble of Plebeians with the Aediles.\nMene. On both sides more respect\nSicin. Heere's hee, that would take from you all your\npower\nBru. Seize him Aediles\nAll. Downe with him, downe with him\n2 Sen. Weapons, weapons, weapons:\nThey all bustle about Coriolanus.\nTribunes, Patricians, Citizens: what ho:\nSicinius, Brutus, Coriolanus, Citizens\nAll. Peace, peace, peace, stay, hold, peace\nMene. What is about to be? I am out of Breath,\nConfusions neere, I cannot speake. You, Tribunes\nTo'th' people: Coriolanus, patience: Speak good Sicinius\nScici. Heare me, People peace\nAll. Let's here our Tribune: peace, speake, speake,\nspeake\nScici. You are at point to lose your Liberties:\nMartius would haue all from you; Martius,\nWhom late you haue nam'd for Consull\nMene. Fie, fie, fie, this is the way to kindle, not to\nquench\nSena. To vnbuild the Citie, and to lay all flat\nScici. What is the Citie, but the People?\nAll. True, the People are the Citie\nBrut. By the consent of all, we were establish'd the\nPeoples Magistrates\nAll. You so remaine\nMene. And so are like to doe\nCom. That is the way to lay the Citie flat,\nTo bring the Roofe to the Foundation,\nAnd burie all, which yet distinctly raunges\nIn heapes, and piles of Ruine\nScici. This deserues Death\nBrut. Or let vs stand to our Authoritie,\nOr let vs lose it: we doe here pronounce,\nVpon the part o'th' People, in whose power\nWe were elected theirs, Martius is worthy\nOf present Death\nScici. Therefore lay hold of him:\nBeare him toth' Rock Tarpeian, and from thence\nInto destruction cast him\nBrut. aediles seize him\nAll Ple. Yeeld Martius, yeeld\nMene. Heare me one word, 'beseech you Tribunes,\nheare me but a word\nAediles. Peace, peace\nMene. Be that you seeme, truly your Countries friend,\nAnd temp'rately proceed to what you would\nThus violently redresse\nBrut. Sir, those cold wayes,\nThat seeme like prudent helpes, are very poysonous,\nWhere the Disease is violent. Lay hands vpon him,\nAnd beare him to the Rock.\nCorio. drawes his Sword.\nCorio. No, Ile die here:\nThere's some among you haue beheld me fighting,\nCome trie vpon your selues, what you haue seene me\nMene. Downe with that Sword, Tribunes withdraw\na while\nBrut. Lay hands vpon him\nMene. Helpe Martius, helpe: you that be noble, helpe\nhim young and old\nAll. Downe with him, downe with him.\nExeunt.\nIn this Mutinie, the Tribunes, the aediles, and the People are beat\nin.\nMene. Goe, get you to our House: be gone, away.\nAll will be naught else\n2.Sena. Get you gone\nCom. Stand fast, we haue as many friends as enemies\nMene. Shall it be put to that?\nSena. The Gods forbid:\nI prythee noble friend, home to thy House,\nLeaue vs to cure this Cause\nMene. For 'tis a Sore vpon vs,\nYou cannot Tent your selfe: be gone, 'beseech you\nCorio. Come Sir, along with vs\nMene. I would they were Barbarians, as they are,\nThough in Rome litter'd: not Romans, as they are not,\nThough calued i'th' Porch o'th' Capitoll:\nBe gone, put not your worthy Rage into your Tongue,\nOne time will owe another\nCorio. On faire ground, I could beat fortie of them\nMene. I could my selfe take vp a Brace o'th' best of\nthem, yea, the two Tribunes\nCom. But now 'tis oddes beyond Arithmetick,\nAnd Manhood is call'd Foolerie, when it stands\nAgainst a falling Fabrick. Will you hence,\nBefore the Tagge returne? whose Rage doth rend\nLike interrupted Waters, and o're-beare\nWhat they are vs'd to beare\nMene. Pray you be gone:\nIle trie whether my old Wit be in request\nWith those that haue but little: this must be patcht\nWith Cloth of any Colour\nCom. Nay, come away.\nExeunt. Coriolanus and Cominius.\nPatri. This man ha's marr'd his fortune\nMene. His nature is too noble for the World:\nHe would not flatter Neptune for his Trident,\nOr Ioue, for's power to Thunder: his Heart's his Mouth:\nWhat his Brest forges, that his Tongue must vent,\nAnd being angry, does forget that euer\nHe heard the Name of Death.\nA Noise within.\nHere's goodly worke\nPatri. I would they were a bed\nMene. I would they were in Tyber.\nWhat the vengeance, could he not speake 'em faire?\nEnter Brutus and Sicinius with the rabble againe.\nSicin. Where is this Viper,\nThat would depopulate the city, & be euery man himself\nMene. You worthy Tribunes\nSicin. He shall be throwne downe the Tarpeian rock\nWith rigorous hands: he hath resisted Law,\nAnd therefore Law shall scorne him further Triall\nThen the seuerity of the publike Power,\nWhich he so sets at naught\n1 Cit. He shall well know the Noble Tribunes are\nThe peoples mouths, and we their hands\nAll. He shall sure ont\nMene. Sir, sir\nSicin. Peace\nMe. Do not cry hauocke, where you shold but hunt\nWith modest warrant\nSicin. Sir, how com'st that you haue holpe\nTo make this rescue?\nMene. Heere me speake? As I do know\nThe Consuls worthinesse, so can I name his Faults\nSicin. Consull? what Consull?\nMene. The Consull Coriolanus\nBru. He Consull\nAll. No, no, no, no, no\nMene. If by the Tribunes leaue,\nAnd yours good people,\nI may be heard, I would craue a word or two,\nThe which shall turne you to no further harme,\nThen so much losse of time\nSic. Speake breefely then,\nFor we are peremptory to dispatch\nThis Viporous Traitor: to eiect him hence\nWere but one danger, and to keepe him heere\nOur certaine death: therefore it is decreed,\nHe dyes to night\nMenen. Now the good Gods forbid,\nThat our renowned Rome, whose gratitude\nTowards her deserued Children, is enroll'd\nIn Ioues owne Booke, like an vnnaturall Dam\nShould now eate vp her owne\nSicin. He's a Disease that must be cut away\nMene. Oh he's a Limbe, that ha's but a Disease\nMortall, to cut it off: to cure it, easie.\nWhat ha's he done to Rome, that's worthy death?\nKilling our Enemies, the blood he hath lost\n(Which I dare vouch, is more then that he hath\nBy many an Ounce) he dropp'd it for his Country:\nAnd what is left, to loose it by his Countrey,\nWere to vs all that doo't, and suffer it\nA brand to th' end a'th World\nSicin. This is cleane kamme\nBrut. Meerely awry:\nWhen he did loue his Country, it honour'd him\nMenen. The seruice of the foote\nBeing once gangren'd, is not then respected\nFor what before it was\nBru. Wee'l heare no more:\nPursue him to his house, and plucke him thence,\nLeast his infection being of catching nature,\nSpred further\nMenen. One word more, one word:\nThis Tiger-footed-rage, when it shall find\nThe harme of vnskan'd swiftnesse, will (too late)\nTye Leaden pounds too's heeles. Proceed by Processe,\nLeast parties (as he is belou'd) breake out,\nAnd sacke great Rome with Romanes\nBrut. If it were so?\nSicin. What do ye talke?\nHaue we not had a taste of his Obedience?\nOur Ediles smot: our selues resisted: come\nMene. Consider this: He ha's bin bred i'th' Warres\nSince a could draw a Sword, and is ill-school'd\nIn boulted Language: Meale and Bran together\nHe throwes without distinction. Giue me leaue,\nIle go to him, and vndertake to bring him in peace,\nWhere he shall answer by a lawfull Forme\n(In peace) to his vtmost perill\n1.Sen. Noble Tribunes,\nIt is the humane way: the other course\nWill proue to bloody: and the end of it,\nVnknowne to the Beginning\nSic. Noble Menenius, be you then as the peoples officer:\nMasters, lay downe your Weapons\nBru. Go not home\nSic. Meet on the Market place: wee'l attend you there:\nWhere if you bring not Martius, wee'l proceede\nIn our first way\nMenen. Ile bring him to you.\nLet me desire your company: he must come,\nOr what is worst will follow\nSena. Pray you let's to him.\nExeunt. Omnes.\nEnter Coriolanus with Nobles.\nCorio. Let them pull all about mine eares, present me\nDeath on the Wheele, or at wilde Horses heeles,\nOr pile ten hilles on the Tarpeian Rocke,\nThat the precipitation might downe stretch\nBelow the beame of sight; yet will I still\nBe thus to them.\nEnter Volumnia.\nNoble. You do the Nobler\nCorio. I muse my Mother\nDo's not approue me further, who was wont\nTo call them Wollen Vassailes, things created\nTo buy and sell with Groats, to shew bare heads\nIn Congregations, to yawne, be still, and wonder,\nWhen one but of my ordinance stood vp\nTo speake of Peace, or Warre. I talke of you,\nWhy did you wish me milder? Would you haue me\nFalse to my Nature? Rather say, I play\nThe man I am\nVolum. Oh sir, sir, sir,\nI would haue had you put your power well on\nBefore you had worne it out\nCorio. Let go\nVol. You might haue beene enough the man you are,\nWith striuing lesse to be so: Lesser had bin\nThe things of your dispositions, if\nYou had not shew'd them how ye were dispos'd\nEre they lack'd power to crosse you\nCorio. Let them hang\nVolum. I, and burne too.\nEnter Menenius with the Senators.\nMen. Come, come, you haue bin too rough, somthing\ntoo rough: you must returne, and mend it\nSen. There's no remedy,\nVnlesse by not so doing, our good Citie\nCleaue in the midd'st, and perish\nVolum. Pray be counsail'd;\nI haue a heart as little apt as yours,\nBut yet a braine, that leades my vse of Anger\nTo better vantage\nMene. Well said, Noble woman:\nBefore he should thus stoope to'th' heart, but that\nThe violent fit a'th' time craues it as Physicke\nFor the whole State; I would put mine Armour on,\nWhich I can scarsely beare\nCorio. What must I do?\nMene. Returne to th' Tribunes\nCorio. Well, what then? what then?\nMene. Repent, what you haue spoke\nCorio. For them, I cannot do it to the Gods,\nMust I then doo't to them?\nVolum. You are too absolute,\nThough therein you can neuer be too Noble,\nBut when extremities speake. I haue heard you say,\nHonor and Policy, like vnseuer'd Friends,\nI'th' Warre do grow together: Grant that, and tell me\nIn Peace, what each of them by th' other loose,\nThat they combine not there?\nCorio. Tush, tush\nMene. A good demand\nVolum. If it be Honor in your Warres, to seeme\nThe same you are not, which for your best ends\nYou adopt your policy: How is it lesse or worse\nThat it shall hold Companionship in Peace\nWith Honour, as in Warre; since that to both\nIt stands in like request\nCorio. Why force you this?