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We hate alike: | Whereof we have ta'en good, and good store,

Not Afric owns a serpent I abhor
More than thy fame and envy. Fix thy foot.
Mar. Let the first budger die the other's slave,
And the gods doom him after !

Halloo me like a hare.


If I fly, Marcius,
Within these three hours, Tullus,
Alone I fought in your Corioli walls,
And made what work I pleas'd; 'tis not my blood
Wherein thou seest me mask'd; for thy revenge
Wrench up thy power to the highest.
Wert thou the Hector
That was the whip of your bragg'd progeny, 12
Thou should'st not 'scape me here.

They fight, and certain Volsces come to the
aid of AUFIDIUS.
Officious, and not valiant, you have sham'd me
In your condemned seconds.

of all

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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.
May these same instruments, which you profane,
Never sound more! When drums and trumpets

I' the field prove flatterers, let courts and cities be
Made all of false-fac'd soothing!

Exeunt fighting, all driven by MARCIUS. When steel grows soft as the parasite's silk,

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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 sauc'd with lies.



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 incens'd, we'll put

Like one that means his proper harm, in manacles,
Then reason safely with you. Therefore, be it

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,
The addition nobly ever!

All. Caius Marcius Coriolanus !


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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.


I shall, my lord.
Cor. The gods begin to mock me. I, that now
Refus'd most princely gifts, am bound to beg 80
Of my lord general.
Take it 'tis yours. What is 't?
Cor. I sometime lay here in Corioli
At a poor man's house; he us'd me kindly:
He cried to me; I saw him prisoner;
But then Aufidius was within my view,
And wrath o'erwhelm'd my pity: I request you
To give my poor host freedom.

O! well begg'd.

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SCENE X.-The Camp of the Volsces.

A Flourish. Cornets. Enter TULLUS AUFIDIUS,

bloody, with two or three Soldiers.

Auf. The town is ta'en!

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Bru. And topping all others in boasting. Men. This is strange now: do you two know how you are censured here in the city, I mean

First Sold. Twill be deliver'd back on good of us o' the right-hand file? do you?


Auf. Condition!

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If e'er again I meet him beard to beard,
He's mine, or I am his : mine emulation
Hath not that honour in 't it had; for where
I thought to crush him in an equal force,
True sword to sword, I'll potch at him some way
Or wrath or craft may get him.
First Sold.

He's the devil. Auf. Bolder, though not so subtle. My valour's poison'd


With only suffering stain by him; for him
Shall fly out of itself. Nor sleep nor sanctuary,
Being naked, sick, nor fane nor Capitol,
The prayers of priests, nor times of sacrifice,
Embarquements all of fury, shall lift up
Their rotten privilege and custom 'gainst
My hate to Marcius. Where I find him, were it
At home, upon my brother's guard, even there,
Against the hospitable canon, would I
Wash my fierce hand in 's heart. Go you to the

Learn how 'tis held, and what they are that must
Be hostages for Rome.

First Sold.

Will not you go?


Auf. I am attended at the cypress grove: I pray you, 'Tis south the city mills, bring me word thither How the world goes, that to the pace of it I may spur on my journey. First Sold.


I shall, sir. Exeunt.

SCENE I-Rome. A public Place. Enter MENENIUS, SICINIUS, and BRUTUS. Men. The augurer tells me we shall have news to-night.

Bru. Good or bad? Men. Not according to the prayer of the people, for they love not Marcius.

Sic. Nature teaches beasts to know their friends.
Men. Pray you, who does the wolf love?
Sic. The lamb.

Sic., Bru. Why, how are we censured? Men. Because you talk of pride now,-will you not be angry?

Sic., Bru. Well, well, sir; well.

Men. Why, 'tis no great matter; for a very little thief of occasion will rob you of a great deal of patience: give your dispositions the reins, and be angry at your pleasures; at the least, if you take it as a pleasure to you in being so. You blame Marcius for being proud?

Bru. We do it not alone, sir.


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Men. Why, then you should discover a brace alias fools, as any in Rome. of unmeriting, proud, violent, testy magistrates,

Sic. Menenius, you are known well enough too. Men. I am known to be a humorous patrician, and one that loves a cup of hot wine with not a drop of allaying Tiber in't; said to be something imperfect in favouring the first complaint; hasty and tinder-like upon too trivial motion; one that converses more with the buttock of the night than with the forehead of the morning. What I think I utter, and spend my malice in my breath. Meeting two such weals-men as you are, I cannot call you Lycurguses, if the drink you give me face at it. I can't say your worships have detouch my palate adversely, I make a crooked livered the matter well when I find the ass in compound with the major part of your syllables: and though I must be content to bear with those that say you are reverend grave men, yet they lie deadly that tell you you have good faces. If you see this in the map of my microcosm, follows it that I am known well enough too? What harm can your bisson conspectuities glean out of this character, if I be known well enough too?

Bru. Come, sir, come, we know you well enough. Men. You know neither me, yourselves, nor any thing. You are ambitious for poor knaves' caps and legs: you wear out a good wholesome forenoon in hearing a cause between an orangewife and a fosset-seller, and then rejourn the controversy of three-pence to a second day of audience. When you are hearing a matter between party and party, if you chance to be pinched with the colic, you make faces like

mummers, set up the bloody flag against all patience, and, in roaring for a chamber-pot, dismiss the controversy bleeding, the more entangled by your hearing all the peace you make in their cause is, calling both the parties knaves. You are a pair of strange ones. Bru. Come, come, you are well understood to be a perfecter giber for the table than a necessary bencher in the Capitol.


