ACT I
SCENE IX The Roman camp.


 [Flourish. Alarum. A retreat is sounded. Flourish.
 Enter, from one side, COMINIUS with the Romans; from
 the other side, MARCIUS, with his arm in a scarf]

COMINIUS If I should tell thee o'er this thy day's work,
 Thou'ldst not believe thy deeds: but I'll report it
 Where senators shall mingle tears with smiles,
 Where great patricians shall attend and shrug,
 I' the end admire, where ladies shall be frighted,
 And, gladly quaked, hear more; where the
 dull tribunes,
 That, with the fusty plebeians, hate thine honours,
 Shall say against their hearts 'We thank the gods
 Our Rome hath such a soldier.'
 Yet camest thou to a morsel of this feast,
 Having fully dined before.

 [Enter TITUS LARTIUS, with his power,
 from the pursuit]

LARTIUS O general,
 Here is the steed, we the caparison:
 Hadst thou beheld--

MARCIUS Pray now, no more: my mother,
 Who has a charter to extol her blood,
 When she does praise me grieves me. I have done
 As you have done; that's what I can; induced
 As you have been; that's for my country:
 He that has but effected his good will
 Hath overta'en mine act.

COMINIUS You shall not be
 The grave of your deserving; Rome must know
 The value of her own: 'twere a concealment
 Worse than a theft, no less than a traducement,
 To hide your doings; and to silence that,
 Which, to the spire and top of praises vouch'd,
 Would seem but modest: therefore, I beseech you
 In sign of what you are, not to reward
 What you have done--before our army hear me.

MARCIUS I have some wounds upon me, and they smart
 To hear themselves remember'd.

COMINIUS Should they not,
 Well might they fester 'gainst ingratitude,
 And tent themselves with death. Of all the horses,
 Whereof we have ta'en good and good store, of all
 The treasure in this field achieved and city,
 We render you the tenth, to be ta'en forth,
 Before the common distribution, at
 Your only choice.

MARCIUS                   I thank you, general;
 But cannot make my heart consent to take
 A bribe to pay my sword: I do refuse it;
 And stand upon my common part with those
 That have beheld the doing.

 [A long flourish. They all cry 'Marcius! Marcius!'
 cast up their caps and lances: COMINIUS and LARTIUS
 stand bare]

MARCIUS May these same instruments, which you profane,
 Never sound more! when drums and trumpets shall
 I' the field prove flatterers, let courts and cities be
 Made all of false-faced soothing!
 When steel grows soft as the parasite's silk,
 Let him be made a coverture for the wars!
 No more, I say! For that I have not wash'd
 My nose that bled, or foil'd some debile wretch.--
 Which, without note, here's many else have done,--
 You shout me forth
 In acclamations hyperbolical;
 As if I loved my little should be dieted
 In praises sauced with lies.

COMINIUS Too modest are you;
 More cruel to your good report than grateful
 To us that give you truly: by your patience,
 If 'gainst yourself you be incensed, we'll put you,
 Like one that means his proper harm, in manacles,
 Then reason safely with you. Therefore, be it known,
 As to us, to all the world, that Caius Marcius
 Wears this war's garland: in token of the which,
 My noble steed, known to the camp, I give him,
 With all his trim belonging; and from this time,
 For what he did before Corioli, call him,
 With all the applause and clamour of the host,
 CAIUS MARCIUS CORIOLANUS! Bear
 The addition nobly ever!

 [Flourish. Trumpets sound, and drums]

All Caius Marcius Coriolanus!

CORIOLANUS I will go wash;
 And when my face is fair, you shall perceive
 Whether I blush or no: howbeit, I thank you.
 I mean to stride your steed, and at all times
 To undercrest your good addition
 To the fairness of my power.

COMINIUS So, to our tent;
 Where, ere we do repose us, we will write
 To Rome of our success. You, Titus Lartius,
 Must to Corioli back: send us to Rome
 The best, with whom we may articulate,
 For their own good and ours.

LARTIUS I shall, my lord.

CORIOLANUS The gods begin to mock me. I, that now
 Refused most princely gifts, am bound to beg
 Of my lord general.

COMINIUS Take't; 'tis yours. What is't?

CORIOLANUS I sometime lay here in Corioli
 At a poor man's house; he used me kindly:
 He cried to me; I saw him prisoner;
 But then Aufidius was within my view,
 And wrath o'erwhelm'd my pity: I request you
 To give my poor host freedom.

COMINIUS O, well begg'd!
 Were he the butcher of my son, he should
 Be free as is the wind. Deliver him, Titus.

LARTIUS Marcius, his name?

CORIOLANUS                   By Jupiter! forgot.
 I am weary; yea, my memory is tired.
 Have we no wine here?

COMINIUS Go we to our tent:
 The blood upon your visage dries; 'tis time
 It should be look'd to: come.

 [Exeunt]




 CORIOLANUS


ACT I