\nVolum. Because, that\nNow it lyes you on to speake to th' people:\nNot by your owne instruction, nor by'th' matter\nWhich your heart prompts you, but with such words\nThat are but roated in your Tongue;\nThough but Bastards, and Syllables\nOf no allowance, to your bosomes truth.\nNow, this no more dishonors you at all,\nThen to take in a Towne with gentle words,\nWhich else would put you to your fortune, and\nThe hazard of much blood.\nI would dissemble with my Nature, where\nMy Fortunes and my Friends at stake, requir'd\nI should do so in Honor. I am in this\nYour Wife, your Sonne: These Senators, the Nobles,\nAnd you, will rather shew our generall Lowts,\nHow you can frowne, then spend a fawne vpon 'em,\nFor the inheritance of their loues, and safegard\nOf what that want might ruine\nMenen. Noble Lady,\nCome goe with vs, speake faire: you may salue so,\nNot what is dangerous present, but the losse\nOf what is past\nVolum. I prythee now, my Sonne,\nGoe to them, with this Bonnet in thy hand,\nAnd thus farre hauing stretcht it (here be with them)\nThy Knee bussing the stones: for in such businesse\nAction is eloquence, and the eyes of th' ignorant\nMore learned then the eares, wauing thy head,\nWhich often thus correcting thy stout heart,\nNow humble as the ripest Mulberry,\nThat will not hold the handling: or say to them,\nThou art their Souldier, and being bred in broyles,\nHast not the soft way, which thou do'st confesse\nWere fit for thee to vse, as they to clayme,\nIn asking their good loues, but thou wilt frame\nThy selfe (forsooth) hereafter theirs so farre,\nAs thou hast power and person\nMenen. This but done,\nEuen as she speakes, why their hearts were yours:\nFor they haue Pardons, being ask'd, as free,\nAs words to little purpose\nVolum. Prythee now,\nGoe, and be rul'd: although I know thou hadst rather\nFollow thine Enemie in a fierie Gulfe,\nThen flatter him in a Bower.\nEnter Cominius.\nHere is Cominius\nCom. I haue beene i'th' Market place: and Sir 'tis fit\nYou make strong partie, or defend your selfe\nBy calmenesse, or by absence: all's in anger\nMenen. Onely faire speech\nCom. I thinke 'twill serue, if he can thereto frame his\nspirit\nVolum. He must, and will:\nPrythee now say you will, and goe about it\nCorio. Must I goe shew them my vnbarb'd Sconce?\nMust I with my base Tongue giue to my Noble Heart\nA Lye, that it must beare well? I will doo't:\nYet were there but this single Plot, to loose\nThis Mould of Martius, they to dust should grinde it,\nAnd throw't against the Winde. Toth' Market place:\nYou haue put me now to such a part, which neuer\nI shall discharge toth' Life\nCom. Come, come, wee'le prompt you\nVolum. I prythee now sweet Son, as thou hast said\nMy praises made thee first a Souldier; so\nTo haue my praise for this, performe a part\nThou hast not done before\nCorio. Well, I must doo't:\nAway my disposition, and possesse me\nSome Harlots spirit: My throat of Warre be turn'd,\nWhich quier'd with my Drumme into a Pipe,\nSmall as an Eunuch, or the Virgin voyce\nThat Babies lull a-sleepe: The smiles of Knaues\nTent in my cheekes, and Schoole-boyes Teares take vp\nThe Glasses of my sight: A Beggars Tongue\nMake motion through my Lips, and my Arm'd knees\nWho bow'd but in my Stirrop, bend like his\nThat hath receiu'd an Almes. I will not doo't,\nLeast I surcease to honor mine owne truth,\nAnd by my Bodies action, teach my Minde\nA most inherent Basenesse\nVolum. At thy choice then:\nTo begge of thee, it is my more dis-honor,\nThen thou of them. Come all to ruine, let\nThy Mother rather feele thy Pride, then feare\nThy dangerous Stoutnesse: for I mocke at death\nWith as bigge heart as thou. Do as thou list,\nThy Valiantnesse was mine, thou suck'st it from me:\nBut owe thy Pride thy selfe\nCorio. Pray be content:\nMother, I am going to the Market place:\nChide me no more. Ile Mountebanke their Loues,\nCogge their Hearts from them, and come home belou'd\nOf all the Trades in Rome. Looke, I am going:\nCommend me to my Wife, Ile returne Consull,\nOr neuer trust to what my Tongue can do\nI'th way of Flattery further\nVolum. Do your will.\nExit Volumnia\nCom. Away, the Tribunes do attend you: arm your self\nTo answer mildely: for they are prepar'd\nWith Accusations, as I heare more strong\nThen are vpon you yet\nCorio. The word is, Mildely. Pray you let vs go,\nLet them accuse me by inuention: I\nWill answer in mine Honor\nMenen. I, but mildely\nCorio. Well mildely be it then, Mildely.\nExeunt.\nEnter Sicinius and Brutus.\nBru. In this point charge him home, that he affects\nTyrannicall power: If he euade vs there,\nInforce him with his enuy to the people,\nAnd that the Spoile got on the Antiats\nWas ne're distributed. What, will he come?\nEnter an Edile.\nEdile. Hee's comming\nBru. How accompanied?\nEdile. With old Menenius, and those Senators\nThat alwayes fauour'd him\nSicin. Haue you a Catalogue\nOf all the Voices that we haue procur'd, set downe by'th Pole?\nEdile. I haue: 'tis ready\nSicin. Haue you collected them by Tribes?\nEdile. I haue\nSicin. Assemble presently the people hither:\nAnd when they heare me say, it shall be so,\nI'th' right and strength a'th' Commons: be it either\nFor death, for fine, or Banishment, then let them\nIf I say Fine, cry Fine; if Death, cry Death,\nInsisting on the olde prerogatiue\nAnd power i'th Truth a'th Cause\nEdile. I shall informe them\nBru. And when such time they haue begun to cry,\nLet them not cease, but with a dinne confus'd\nInforce the present Execution\nOf what we chance to Sentence\nEdi. Very well\nSicin. Make them be strong, and ready for this hint\nWhen we shall hap to giu't them\nBru. Go about it,\nPut him to Choller straite, he hath bene vs'd\nEuer to conquer, and to haue his worth\nOf contradiction. Being once chaft, he cannot\nBe rein'd againe to Temperance, then he speakes\nWhat's in his heart, and that is there which lookes\nWith vs to breake his necke.\nEnter Coriolanus, Menenius, and Cominius, with others.\nSicin. Well, heere he comes\nMene. Calmely, I do beseech you\nCorio. I, as an Hostler, that fourth poorest peece\nWill beare the Knaue by'th Volume:\nTh' honor'd Goddes\nKeepe Rome in safety, and the Chaires of Iustice\nSupplied with worthy men, plant loue amongs\nThrough our large Temples with y shewes of peace\nAnd not our streets with Warre\n1 Sen. Amen, Amen\nMene. A Noble wish.\nEnter the Edile with the Plebeians.\nSicin. Draw neere ye people\nEdile. List to your Tribunes. Audience:\nPeace I say\nCorio. First heare me speake\nBoth Tri. Well, say: Peace hoe\nCorio. Shall I be charg'd no further then this present?\nMust all determine heere?\nSicin. I do demand,\nIf you submit you to the peoples voices,\nAllow their Officers, and are content\nTo suffer lawfull Censure for such faults\nAs shall be prou'd vpon you\nCorio. I am Content\nMene. Lo Citizens, he sayes he is Content.\nThe warlike Seruice he ha's done, consider: Thinke\nVpon the wounds his body beares, which shew\nLike Graues i'th holy Church-yard\nCorio. Scratches with Briars, scarres to moue\nLaughter onely\nMene. Consider further:\nThat when he speakes not like a Citizen,\nYou finde him like a Soldier: do not take\nHis rougher Actions for malicious sounds:\nBut as I say, such as become a Soldier,\nRather then enuy you\nCom. Well, well, no more\nCorio. What is the matter,\nThat being past for Consull with full voyce:\nI am so dishonour'd, that the very houre\nYou take it off againe\nSicin. Answer to vs\nCorio. Say then: 'tis true, I ought so\nSicin. We charge you, that you haue contriu'd to take\nFrom Rome all season'd Office, and to winde\nYour selfe into a power tyrannicall,\nFor which you are a Traitor to the people\nCorio. How? Traytor?\nMene. Nay temperately: your promise\nCorio. The fires i'th' lowest hell. Fould in the people:\nCall me their Traitor, thou iniurious Tribune.\nWithin thine eyes sate twenty thousand deaths\nIn thy hands clutcht: as many Millions in\nThy lying tongue, both numbers. I would say\nThou lyest vnto thee, with a voice as free,\nAs I do pray the Gods\nSicin. Marke you this people?\nAll. To'th' Rocke, to'th' Rocke with him\nSicin. Peace:\nWe neede not put new matter to his charge:\nWhat you haue seene him do, and heard him speake:\nBeating your Officers, cursing your selues,\nOpposing Lawes with stroakes, and heere defying\nThose whose great power must try him.\nEuen this so criminall, and in such capitall kinde\nDeserues th' extreamest death\nBru. But since he hath seru'd well for Rome\nCorio. What do you prate of Seruice\nBrut. I talke of that, that know it\nCorio. You?\nMene. Is this the promise that you made your mother\nCom. Know, I pray you\nCorio. Ile know no further:\nLet them pronounce the steepe Tarpeian death,\nVagabond exile, Fleaing, pent to linger\nBut with a graine a day, I would not buy\nTheir mercie, at the price of one faire word,\nNor checke my Courage for what they can giue,\nTo haue't with saying, Good morrow\nSicin. For that he ha's\n(As much as in him lies) from time to time\nEnui'd against the people; seeking meanes\nTo plucke away their power: as now at last,\nGiuen Hostile strokes, and that not in the presence\nOf dreaded Iustice, but on the Ministers\nThat doth distribute it. In the name a'th' people,\nAnd in the power of vs the Tribunes, wee\n(Eu'n from this instant) banish him our Citie\nIn perill of precipitation\nFrom off the Rocke Tarpeian, neuer more\nTo enter our Rome gates. I'th' Peoples name,\nI say it shall bee so\nAll. It shall be so, it shall be so: let him away:\nHee's banish'd, and it shall be so\nCom. Heare me my Masters, and my common friends\nSicin. He's sentenc'd: No more hearing\nCom. Let me speake:\nI haue bene Consull, and can shew from Rome\nHer Enemies markes vpon me. I do loue\nMy Countries good, with a respect more tender,\nMore holy, and profound, then mine owne life,\nMy deere Wiues estimate, her wombes encrease,\nAnd treasure of my Loynes: then if I would\nSpeake that\nSicin. We know your drift. Speake what?\nBru. There's no more to be said, but he is banish'd\nAs Enemy to the people, and his Countrey.\nIt shall bee so\nAll. It shall be so, it shall be so\nCorio. You common cry of Curs, whose breath I hate,\nAs reeke a'th' rotten Fennes: whose Loues I prize,\nAs the dead Carkasses of vnburied men,\nThat do corrupt my Ayre: I banish you,\nAnd heere remaine with your vncertaintie.\nLet euery feeble Rumor shake your hearts:\nYour Enemies, with nodding of their Plumes\nFan you into dispaire: Haue the power still\nTo banish your Defenders, till at length\nYour ignorance (which findes not till it feeles,\nMaking but reseruation of your selues,\nStill your owne Foes) deliuer you\nAs most abated Captiues, to some Nation\nThat wonne you without blowes, despising\nFor you the City. Thus I turne my backe;\nThere is a world elsewhere.\nExeunt. Coriolanus, Cominius, with Cumalijs. They all shout, and\nthrow vp\ntheir Caps.\nEdile. The peoples Enemy is gone, is gone\nAll. Our enemy is banish'd, he is gone: Hoo, oo\nSicin. Go see him out at Gates, and follow him\nAs he hath follow'd you, with all despight\nGiue him deseru'd vexation. Let a guard\nAttend vs through the City\nAll. Come, come, lets see him out at gates, come:\nThe Gods preserue our Noble Tribunes, come.\nExeunt.\nActus Quartus.\nEnter Coriolanus, Volumnia, Virgilia, Menenius, Cominius, with\nthe yong\nNobility of Rome.\nCorio. Come leaue your teares: a brief farwel: the beast\nWith many heads butts me away. Nay Mother,\nWhere is your ancient Courage? You were vs'd\nTo say, Extreamities was the trier of spirits,\nThat common chances. Common men could beare,\nThat when the Sea was calme, all Boats alike\nShew'd Mastership in floating. Fortunes blowes,\nWhen most strooke home, being gentle wounded, craues\nA Noble cunning. You were vs'd to load me\nWith Precepts that would make inuincible\nThe heart that conn'd them\nVirg. Oh heauens! O heauens!\nCorio. Nay, I prythee woman\nVol. Now the Red Pestilence strike al Trades in Rome,\nAnd Occupations perish\nCorio. What, what, what:\nI shall be lou'd when I am lack'd. Nay Mother,\nResume that Spirit, when you were wont to say,\nIf you had beene the Wife of Hercules,\nSix of his Labours youl'd haue done, and sau'd\nYour Husband so much swet. Cominius,\nDroope not, Adieu: Farewell my Wife, my Mother,\nIle do well yet. Thou old and true Menenius,\nThy teares are salter then a yonger mans,\nAnd venomous to thine eyes. My (sometime) Generall,\nI haue seene the Sterne, and thou hast oft beheld\nHeart-hardning spectacles. Tell these sad women,\nTis fond to waile ineuitable strokes,\nAs 'tis to laugh at 'em. My Mother, you wot well\nMy hazards still haue beene your solace, and\nBeleeu't not lightly, though I go alone\nLike to a lonely Dragon, that his Fenne\nMakes fear'd, and talk'd of more then seene: your Sonne\nWill or exceed the Common, or be caught\nWith cautelous baits and practice\nVolum. My first sonne,\nWhether will thou go? Take good Cominius\nWith thee awhile: Determine on some course\nMore then a wilde exposture, to each chance\nThat starts i'th' way before thee\nCorio. O the Gods!\nCom. Ile follow thee a Moneth, deuise with thee\nWhere thou shalt rest, that thou may'st heare of vs,\nAnd we of thee. So if the time thrust forth\nA cause for thy Repeale, we shall not send\nO're the vast world, to seeke a single man,\nAnd loose aduantage, which doth euer coole\nIth' absence of the needer\nCorio. Fare ye well:\nThou hast yeares vpon thee, and thou art too full\nOf the warres surfets, to go roue with one\nThat's yet vnbruis'd: bring me but out at gate.\nCome my sweet wife, my deerest Mother, and\nMy Friends of Noble touch: when I am forth,\nBid me farewell, and smile. I pray you come:\nWhile I remaine aboue the ground, you shall\nHeare from me still, and neuer of me ought\nBut what is like me formerly\nMenen. That's worthily\nAs any eare can heare. Come, let's not weepe,\nIf I could shake off but one seuen yeeres\nFrom these old armes and legges, by the good Gods\nI'ld with thee, euery foot\nCorio. Giue me thy hand, come.\nExeunt.\nEnter the two Tribunes, Sicinius, and Brutus, with the Edile.\nSicin. Bid them all home, he's gone: & wee'l no further,\nThe Nobility are vexed, whom we see haue sided\nIn his behalfe\nBrut. Now we haue shewne our power,\nLet vs seeme humbler after it is done,\nThen when it was a dooing\nSicin. Bid them home: say their great enemy is gone,\nAnd they, stand in their ancient strength\nBrut. Dismisse them home. Here comes his Mother.\nEnter Volumnia, Virgilia, and Menenius.\nSicin. Let's not meet her\nBrut. Why?\nSicin. They say she's mad\nBrut. They haue tane note of vs: keepe on your way\nVolum. Oh y'are well met:\nTh' hoorded plague a'th' Gods requit your loue\nMenen. Peace, peace, be not so loud\nVolum. If that I could for weeping, you should heare,\nNay, and you shall heare some. Will you be gone?\nVirg. You shall stay too: I would I had the power\nTo say so to my Husband\nSicin. Are you mankinde?\nVolum. I foole, is that a shame. Note but this Foole,\nWas not a man my Father? Had'st thou Foxship\nTo banish him that strooke more blowes for Rome\nThen thou hast spoken words\nSicin. Oh blessed Heauens!\nVolum. Moe Noble blowes, then euer y wise words.\nAnd for Romes good, Ile tell thee what: yet goe:\nNay but thou shalt stay too: I would my Sonne\nWere in Arabia, and thy Tribe before him,\nHis good Sword in his hand\nSicin. What then?\nVirg. When then? Hee'ld make an end of thy posterity\nVolum. Bastards, and all.\nGood man, the Wounds that he does beare for Rome!\nMenen. Come, come, peace\nSicin. I would he had continued to his Country\nAs he began, and not vnknit himselfe\nThe Noble knot he made\nBru. I would he had\nVolum. I would he had? Twas thou incenst the rable.\nCats, that can iudge as fitly of his worth,\nAs I can of those Mysteries which heauen\nWill not haue earth to know\nBrut. Pray let's go\nVolum. Now pray sir get you gone.\nYou haue done a braue deede: Ere you go, heare this:\nAs farre as doth the Capitoll exceede\nThe meanest house in Rome; so farre my Sonne\nThis Ladies Husband heere; this (do you see)\nWhom you haue banish'd, does exceed you all\nBru. Well, well, wee'l leaue you\nSicin. Why stay we to be baited\nWith one that wants her Wits.\nExit Tribunes.\nVolum. Take my Prayers with you.\nI would the Gods had nothing else to do,\nBut to confirme my Cursses. Could I meete 'em\nBut once a day, it would vnclogge my heart\nOf what lyes heauy too't\nMene. You haue told them home,\nAnd by my troth you haue cause: you'l Sup with me\nVolum. Angers my Meate: I suppe vpon my selfe,\nAnd so shall sterue with Feeding: come, let's go,\nLeaue this faint-puling, and lament as I do,\nIn Anger, Iuno-like: Come, come, come.\nExeunt.\nMene. Fie, fie, fie.\nEnter.\nEnter a Roman, and a Volce.\nRom. I know you well sir, and you know mee: your\nname I thinke is Adrian\nVolce. It is so sir, truly I haue forgot you\nRom. I am a Roman, and my Seruices are as you are,\nagainst 'em. Know you me yet\nVolce. Nicanor: no\nRom. The same sir\nVolce. You had more Beard when I last saw you, but\nyour Fauour is well appear'd by your Tongue. What's\nthe Newes in Rome: I haue a Note from the Volcean\nstate to finde you out there. You haue well saued mee a\ndayes iourney\nRom. There hath beene in Rome straunge Insurrections:\nThe people, against the Senatours, Patricians, and\nNobles\nVol. Hath bin; is it ended then? Our State thinks not\nso, they are in a most warlike preparation, & hope to com\nvpon them, in the heate of their diuision\nRom. The maine blaze of it is past, but a small thing\nwould make it flame againe. For the Nobles receyue so\nto heart, the Banishment of that worthy Coriolanus, that\nthey are in a ripe aptnesse, to take al power from the people,\nand to plucke from them their Tribunes for euer.\nThis lyes glowing I can tell you, and is almost mature for\nthe violent breaking out\nVol. Coriolanus Banisht?\nRom. Banish'd sir\nVol. You will be welcome with this intelligence Nicanor\nRom. The day serues well for them now. I haue heard\nit saide, the fittest time to corrupt a mans Wife, is when\nshee's falne out with her Husband. Your Noble Tullus\nAuffidius will appeare well in these Warres, his great\nOpposer Coriolanus being now in no request of his countrey\nVolce. He cannot choose: I am most fortunate, thus\naccidentally to encounter you. You haue ended my Businesse,\nand I will merrily accompany you home\nRom. I shall betweene this and Supper, tell you most\nstrange things from Rome: all tending to the good of\ntheir Aduersaries. Haue you an Army ready say you?\nVol. A most Royall one: The Centurions, and their\ncharges distinctly billetted already in th' entertainment,\nand to be on foot at an houres warning\nRom. I am ioyfull to heare of their readinesse, and am\nthe man I thinke, that shall set them in present Action. So\nsir, heartily well met, and most glad of your Company\nVolce. You take my part from me sir, I haue the most\ncause to be glad of yours\nRom. Well, let vs go together.\nExeunt.\nEnter Coriolanus in meane Apparrell, disguisd, and muffled.\nCorio. A goodly City is this Antium. Citty,\n'Tis I that made thy Widdowes: Many an heyre\nOf these faire Edifices fore my Warres\nHaue I heard groane, and drop: Then know me not,\nLeast that thy Wiues with Spits, and Boyes with stones\nIn puny Battell slay me. Saue you sir.\nEnter a Citizen.\nCit. And you\nCorio. Direct me, if it be your will, where great Auffidius\nlies: Is he in Antium?\nCit. He is, and Feasts the Nobles of the State, at his\nhouse this night\nCorio. Which is his house, beseech you?\nCit. This heere before you\nCorio. Thanke you sir, farewell.\nExit Citizen\nOh World, thy slippery turnes! Friends now fast sworn,\nWhose double bosomes seemes to weare one heart,\nWhose Houres, whose Bed, whose Meale and Exercise\nAre still together: who Twin (as 'twere) in Loue,\nVnseparable, shall within this houre,\nOn a dissention of a Doit, breake out\nTo bitterest Enmity: So fellest Foes,\nWhose Passions, and whose Plots haue broke their sleep\nTo take the one the other, by some chance,\nSome tricke not worth an Egge, shall grow deere friends\nAnd inter-ioyne their yssues. So with me,\nMy Birth-place haue I, and my loues vpon\nThis Enemie Towne: Ile enter, if he slay me\nHe does faire Iustice: if he giue me way,\nIle do his Country Seruice.\nEnter.\nMusicke playes. Enter a Seruingman.\n1 Ser. Wine, Wine, Wine: What seruice is heere? I\nthinke our Fellowes are asleepe.\nEnter another Seruingman.\n2 Ser. Where's Cotus: my M[aster]. cals for him: Cotus.\nExit\nEnter Coriolanus.\nCorio. A goodly House:\nThe Feast smels well: but I appeare not like a Guest.\nEnter the first Seruingman.\n1 Ser. What would you haue Friend? whence are you?\nHere's no place for you: pray go to the doore?\nExit\nCorio. I haue deseru'd no better entertainment, in being\nCoriolanus.\nEnter second Seruant.\n2 Ser. Whence are you sir? Ha's the Porter his eyes in\nhis head, that he giues entrance to such Companions?\nPray get you out\nCorio. Away\n2 Ser. Away? Get you away\nCorio. Now th'art troublesome\n2 Ser. Are you so braue: Ile haue you talkt with anon\nEnter 3 Seruingman, the 1 meets him.\n3 What Fellowes this?\n1 A strange one as euer I look'd on: I cannot get him\nout o'thhouse: Prythee call my Master to him\n3 What haue you to do here fellow? Pray you auoid\nthe house\nCorio. Let me but stand, I will not hurt your Harth\n3 What are you?\nCorio. A Gentleman\n3 A maru'llous poore one\nCorio. True, so I am\n3 Pray you poore Gentleman, take vp some other station:\nHeere's no place for you, pray you auoid: Come\nCorio. Follow your Function, go, and batten on colde\nbits.\nPushes him away from him.\n3 What you will not? Prythee tell my Maister what\na strange Guest he ha's heere\n2 And I shall.\nExit second Seruingman.\n3 Where dwel'st thou?\nCorio. Vnder the Canopy\n3 Vnder the Canopy?\nCorio. I\n3 Where's that?\nCorio. I'th City of Kites and crowes\n3 I'th City of Kites and Crowes? What an Asse it is,\nthen thou dwel'st with Dawes too?\nCorio. No, I serue not thy Master\n3 How sir? Do you meddle with my Master?\nCorio. I, tis an honester seruice, then to meddle with\nthy Mistris: Thou prat'st, and prat'st, serue with thy trencher:\nHence.\nBeats him away\nEnter Auffidius with the Seruingman.\nAuf. Where is this Fellow?\n2 Here sir, I'de haue beaten him like a dogge, but for\ndisturbing the Lords within\nAuf. Whence com'st thou? What wouldst y? Thy name?\nWhy speak'st not? Speake man: What's thy name?\nCorio. If Tullus not yet thou know'st me, and seeing\nme, dost not thinke me for the man I am, necessitie commands\nme name my selfe\nAuf. What is thy name?\nCorio. A name vnmusicall to the Volcians eares,\nAnd harsh in sound to thine\nAuf. Say, what's thy name?\nThou hast a Grim apparance, and thy Face\nBeares a Command in't: Though thy Tackles torne,\nThou shew'st a Noble Vessell: What's thy name?\nCorio. Prepare thy brow to frowne: knowst y me yet?\nAuf. I know thee not? Thy Name:\nCorio. My name is Caius Martius, who hath done\nTo thee particularly, and to all the Volces\nGreat hurt and Mischiefe: thereto witnesse may\nMy Surname Coriolanus. The painfull Seruice,\nThe extreme Dangers, and the droppes of Blood\nShed for my thanklesse Country, are requitted:\nBut with that Surname, a good memorie\nAnd witnesse of the Malice and Displeasure\nWhich thou should'st beare me, only that name remains.\nThe Cruelty and Enuy of the people,\nPermitted by our dastard Nobles, who\nHaue all forsooke me, hath deuour'd the rest:\nAnd suffer'd me by th' voyce of Slaues to be\nHoop'd out of Rome. Now this extremity,\nHath brought me to thy Harth, not out of Hope\n(Mistake me not) to saue my life: for if\nI had fear'd death, of all the Men i'th' World\nI would haue voided thee. But in meere spight\nTo be full quit of those my Banishers,\nStand I before thee heere: Then if thou hast\nA heart of wreake in thee, that wilt reuenge\nThine owne particular wrongs, and stop those maimes\nOf shame seene through thy Country, speed thee straight\nAnd make my misery serue thy turne: So vse it,\nThat my reuengefull Seruices may proue\nAs Benefits to thee. For I will fight\nAgainst my Cankred Countrey, with the Spleene\nOf all the vnder Fiends. But if so be,\nThou dar'st not this, and that to proue more Fortunes\nTh'art tyr'd, then in a word, I also am\nLonger to liue most wearie: and present\nMy throat to thee, and to thy Ancient Malice:\nWhich not to cut, would shew thee but a Foole,\nSince I haue euer followed thee with hate,\nDrawne Tunnes of Blood out of thy Countries brest,\nAnd cannot liue but to thy shame, vnlesse\nIt be to do thee seruice\nAuf. Oh Martius, Martius;\nEach word thou hast spoke, hath weeded from my heart\nA roote of Ancient Enuy. If Iupiter\nShould from yond clowd speake diuine things,\nAnd say 'tis true; I'de not beleeue them more\nThen thee all-Noble Martius. Let me twine\nMine armes about that body, where against\nMy grained Ash an hundred times hath broke,\nAnd scarr'd the Moone with splinters: heere I cleep\nThe Anuile of my Sword, and do contest\nAs hotly, and as Nobly with thy Loue,\nAs euer in Ambitious strength, I did\nContend against thy Valour. Know thou first,\nI lou'd the Maid I married: neuer man\nSigh'd truer breath. But that I see thee heere\nThou Noble thing, more dances my rapt heart,\nThen when I first my wedded Mistris saw\nBestride my Threshold. Why, thou Mars I tell thee,\nWe haue a Power on foote: and I had purpose\nOnce more to hew thy Target from thy Brawne,\nOr loose mine Arme for't: Thou hast beate mee out\nTwelue seuerall times, and I haue nightly since\nDreamt of encounters 'twixt thy selfe and me:\nWe haue beene downe together in my sleepe,\nVnbuckling Helmes, fisting each others Throat,\nAnd wak'd halfe dead with nothing. Worthy Martius,\nHad we no other quarrell else to Rome, but that\nThou art thence Banish'd, we would muster all\nFrom twelue, to seuentie: and powring Warre\nInto the bowels of vngratefull Rome,\nLike a bold Flood o're-beate. Oh come, go in,\nAnd take our friendly Senators by'th' hands\nWho now are heere, taking their leaues of mee,\nWho am prepar'd against your Territories,\nThough not for Rome it selfe\nCorio. You blesse me Gods\nAuf. Therefore most absolute Sir, if thou wilt haue\nThe leading of thine owne Reuenges, take\nTh' one halfe of my Commission, and set downe\nAs best thou art experienc'd, since thou know'st\nThy Countries strength and weaknesse, thine own waies\nWhether to knocke against the Gates of Rome,\nOr rudely visit them in parts remote,\nTo fright them, ere destroy. But come in,\nLet me commend thee first, to those that shall\nSay yea to thy desires. A thousand welcomes,\nAnd more a Friend, then ere an Enemie,\nYet Martius that was much. Your hand: most welcome.\nExeunt.\nEnter two of the Seruingmen.\n1 Heere's a strange alteration?\n2 By my hand, I had thoght to haue stroken him with\na Cudgell, and yet my minde gaue me, his cloathes made\na false report of him\n1 What an Arme he has, he turn'd me about with his\nfinger and his thumbe, as one would set vp a Top\n2 Nay, I knew by his face that there was some-thing\nin him. He had sir, a kinde of face me thought, I cannot\ntell how to tearme it\n1 He had so, looking as it were, would I were hang'd\nbut I thought there was more in him, then I could think\n2 So did I, Ile be sworne: He is simply the rarest man\ni'th' world\n1 I thinke he is: but a greater soldier then he,\nYou wot one\n2 Who my Master?\n1 Nay, it's no matter for that\n2 Worth six on him\n1 Nay not so neither: but I take him to be the greater\nSouldiour\n2 Faith looke you, one cannot tell how to say that: for\nthe Defence of a Towne, our Generall is excellent\n1 I, and for an assault too.\nEnter the third Seruingman.\n3 Oh Slaues, I can tell you Newes, News you Rascals\nBoth. What, what, what? Let's partake\n3 I would not be a Roman of all Nations; I had as\nliue be a condemn'd man\nBoth. Wherefore? Wherefore?\n3 Why here's he that was wont to thwacke our Generall,\nCaius Martius\n1 Why do you say, thwacke our Generall?\n3 I do not say thwacke our Generall, but he was alwayes\ngood enough for him\n2 Come we are fellowes and friends: he was euer too\nhard for him, I haue heard him say so himselfe\n1 He was too hard for him directly, to say the Troth\non't before Corioles, he scotcht him, and notcht him like a\nCarbinado\n2 And hee had bin Cannibally giuen, hee might haue\nboyld and eaten him too\n1 But more of thy Newes\n3 Why he is so made on heere within, as if hee were\nSon and Heire to Mars, set at vpper end o'th' Table: No\nquestion askt him by any of the Senators, but they stand\nbald before him. Our Generall himselfe makes a Mistris\nof him, Sanctifies himselfe with's hand, and turnes vp the\nwhite o'th' eye to his Discourse. But the bottome of the\nNewes is, our Generall is cut i'th' middle, & but one halfe\nof what he was yesterday. For the other ha's halfe, by\nthe intreaty and graunt of the whole Table. Hee'l go he\nsayes, and sole the Porter of Rome Gates by th' eares. He\nwill mowe all downe before him, and leaue his passage\npoul'd\n2 And he's as like to do't, as any man I can imagine\n3 Doo't? he will doo't: for look you sir, he has as many\nFriends as Enemies: which Friends sir as it were, durst\nnot (looke you sir) shew themselues (as we terme it) his\nFriends, whilest he's in Directitude\n1 Directitude? What's that?\n3 But when they shall see sir, his Crest vp againe, and\nthe man in blood, they will out of their Burroughes (like\nConies after Raine) and reuell all with him\n1 But when goes this forward:\n3 To morrow, to day, presently, you shall haue the\nDrum strooke vp this afternoone: 'Tis as it were a parcel\nof their Feast, and to be executed ere they wipe their lips\n2 Why then wee shall haue a stirring World againe:\nThis peace is nothing, but to rust Iron, encrease Taylors,\nand breed Ballad-makers\n1 Let me haue Warre say I, it exceeds peace as farre\nas day do's night: It's sprightly walking, audible, and full\nof Vent. Peace, is a very Apoplexy, Lethargie, mull'd,\ndeafe, sleepe, insensible, a getter of more bastard Children,\nthen warres a destroyer of men\n2 'Tis so, and as warres in some sort may be saide to\nbe a Rauisher, so it cannot be denied, but peace is a great\nmaker of Cuckolds\n1 I, and it makes men hate one another\n3 Reason, because they then lesse neede one another:\nThe Warres for my money. I hope to see Romanes as\ncheape as Volcians. They are rising, they are rising\nBoth. In, in, in, in.\nExeunt.\nEnter the two Tribunes, Sicinius, and Brutus.\nSicin. We heare not of him, neither need we fear him,\nHis remedies are tame, the present peace,\nAnd quietnesse of the people, which before\nWere in wilde hurry. Heere do we make his Friends\nBlush, that the world goes well: who rather had,\nThough they themselues did suffer by't, behold\nDissentious numbers pestring streets, then see\nOur Tradesmen singing in their shops, and going\nAbout their Functions friendly.\nEnter Menenius.\nBru. We stood too't in good time. Is this Menenius?\nSicin. 'Tis he, 'tis he: O he is grown most kind of late:\nHaile Sir\nMene. Haile to you both\nSicin. Your Coriolanus is not much mist, but with his\nFriends: the Commonwealth doth stand, and so would\ndo, were he more angry at it\nMene. All's well, and might haue bene much better,\nif he could haue temporiz'd\nSicin. Where is he, heare you?\nMene. Nay I heare nothing:\nHis Mother and his wife, heare nothing from him.\nEnter three or foure Citizens.\nAll. The Gods preserue you both\nSicin. Gooden our Neighbours\nBru. Gooden to you all, gooden to you all\n1 Our selues, our wiues, and children, on our knees,\nAre bound to pray for you both\nSicin. Liue, and thriue\nBru. Farewell kinde Neighbours:\nWe wisht Coriolanus had lou'd you as we did\nAll. Now the Gods keepe you\nBoth Tri. Farewell, farewell.\nExeunt. Citizens\nSicin. This is a happier and more comely time,\nThen when these Fellowes ran about the streets,\nCrying Confusion\nBru. Caius Martius was\nA worthy Officer i'th' Warre, but Insolent,\nO'recome with Pride, Ambitious, past all thinking\nSelfe-louing\nSicin. And affecting one sole Throne, without assista[n]ce\nMene. I thinke not so\nSicin. We should by this, to all our Lamention,\nIf he had gone forth Consull, found it so\nBru. The Gods haue well preuented it, and Rome\nSits safe and still, without him.\nEnter an aedile.\nAedile. Worthy Tribunes,\nThere is a Slaue whom we haue put in prison,\nReports the Volces with two seuerall Powers\nAre entred in the Roman Territories,\nAnd with the deepest malice of the Warre,\nDestroy, what lies before' em\nMene. 'Tis Auffidius,\nWho hearing of our Martius Banishment,\nThrusts forth his hornes againe into the world\nWhich were In-shell'd, when Martius stood for Rome,\nAnd durst not once peepe out\nSicin. Come, what talke you of Martius\nBru. Go see this Rumorer whipt, it cannot be,\nThe Volces dare breake with vs\nMene. Cannot be?\nWe haue Record, that very well it can,\nAnd three examples of the like, hath beene\nWithin my Age. But reason with the fellow\nBefore you punish him, where he heard this,\nLeast you shall chance to whip your Information,\nAnd beate the Messenger, who bids beware\nOf what is to be dreaded\nSicin. Tell not me: I know this cannot be\nBru. Not possible.\nEnter a Messenger.\nMes. The Nobles in great earnestnesse are going\nAll to the Senate-house: some newes is comming\nThat turnes their Countenances\nSicin. 'Tis this Slaue:\nGo whip him fore the peoples eyes: His raising,\nNothing but his report\nMes. Yes worthy Sir,\nThe Slaues report is seconded, and more\nMore fearfull is deliuer'd\nSicin. What more fearefull?\nMes. It is spoke freely out of many mouths,\nHow probable I do not know, that Martius\nIoyn'd with Auffidius, leads a power 'gainst Rome,\nAnd vowes Reuenge as spacious, as betweene\nThe yong'st and oldest thing\nSicin. This is most likely\nBru. Rais'd onely, that the weaker sort may wish\nGood Martius home againe\nSicin. The very tricke on't\nMene. This is vnlikely,\nHe, and Auffidius can no more attone\nThen violent'st Contrariety.\nEnter Messenger.\nMes. You are sent for to the Senate:\nA fearefull Army, led by Caius Martius,\nAssociated with Auffidius, Rages\nVpon our Territories, and haue already\nO're-borne their way, consum'd with fire, and tooke\nWhat lay before them.\nEnter Cominius.\nCom. Oh you haue made good worke\nMene. What newes? What newes?\nCom. You haue holp to rauish your owne daughters, &\nTo melt the Citty Leades vpon your pates,\nTo see your Wiues dishonour'd to your Noses\nMene. What's the newes? What's the newes?\nCom. Your Temples burned in their Ciment, and\nYour Franchises, whereon you stood, confin'd\nInto an Augors boare\nMene. Pray now, your Newes:\nYou haue made faire worke I feare me: pray your newes,\nIf Martius should be ioyn'd with Volceans\nCom. If? He is their God, he leads them like a thing\nMade by some other Deity then Nature,\nThat shapes man Better: and they follow him\nAgainst vs Brats, with no lesse Confidence,\nThen Boyes pursuing Summer Butter-flies,\nOr Butchers killing Flyes\nMene. You haue made good worke,\nYou and your Apron men: you, that stood so much\nVpon the voyce of occupation, and\nThe breath of Garlicke-eaters\nCom. Hee'l shake your Rome about your eares\nMene. As Hercules did shake downe Mellow Fruite:\nYou haue made faire worke\nBrut. But is this true sir?\nCom. I, and you'l looke pale\nBefore you finde it other. All the Regions\nDo smilingly Reuolt, and who resists\nAre mock'd for valiant Ignorance,\nAnd perish constant Fooles: who is't can blame him?\nYour Enemies and his, finde something in him\nMene. We are all vndone, vnlesse\nThe Noble man haue mercy\nCom. Who shall aske it?\nThe Tribunes cannot doo't for shame; the people\nDeserue such pitty of him, as the Wolfe\nDoe's of the Shepheards: For his best Friends, if they\nShould say be good to Rome, they charg'd him, euen\nAs those should do that had deseru'd his hate,\nAnd therein shew'd like Enemies\nMe. 'Tis true, if he were putting to my house, the brand\nThat should consume it, I haue not the face\nTo say, beseech you cease. You haue made faire hands,\nYou and your Crafts, you haue crafted faire\nCom. You haue brought\nA Trembling vpon Rome, such as was neuer\nS' incapeable of helpe\nTri. Say not, we brought it\nMene. How? Was't we? We lou'd him,\nBut like Beasts, and Cowardly Nobles,\nGaue way vnto your Clusters, who did hoote\nHim out o'th' Citty\nCom. But I feare\nThey'l roare him in againe. Tullus Affidius,\nThe second name of men, obeyes his points\nAs if he were his Officer: Desperation,\nIs all the Policy, Strength, and Defence\nThat Rome can make against them.\nEnter a Troope of Citizens.\nMene. Heere come the Clusters.\nAnd is Auffidius with him? You are they\nThat made the Ayre vnwholsome, when you cast\nYour stinking, greasie Caps, in hooting\nAt Coriolanus Exile. Now he's comming,\nAnd not a haire vpon a Souldiers head\nWhich will not proue a whip: As many Coxcombes\nAs you threw Caps vp, will he tumble downe,\nAnd pay you for your voyces. 'Tis no matter,\nIf he could burne vs all into one coale,\nWe haue deseru'd it\nOmnes. Faith, we heare fearfull Newes\n1 Cit. For mine owne part,\nWhen I said banish him, I said 'twas pitty\n2 And so did I\n3 And so did I: and to say the truth, so did very many\nof vs, that we did we did for the best, and though wee\nwillingly consented to his Banishment, yet it was against\nour will\nCom. Y'are goodly things, you Voyces\nMene. You haue made good worke\nYou and your cry. Shal's to the Capitoll?\nCom. Oh I, what else?\nExeunt. both.\nSicin. Go Masters get you home, be not dismaid,\nThese are a Side, that would be glad to haue\nThis true, which they so seeme to feare. Go home,\nAnd shew no signe of Feare\n1 Cit. The Gods bee good to vs: Come Masters let's\nhome, I euer said we were i'th wrong, when we banish'd\nhim\n2 Cit. So did we all. But come, let's home.\nExit Cit.\nBru. I do not like this Newes\nSicin. Nor I\nBru. Let's to the Capitoll: would halfe my wealth\nWould buy this for a lye\nSicin. Pray let's go.\nExeunt. Tribunes.\nEnter Auffidius with his Lieutenant.\nAuf. Do they still flye to'th' Roman?\nLieu. I do not know what Witchcraft's in him: but\nYour Soldiers vse him as the Grace 'fore meate,\nTheir talke at Table, and their Thankes at end,\nAnd you are darkned in this action Sir,\nEuen by your owne\nAuf. I cannot helpe it now,\nVnlesse by vsing meanes I lame the foote\nOf our designe. He beares himselfe more proudlier,\nEuen to my person, then I thought he would\nWhen first I did embrace him. Yet his Nature\nIn that's no Changeling, and I must excuse\nWhat cannot be amended\nLieu. Yet I wish Sir,\n(I meane for your particular) you had not\nIoyn'd in Commission with him: but either haue borne\nThe action of your selfe, or else to him, had left it soly\nAuf. I vnderstand thee well, and be thou sure\nWhen he shall come to his account, he knowes not\nWhat I can vrge against him, although it seemes\nAnd so he thinkes, and is no lesse apparant\nTo th' vulgar eye, that he beares all things fairely:\nAnd shewes good Husbandry for the Volcian State,\nFights Dragon-like, and does atcheeue as soone\nAs draw his Sword: yet he hath left vndone\nThat which shall breake his necke, or hazard mine,\nWhen ere we come to our account\nLieu. Sir, I beseech you, think you he'l carry Rome?\nAuf. All places yeelds to him ere he sits downe,\nAnd the Nobility of Rome are his:\nThe Senators and Patricians loue him too:\nThe Tribunes are no Soldiers: and their people\nWill be as rash in the repeale, as hasty\nTo expell him thence. I thinke hee'l be to Rome\nAs is the Aspray to the Fish, who takes it\nBy Soueraignty of Nature. First, he was\nA Noble seruant to them, but he could not\nCarry his Honors eeuen: whether 'twas Pride\nWhich out of dayly Fortune euer taints\nThe happy man; whether detect of iudgement,\nTo faile in the disposing of those chances\nWhich he was Lord of: or whether Nature,\nNot to be other then one thing, not moouing\nFrom th' Caske to th' Cushion: but commanding peace\nEuen with the same austerity and garbe,\nAs he controll'd the warre. But one of these\n(As he hath spices of them all) not all,\nFor I dare so farre free him, made him fear'd,\nSo hated, and so banish'd: but he ha's a Merit\nTo choake it in the vtt'rance: So our Vertue,\nLie in th' interpretation of the time,\nAnd power vnto it selfe most commendable,\nHath not a Tombe so euident as a Chaire\nT' extoll what it hath done.\nOne fire driues out one fire; one Naile, one Naile;\nRights by rights fouler, strengths by strengths do faile.\nCome let's away: when Caius Rome is thine,\nThou art poor'st of all; then shortly art thou mine.\nExeunt.\nActus Quintus.\nEnter Menenius, Cominius, Sicinius, Brutus, the two Tribunes,\nwith\nothers.\nMenen. No, ile not go: you heare what he hath said\nWhich was sometime his Generall: who loued him\nIn a most deere particular. He call'd me Father:\nBut what o'that? Go you that banish'd him\nA Mile before his Tent, fall downe, and knee\nThe way into his mercy: Nay, if he coy'd\nTo heare Cominius speake, Ile keepe at home\nCom. He would not seeme to know me\nMenen. Do you heare?\nCom. Yet one time he did call me by my name:\nI vrg'd our old acquaintance, and the drops\nThat we haue bled together. Coriolanus\nHe would not answer too: Forbad all Names,\nHe was a kinde of Nothing, Titlelesse,\nTill he had forg'd himselfe a name a'th' fire\nOf burning Rome\nMenen. Why so: you haue made good worke:\nA paire of Tribunes, that haue wrack'd for Rome,\nTo make Coales cheape: A Noble memory\nCom. I minded him, how Royall 'twas to pardon\nWhen it was lesse expected. He replyed\nIt was a bare petition of a State\nTo one whom they had punish'd\nMenen. Very well, could he say lesse\nCom. I offered to awaken his regard\nFor's priuate Friends. His answer to me was\nHe could not stay to picke them, in a pile\nOf noysome musty Chaffe. He said, 'twas folly\nFor one poore graine or two, to leaue vnburnt\nAnd still to nose th' offence\nMenen. For one poore graine or two?\nI am one of those: his Mother, Wife, his Childe,\nAnd this braue Fellow too: we are the Graines,\nYou are the musty Chaffe, and you are smelt\nAboue the Moone. We must be burnt for you\nSicin. Nay, pray be patient: If you refuse your ayde\nIn this so neuer-needed helpe, yet do not\nVpbraid's with our distresse. But sure if you\nWould be your Countries Pleader, your good tongue\nMore then the instant Armie we can make\nMight stop our Countryman\nMene. No: Ile not meddle\nSicin. Pray you go to him\nMene. What should I do?\nBru. Onely make triall what your Loue can do,\nFor Rome, towards Martius\nMene. Well, and say that Martius returne mee,\nAs Cominius is return'd, vnheard: what then?\nBut as a discontented Friend, greefe-shot\nWith his vnkindnesse. Say't be so?\nSicin. Yet your good will\nMust haue that thankes from Rome, after the measure\nAs you intended well\nMene. Ile vndertak't:\nI thinke hee'l heare me. Yet to bite his lip,\nAnd humme at good Cominius, much vnhearts mee.\nHe was not taken well, he had not din'd,\nThe Veines vnfill'd, our blood is cold, and then\nWe powt vpon the Morning, are vnapt\nTo giue or to forgiue; but when we haue stufft\nThese Pipes, and these Conueyances of our blood\nWith Wine and Feeding, we haue suppler Soules\nThen in our Priest-like Fasts: therefore Ile watch him\nTill he be dieted to my request,\nAnd then Ile set vpon him\nBru. You know the very rode into his kindnesse,\nAnd cannot lose your way\nMene. Good faith Ile proue him,\nSpeed how it will. I shall ere long, haue knowledge\nOf my successe.\nEnter.\nCom. Hee'l neuer heare him\nSicin. Not\nCom. I tell you, he doe's sit in Gold, his eye\nRed as 'twould burne Rome: and his Iniury\nThe Gaoler to his pitty. I kneel'd before him,\n'Twas very faintly he said Rise: dismist me\nThus with his speechlesse hand. What he would do\nHe sent in writing after me: what he would not,\nBound with an Oath to yeeld to his conditions:\nSo that all hope is vaine, vnlesse his Noble Mother,\nAnd his Wife, who (as I heare) meane to solicite him\nFor mercy to his Countrey: therefore let's hence,\nAnd with our faire intreaties hast them on.\nExeunt.\nEnter Menenius to the Watch or Guard.\n1.Wat. Stay: whence are you\n2.Wat. Stand, and go backe\nMe. You guard like men, 'tis well. But by your leaue,\nI am an Officer of State, & come to speak with Coriolanus\n1 From whence?\nMene. From Rome\nI You may not passe, you must returne: our Generall\nwill no more heare from thence\n2 You'l see your Rome embrac'd with fire, before\nYou'l speake with Coriolanus\nMene. Good my Friends,\nIf you haue heard your Generall talke of Rome,\nAnd of his Friends there, it is Lots to Blankes,\nMy name hath touch't your eares: it is Menenius\n1 Be it so, go back: the vertue of your name,\nIs not heere passable\nMene. I tell thee Fellow,\nThy Generall is my Louer: I haue beene\nThe booke of his good Acts, whence men haue read\nHis Fame vnparalell'd, happely amplified:\nFor I haue euer verified my Friends,\n(Of whom hee's cheefe) with all the size that verity\nWould without lapsing suffer: Nay, sometimes,\nLike to a Bowle vpon a subtle ground\nI haue tumbled past the throw: and in his praise\nHaue (almost) stampt the Leasing. Therefore Fellow,\nI must haue leaue to passe\n1 Faith Sir, if you had told as many lies in his behalfe,\nas you haue vttered words in your owne, you should not\npasse heere: no, though it were as vertuous to lye, as to\nliue chastly. Therefore go backe\nMen. Prythee fellow, remember my name is Menenius,\nalwayes factionary on the party of your Generall\n2 Howsoeuer you haue bin his Lier, as you say you\nhaue, I am one that telling true vnder him, must say you\ncannot passe. Therefore go backe\nMene. Ha's he din'd can'st thou tell? For I would not\nspeake with him, till after dinner\n1 You are a Roman, are you?\nMene. I am as thy Generall is\n1 Then you should hate Rome, as he do's. Can you,\nwhen you haue pusht out your gates, the very Defender\nof them, and in a violent popular ignorance, giuen your\nenemy your shield, thinke to front his reuenges with the\neasie groanes of old women, the Virginall Palms of your\ndaughters, or with the palsied intercession of such a decay'd\nDotant as you seeme to be? Can you think to blow\nout the intended fire, your City is ready to flame in, with\nsuch weake breath as this? No, you are deceiu'd, therfore\nbacke to Rome, and prepare for your execution: you are\ncondemn'd, our Generall has sworne you out of repreeue\nand pardon\nMene. Sirra, if thy Captaine knew I were heere,\nHe would vse me with estimation\n1 Come, my Captaine knowes you not\nMene. I meane thy Generall\n1 My Generall cares not for you. Back I say, go: least\nI let forth your halfe pinte of blood. Backe, that's the vtmost\nof your hauing, backe\nMene. Nay but Fellow, Fellow.\nEnter Coriolanus with Auffidius.\nCorio. What's the matter?\nMene. Now you Companion: Ile say an arrant for you:\nyou shall know now that I am in estimation: you shall\nperceiue, that a Iacke gardant cannot office me from my\nSon Coriolanus, guesse but my entertainment with him: if\nthou stand'st not i'th state of hanging, or of some death\nmore long in Spectatorship, and crueller in suffering, behold\nnow presently, and swoond for what's to come vpon\nthee. The glorious Gods sit in hourely Synod about thy\nparticular prosperity, and loue thee no worse then thy old\nFather Menenius do's. O my Son, my Son! thou art preparing\nfire for vs: looke thee, heere's water to quench it.\nI was hardly moued to come to thee: but beeing assured\nnone but my selfe could moue thee, I haue bene blowne\nout of your Gates with sighes: and coniure thee to pardon\nRome, and thy petitionary Countrimen. The good\nGods asswage thy wrath, and turne the dregs of it, vpon\nthis Varlet heere: This, who like a blocke hath denyed\nmy accesse to thee\nCorio. Away\nMene. How? Away?\nCorio. Wife, Mother, Child, I know not. My affaires\nAre Seruanted to others: Though I owe\nMy Reuenge properly, my remission lies\nIn Volcean brests. That we haue beene familiar,\nIngrate forgetfulnesse shall poison rather\nThen pitty: Note how much, therefore be gone.\nMine eares against your suites, are stronger then\nYour gates against my force. Yet for I loued thee,\nTake this along, I writ it for thy sake,\nAnd would haue sent it. Another word Menenius,\nI will not heare thee speake. This man Auffidius\nWas my belou'd in Rome: yet thou behold'st\nAuffid. You keepe a constant temper.\nExeunt.\nManet the Guard and Menenius.\n1 Now sir, is your name Menenius?\n2 'Tis a spell you see of much power:\nYou know the way home againe\n1 Do you heare how wee are shent for keeping your\ngreatnesse backe?\n2 What cause do you thinke I haue to swoond?\nMenen. I neither care for th' world, nor your General:\nfor such things as you. I can scarse thinke ther's any, y'are\nso slight. He that hath a will to die by himselfe, feares it\nnot from another: Let your Generall do his worst. For\nyou, bee that you are, long; and your misery encrease\nwith your age. I say to you, as I was said to, Away.\nExit\n1 A Noble Fellow I warrant him\n2 The worthy Fellow is our General. He's the Rock,\nThe Oake not to be winde-shaken.\nExit Watch.\nEnter Coriolanus and Auffidius.\nCorio. We will before the walls of Rome to morrow\nSet downe our Hoast. My partner in this Action,\nYou must report to th' Volcian Lords, how plainly\nI haue borne this Businesse\nAuf. Onely their ends you haue respected,\nStopt your eares against the generall suite of Rome:\nNeuer admitted a priuat whisper, no not with such frends\nThat thought them sure of you\nCorio. This last old man,\nWhom with a crack'd heart I haue sent to Rome,\nLou'd me, aboue the measure of a Father,\nNay godded me indeed. Their latest refuge\nWas to send him: for whose old Loue I haue\n(Though I shew'd sowrely to him) once more offer'd\nThe first Conditions which they did refuse,\nAnd cannot now accept, to grace him onely,\nThat thought he could do more: A very little\nI haue yeelded too. Fresh Embasses, and Suites,\nNor from the State, nor priuate friends heereafter\nWill I lend eare to. Ha? what shout is this?\nShout within\nShall I be tempted to infringe my vow\nIn the same time 'tis made? I will not.\nEnter Virgilia, Volumnia, Valeria, yong Martius, with Attendants.\nMy wife comes formost, then the honour'd mould\nWherein this Trunke was fram'd, and in her hand\nThe Grandchilde to her blood. But out affection,\nAll bond and priuiledge of Nature breake;\nLet it be Vertuous to be Obstinate.\nWhat is that Curt'sie worth? Or those Doues eyes,\nWhich can make Gods forsworne? I melt, and am not\nOf stronger earth then others: my Mother bowes,\nAs if Olympus to a Mole-hill should\nIn supplication Nod: and my yong Boy\nHath an Aspect of intercession, which\nGreat Nature cries, Deny not. Let the Volces\nPlough Rome, and harrow Italy, Ile neuer\nBe such a Gosling to obey instinct; but stand\nAs if a man were Author of himself, & knew no other kin\nVirgil. My Lord and Husband\nCorio. These eyes are not the same I wore in Rome\nVirg. The sorrow that deliuers vs thus chang'd,\nMakes you thinke so\nCorio. Like a dull Actor now, I haue forgot my part,\nAnd I am out, euen to a full Disgrace. Best of my Flesh,\nForgiue my Tyranny: but do not say,\nFor that forgiue our Romanes. O a kisse\nLong as my Exile, sweet as my Reuenge!\nNow by the iealous Queene of Heauen, that kisse\nI carried from thee deare; and my true Lippe\nHath Virgin'd it ere since. You Gods, I pray,\nAnd the most noble Mother of the world\nLeaue vnsaluted: Sinke my knee i'th' earth,\nKneeles\nOf thy deepe duty, more impression shew\nThen that of common Sonnes\nVolum. Oh stand vp blest!\nWhil'st with no softer Cushion then the Flint\nI kneele before thee, and vnproperly\nShew duty as mistaken, all this while,\nBetweene the Childe, and Parent\nCorio. What's this? your knees to me?\nTo your Corrected Sonne?\nThen let the Pibbles on the hungry beach\nFillop the Starres: Then, let the mutinous windes\nStrike the proud Cedars 'gainst the fiery Sun:\nMurd'ring Impossibility, to make\nWhat cannot be, slight worke\nVolum. Thou art my Warriour, I hope to frame thee\nDo you know this Lady?\nCorio. The Noble Sister of Publicola;\nThe Moone of Rome: Chaste as the Isicle\nThat's curdied by the Frost, from purest Snow,\nAnd hangs on Dians Temple: Deere Valeria\nVolum. This is a poore Epitome of yours,\nWhich by th' interpretation of full time,\nMay shew like all your selfe\nCorio. The God of Souldiers:\nWith the consent of supreame Ioue, informe\nThy thoughts with Noblenesse, that thou mayst proue\nTo shame vnvulnerable, and sticke i'th Warres\nLike a great Sea-marke standing euery flaw,\nAnd sauing those that eye thee\nVolum. Your knee, Sirrah\nCorio. That's my braue Boy\nVolum. Euen he, your wife, this Ladie, and my selfe,\nAre Sutors to you\nCorio. I beseech you peace:\nOr if you'ld aske, remember this before;\nThe thing I haue forsworne to graunt, may neuer\nBe held by you denials. Do not bid me\nDismisse my Soldiers, or capitulate\nAgaine, with Romes Mechanickes. Tell me not\nWherein I seeme vnnaturall: Desire not t' allay\nMy Rages and Reuenges, with your colder reasons\nVolum. Oh no more, no more:\nYou haue said you will not grant vs any thing:\nFor we haue nothing else to aske, but that\nWhich you deny already: yet we will aske,\nThat if you faile in our request, the blame\nMay hang vpon your hardnesse, therefore heare vs\nCorio. Auffidius, and you Volces marke, for wee'l\nHeare nought from Rome in priuate. Your request?\nVolum. Should we be silent & not speak, our Raiment\nAnd state of Bodies would bewray what life\nWe haue led since thy Exile. Thinke with thy selfe,\nHow more vnfortunate then all liuing women\nAre we come hither; since that thy sight, which should\nMake our eies flow with ioy, harts dance with comforts,\nConstraines them weepe, and shake with feare & sorow,\nMaking the Mother, wife, and Childe to see,\nThe Sonne, the Husband, and the Father tearing\nHis Countries Bowels out; and to poore we\nThine enmities most capitall: Thou barr'st vs\nOur prayers to the Gods, which is a comfort\nThat all but we enioy. For how can we?\nAlas! how can we, for our Country pray?\nWhereto we are bound, together with thy victory:\nWhereto we are bound: Alacke, or we must loose\nThe Countrie our deere Nurse, or else thy person\nOur comfort in the Country. We must finde\nAn euident Calamity, though we had\nOur wish, which side should win. For either thou\nMust as a Forraine Recreant be led\nWith Manacles through our streets, or else\nTriumphantly treade on thy Countries ruine,\nAnd beare the Palme, for hauing brauely shed\nThy Wife and Childrens blood: For my selfe, Sonne,\nI purpose not to waite on Fortune, till\nThese warres determine: If I cannot perswade thee,\nRather to shew a Noble grace to both parts,\nThen seeke the end of one; thou shalt no sooner\nMarch to assault thy Country, then to treade\n(Trust too't, thou shalt not) on thy Mothers wombe\nThat brought thee to this world\nVirg. I, and mine, that brought you forth this boy,\nTo keepe your name liuing to time\nBoy. A shall not tread on me: Ile run away\nTill I am bigger, but then Ile fight\nCorio. Not of a womans tendernesse to be,\nRequires nor Childe, nor womans face to see:\nI haue sate too long\nVolum. Nay, go not from vs thus:\nIf it were so, that our request did tend\nTo saue the Romanes, thereby to destroy\nThe Volces whom you serue, you might condemne vs\nAs poysonous of your Honour. No, our suite\nIs that you reconcile them: While the Volces\nMay say, this mercy we haue shew'd: the Romanes,\nThis we receiu'd, and each in either side\nGiue the All-haile to thee, and cry be Blest\nFor making vp this peace. Thou know'st (great Sonne)\nThe end of Warres vncertaine: but this certaine,\nThat if thou conquer Rome, the benefit\nWhich thou shalt thereby reape, is such a name\nWhose repetition will be dogg'd with Curses:\nWhose Chronicle thus writ, The man was Noble,\nBut with his last Attempt, he wip'd it out:\nDestroy'd his Country, and his name remaines\nTo th' insuing Age, abhorr'd. Speake to me Son:\nThou hast affected the fiue straines of Honor,\nTo imitate the graces of the Gods.\nTo teare with Thunder the wide Cheekes a'th' Ayre,\nAnd yet to change thy Sulphure with a Boult\nThat should but riue an Oake. Why do'st not speake?\nThink'st thou it Honourable for a Nobleman\nStill to remember wrongs? Daughter, speake you:\nHe cares not for your weeping. Speake thou Boy,\nPerhaps thy childishnesse will moue him more\nThen can our Reasons. There's no man in the world\nMore bound to's Mother, yet heere he let's me prate\nLike one i'th' Stockes. Thou hast neuer in thy life,\nShew'd thy deere Mother any curtesie,\nWhen she (poor Hen) fond of no second brood,\nHa's clock'd thee to the Warres: and safelie home\nLoden with Honor. Say my Request's vniust,\nAnd spurne me backe: But, if it be not so\nThou art not honest, and the Gods will plague thee\nThat thou restrain'st from me the Duty, which\nTo a Mothers part belongs. He turnes away:\nDown Ladies: let vs shame him with him with our knees\nTo his sur-name Coriolanus longs more pride\nThen pitty to our Prayers. Downe: an end,\nThis is the last. So, we will home to Rome,\nAnd dye among our Neighbours: Nay, behold's,\nThis Boy that cannot tell what he would haue,\nBut kneeles, and holds vp hands for fellowship,\nDoe's reason our Petition with more strength\nThen thou hast to deny't. Come, let vs go:\nThis Fellow had a Volcean to his Mother:\nHis Wife is in Corioles, and his Childe\nLike him by chance: yet giue vs our dispatch:\nI am husht vntill our City be afire, & then Ile speak a litle\nHolds her by the hand silent.\nCorio. O Mother, Mother!\nWhat haue you done? Behold, the Heauens do ope,\nThe Gods looke downe, and this vnnaturall Scene\nThey laugh at. Oh my Mother, Mother: Oh!\nYou haue wonne a happy Victory to Rome.\nBut for your Sonne, beleeue it: Oh beleeue it,\nMost dangerously you haue with him preuail'd,\nIf not most mortall to him. But let it come:\nAuffidius, though I cannot make true Warres,\nIle frame conuenient peace. Now good Auffidius,\nWere you in my steed, would you haue heard\nA Mother lesse? or granted lesse Auffidius?\nAuf. I was mou'd withall\nCorio. I dare be sworne you were:\nAnd sir, it is no little thing to make\nMine eyes to sweat compassion. But (good sir)\nWhat peace you'l make, aduise me: For my part,\nIle not to Rome, Ile backe with you, and pray you\nStand to me in this cause. Oh Mother! Wife!\nAuf. I am glad thou hast set thy mercy, & thy Honor\nAt difference in thee: Out of that Ile worke\nMy selfe a former Fortune\nCorio. I by and by; But we will drinke together:\nAnd you shall beare\nA better witnesse backe then words, which we\nOn like conditions, will haue Counter-seal'd.\nCome enter with vs: Ladies you deserue\nTo haue a Temple built you: All the Swords\nIn Italy, and her Confederate Armes\nCould not haue made this peace.\nExeunt.\nEnter Menenius and Sicinius.\nMene. See you yon'd Coin a'th Capitol, yon'd corner stone?\nSicin. Why what of that?\nMene. If it be possible for you to displace it with your\nlittle finger, there is some hope the Ladies of Rome, especially\nhis Mother, may preuaile with him. But I say, there\nis no hope in't, our throats are sentenc'd, and stay vppon\nexecution\nSicin. Is't possible, that so short a time can alter the\ncondition of a man\nMene. There is differency between a Grub & a Butterfly,\nyet your Butterfly was a Grub: this Martius, is\ngrowne from Man to Dragon: He has wings, hee's more\nthen a creeping thing\nSicin. He lou'd his Mother deerely\nMene. So did he mee: and he no more remembers his\nMother now, then an eight yeare old horse. The tartnesse\nof his face, sowres ripe Grapes. When he walks, he moues\nlike an Engine, and the ground shrinkes before his Treading.\nHe is able to pierce a Corslet with his eye: Talkes\nlike a knell, and his hum is a Battery. He sits in his State,\nas a thing made for Alexander. What he bids bee done, is\nfinisht with his bidding. He wants nothing of a God but\nEternity, and a Heauen to Throne in\nSicin. Yes, mercy, if you report him truly\nMene. I paint him in the Character. Mark what mercy\nhis Mother shall bring from him: There is no more\nmercy in him, then there is milke in a male-Tyger, that\nshall our poore City finde: and all this is long of you\nSicin. The Gods be good vnto vs\nMene. No, in such a case the Gods will not bee good\nvnto vs. When we banish'd him, we respected not them:\nand he returning to breake our necks, they respect not vs.\nEnter a Messenger.\nMes. Sir, if you'ld saue your life, flye to your House,\nThe Plebeians haue got your Fellow Tribune,\nAnd hale him vp and downe; all swearing, if\nThe Romane Ladies bring not comfort home\nThey'l giue him death by Inches.\nEnter another Messenger.\nSicin. What's the Newes?\nMess. Good Newes, good newes, the Ladies haue preuayl'd.\nThe Volcians are dislodg'd, and Martius gone:\nA merrier day did neuer yet greet Rome,\nNo, not th' expulsion of the Tarquins\nSicin. Friend, art thou certaine this is true?\nIs't most certaine\nMes. As certaine as I know the Sun is fire:\nWhere haue you lurk'd that you make doubt of it:\nNe're through an Arch so hurried the blowne Tide,\nAs the recomforted through th' gates. Why harke you:\nTrumpets, Hoboyes, Drums beate, altogether.\nThe Trumpets, Sack-buts, Psalteries, and Fifes,\nTabors, and Symboles, and the showting Romans,\nMake the Sunne dance. Hearke you.\nA shout within\nMene. This is good Newes:\nI will go meete the Ladies. This Volumnia,\nIs worth of Consuls, Senators, Patricians,\nA City full: Of Tribunes such as you,\nA Sea and Land full: you haue pray'd well to day:\nThis Morning, for ten thousand of your throates,\nI'de not haue giuen a doit. Harke, how they ioy.\nSound still with the Shouts.\nSicin. First, the Gods blesse you for your tydings:\nNext, accept my thankefulnesse\nMess. Sir, we haue all great cause to giue great thanks\nSicin. They are neere the City\nMes. Almost at point to enter\nSicin. Wee'l meet them, and helpe the ioy.\nExeunt.\nEnter two Senators, with Ladies, passing ouer the Stage, with other\nLords.\nSena. Behold our Patronnesse, the life of Rome:\nCall all your Tribes together, praise the Gods,\nAnd make triumphant fires, strew Flowers before them:\nVnshoot the noise that Banish'd Martius;\nRepeale him, with the welcome of his Mother:\nCry welcome Ladies, welcome\nAll. Welcome Ladies, welcome.\nA Flourish with Drummes & Trumpets.\nEnter Tullus Auffidius, with Attendants.\nAuf. Go tell the Lords a'th' City, I am heere:\nDeliuer them this Paper: hauing read it,\nBid them repayre to th' Market place, where I\nEuen in theirs, and in the Commons eares\nWill vouch the truth of it. Him I accuse:\nThe City Ports by this hath enter'd, and\nIntends t' appeare before the People, hoping\nTo purge himselfe with words. Dispatch.\nEnter 3 or 4 Conspirators of Auffidius Faction.\nMost Welcome\n1.Con. How is it with our Generall?\nAuf. Euen so, as with a man by his owne Almes impoyson'd,\nand with his Charity slaine\n2.Con. Most Noble Sir, If you do hold the same intent\nWherein you wisht vs parties: Wee'l deliuer you\nOf your great danger\nAuf. Sir, I cannot tell,\nWe must proceed as we do finde the People\n3.Con. The People will remaine vncertaine, whil'st\n'Twixt you there's difference: but the fall of either\nMakes the Suruiuor heyre of all\nAuf. I know it:\nAnd my pretext to strike at him, admits\nA good construction. I rais'd him, and I pawn'd\nMine Honor for his truth: who being so heighten'd,\nHe watered his new Plants with dewes of Flattery,\nSeducing so my Friends: and to this end,\nHe bow'd his Nature, neuer knowne before,\nBut to be rough, vnswayable, and free\n3.Consp. Sir, his stoutnesse\nWhen he did stand for Consull, which he lost\nBy lacke of stooping\nAuf. That I would haue spoke of:\nBeing banish'd for't, he came vnto my Harth,\nPresented to my knife his Throat: I tooke him,\nMade him ioynt-seruant with me: Gaue him way\nIn all his owne desires: Nay, let him choose\nOut of my Files, his proiects, to accomplish\nMy best and freshest men, seru'd his designements\nIn mine owne person: holpe to reape the Fame\nWhich he did end all his; and tooke some pride\nTo do my selfe this wrong: Till at the last\nI seem'd his Follower, not Partner; and\nHe wadg'd me with his Countenance, as if\nI had bin Mercenary\n1.Con. So he did my Lord:\nThe Army marueyl'd at it, and in the last,\nWhen he had carried Rome, and that we look'd\nFor no lesse Spoile, then Glory\nAuf. There was it:\nFor which my sinewes shall be stretcht vpon him,\nAt a few drops of Womens rhewme, which are\nAs cheape as Lies; he sold the Blood and Labour\nOf our great Action; therefore shall he dye,\nAnd Ile renew me in his fall. But hearke.\nDrummes and Trumpets sounds, with great showts of the people.\n1.Con. Your Natiue Towne you enter'd like a Poste,\nAnd had no welcomes home, but he returnes\nSplitting the Ayre with noyse\n2.Con. And patient Fooles,\nWhose children he hath slaine, their base throats teare\nWith giuing him glory\n3.Con. Therefore at your vantage,\nEre he expresse himselfe, or moue the people\nWith what he would say, let him feele your Sword:\nWhich we will second, when he lies along\nAfter your way. His Tale pronounc'd, shall bury\nHis Reasons, with his Body\nAuf. Say no more. Heere come the Lords,\nEnter the Lords of the City.\nAll Lords. You are most welcome home\nAuff. I haue not deseru'd it.\nBut worthy Lords, haue you with heede perused\nWhat I haue written to you?\nAll. We haue\n1.Lord. And greeue to heare't:\nWhat faults he made before the last, I thinke\nMight haue found easie Fines: But there to end\nWhere he was to begin, and giue away\nThe benefit of our Leuies, answering vs\nWith our owne charge: making a Treatie, where\nThere was a yeelding; this admits no excuse\nAuf. He approaches, you shall heare him.\nEnter Coriolanus marching with Drumme, and Colours. The\nCommoners being\nwith him.\nCorio. Haile Lords, I am return'd your Souldier:\nNo more infected with my Countries loue\nThen when I parted hence: but still subsisting\nVnder your great Command. You are to know,\nThat prosperously I haue attempted, and\nWith bloody passage led your Warres, euen to\nThe gates of Rome: Our spoiles we haue brought home\nDoth more then counterpoize a full third part\nThe charges of the Action. We haue made peace\nWith no lesse Honor to the Antiates\nThen shame to th' Romaines. And we heere deliuer\nSubscrib'd by'th' Consuls, and Patricians,\nTogether with the Seale a'th Senat, what\nWe haue compounded on\nAuf. Read it not Noble Lords,\nBut tell the Traitor in the highest degree\nHe hath abus'd your Powers\nCorio. Traitor? How now?\nAuf. I Traitor, Martius\nCorio. Martius?\nAuf. I Martius, Caius Martius: Do'st thou thinke\nIle grace thee with that Robbery, thy stolne name\nCoriolanus in Corioles?\nYou Lords and Heads a'th' State, perfidiously\nHe ha's betray'd your businesse, and giuen vp\nFor certaine drops of Salt, your City Rome:\nI say your City to his Wife and Mother,\nBreaking his Oath and Resolution, like\nA twist of rotten Silke, neuer admitting\nCounsaile a'th' warre: But at his Nurses teares\nHe whin'd and roar'd away your Victory,\nThat Pages blush'd at him, and men of heart\nLook'd wond'ring each at others\nCorio. Hear'st thou Mars?\nAuf. Name not the God, thou boy of Teares\nCorio. Ha?\nAufid. No more\nCorio. Measurelesse Lyar, thou hast made my heart\nToo great for what containes it. Boy? Oh Slaue,\nPardon me Lords, 'tis the first time that euer\nI was forc'd to scoul'd. Your iudgments my graue Lords\nMust giue this Curre the Lye: and his owne Notion,\nWho weares my stripes imprest vpon him, that\nMust beare my beating to his Graue, shall ioyne\nTo thrust the Lye vnto him\n1 Lord. Peace both, and heare me speake\nCorio. Cut me to peeces Volces men and Lads,\nStaine all your edges on me. Boy, false Hound:\nIf you haue writ your Annales true, 'tis there,\nThat like an Eagle in a Doue-coat, I\nFlatter'd your Volcians in Corioles.\nAlone I did it, Boy\nAuf. Why Noble Lords,\nWill you be put in minde of his blinde Fortune,\nWhich was your shame, by this vnholy Braggart?\n'Fore your owne eyes, and eares?\nAll Consp. Let him dye for't\nAll People. Teare him to peeces, do it presently:\nHe kill'd my Sonne, my daughter, he kill'd my Cosine\nMarcus, he kill'd my Father\n2 Lord. Peace hoe: no outrage, peace:\nThe man is Noble, and his Fame folds in\nThis Orbe o'th' earth: His last offences to vs\nShall haue Iudicious hearing. Stand Auffidius,\nAnd trouble not the peace\nCorio. O that I had him, with six Auffidiusses, or more:\nHis Tribe, to vse my lawfull Sword\nAuf. Insolent Villaine\nAll Consp. Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill him.\nDraw both the Conspirators, and kils Martius, who falles,\nAuffidius stands\non him\nLords. Hold, hold, hold, hold\nAuf. My Noble Masters, heare me speake\n1.Lord. O Tullus\n2.Lord. Thou hast done a deed, whereat\nValour will weepe\n3.Lord. Tread not vpon him Masters, all be quiet,\nPut vp your Swords\nAuf. My Lords,\nWhen you shall know (as in this Rage\nProuok'd by him, you cannot) the great danger\nWhich this mans life did owe you, you'l reioyce\nThat he is thus cut off. Please it your Honours\nTo call me to your Senate, Ile deliuer\nMy selfe your loyall Seruant, or endure\nYour heauiest Censure\n1.Lord. Beare from hence his body,\nAnd mourne you for him. Let him be regarded\nAs the most Noble Coarse, that euer Herald\nDid follow to his Vrne\n2.Lord. His owne impatience,\nTakes from Auffidius a great part of blame:\nLet's make the Best of it\nAuf. My Rage is gone,\nAnd I am strucke with sorrow. Take him vp:\nHelpe three a'th' cheefest Souldiers, Ile be one.\nBeate thou the Drumme that it speake mournfully:\nTraile your steele Pikes. Though in this City hee\nHath widdowed and vnchilded many a one,\nWhich to this houre bewaile the Iniury,\nYet he shall haue a Noble Memory. Assist.\nExeunt. bearing the Body of Martius. A dead March Sounded.\nFINIS. The Tragedy of Coriolanus.","title":"The Tragedie of Coriolanus","type":"page"}