Men. Our very priests must become mockers if they shall encounter such ridiculous subjects as you are. When you speak best unto the purpose it is not worth the wagging of your beards; and your beards deserve not so honourable a grave as to stuff a botcher's cushion, or to be entombed in an ass's pack-saddle. Yet you must be saying Marcius is proud; who, in a cheap estimation, is worth all your predecessors since Deucalion, though peradventure some of the best of 'em were hereditary hangmen. Good den to your worships: more of your conversation would infect my brain, being the herdsmen of the beastly plebeians: I will be bold to take my leave of you.


BRUTUS and SICINIUS go aside. Enter VOLUMNIA, VIRGILIA, and VALERIA. How now, my as fair as noble ladies, and the moon, were she earthly, no nobler, whither do you follow your eyes so fast?

lol. Honourable Menenius, my boy Marcius approaches; for the love of Juno, let's go. Men. Ha! Marcius coming home?

Vol. Ay, worthy Menenius; and with most prosperous approbation.


Men. Take my cap, Jupiter, and I thank thee. Hoo! Marcius coming home!

Vol., Vir. Nay, 'tis true.

Vol. Look, here's a letter from him: the state hath another, his wife another; and I think there's one at home for you.

Men. I will make my very house reel to-night. A letter for me!

Vir. Yes, certain, there's a letter for you; I saw 't.


Men. A letter for me! It gives me an estate of seven years' health; in which time I will make a lip at the physician: the most sovereign prescription in Galen is but empiricutic, and, to this preservative, of no better report than a horse-drench. Is he not wounded? he was wont to come home wounded.

Vir. O no, no, no.

Vol. O he is wounded; I thank the gods for 't. 130 Men. So do I too, if it be not too much. Brings a victory in his pocket? The wounds become him.

Vol. On's brows, Menenius; he comes the third time home with the oaken garland.

Men. Has he disciplined Aufidius soundly? Vol. Titus Lartius writes they fought together, but Aufidius got off.

Men. And 'twas time for him too, I'll warrant him that an he had stayed by him I would not have been so fidiused for all the chests in Corioli, and the gold that's in them. Is the senate possessed of this?


Vol. Good ladies, let's go. Yes, yes, yes; the senate has letters from the general, wherein

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Men. True! I'll be sworn they are true. Where is he wounded? To the Tribunes. God save your good worships! Marcius is coming home: he has more cause to be proud. Where is he wounded?


Vol. I' the shoulder and i' the left arm: there will be large cicatrices to show the people when he shall stand for his place. He received in the repulse of Tarquin seven hurts i' the body. Men. One i' the neck, and two i' the thigh, there 's nine that I know.

Vol. He had, before this last expedition, twenty-five wounds upon him. Men. Now it's twenty-seven: every gash was an enemy's grave. A shout and flourish. Hark! the trumpets.


Vol. These are the ushers of Marcius: before him he carries noise, and behind him he leaves tears:

Death, that dark spirit, in 's nervy arm doth lie;. Which, being advanc'd, declines, and then men die.

A Sennet. Trumpets sound. Enter COMINIUS and TITUS LARTIUS; between them, CORIOLANUS, crowned with an oaken garland; with Captains, Soldiers, and a Herald.

Her. Know, Rome, that all alone Marcius did fight

Within Corioli gates: where he hath won,
With fame, a name to Caius Marcius; these
In honour follows Coriolanus.
Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus !


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And I could laugh; I am light, and heavy. | Appear i' the market-place, nor on him put

A curse begin at very root on 's heart
That is not glad to see thee! You are three
That Rome should dote on; yet, by the faith of



The napless vesture of humility;

Nor, showing, as the manner is, his wounds
To the people, beg their stinking breaths.
'Tis right.

Bru. It was his word. Oh! he would miss
it rather


We have some old crab-trees here at home that
will not
Than carry it but by the suit o' the gentry to him
Be grafted to your relish. Yet welcome, warriors! And the desire of the nobles.
I wish no better
Than have him hold that purpose and to put it
In execution.

We call a nettle but a nettle, and

The faults of fools but folly.


Cor. Menenius, ever, ever.

Ever right.

Her. Give way there, and go on!

hand, and yours:

'Tis most like he will.

Sic. It shall be to him then as our good wills, Your A sure destruction.

Ere in our own house I do shade my head,
The good patricians must be visited;
From whom I have receiv'd not only greetings,
But with them change of honours.

I have liv'd 211

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To him or our authorities. For an end,
We must suggest the people in what hatred
He still hath held them; that to's power he

Have made them mules, silenc'd their pleaders,

To see inherited my very wishes,
And the buildings of my fancy: only
There's one thing wanting, which I doubt not In human action and capacity,

Dispropertied their freedoms; holding them,


Our Rome will cast upon thee.
Know, good mother,
I had rather be their servant in my way
Than sway with them in theirs.
On, to the Capitol!
Flourish. Cornets. Exeunt in state, as before.
The Tribunes remain.

Bru. All tongues speak of him, and the
bleared sights


Are spectacled to see him: your prattling nurse
Into a rapture lets her baby cry
While she chats him: the kitchen malkin pins
Her richest lockram 'bout her reechy neck,
Clambering the walls to eye him: stalls, bulks,

Are smother'd up, leads fill'd, and ridges hors'd
With variable complexions, all agreeing
In earnestness to see him: seld-shown flamens
Do press among the popular throngs, and puff
To win a vulgar station: our veil'd dames
Commit the war of white and damask in
Their nicely-gawded cheeks, to the wanton spoil
Of Phoebus' burning kisses: such a pother
As if that whatsoever god who leads him
Were slily crept into his human powers,
And gave him graceful posture.

I warrant him consul.



On the sudden,

Then our office may,

During his power, go sleep.

Sic. He cannot temperately transport his

From where he should begin and end, but will
Lose those he hath won.


In that there's comfort.

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Enter two Officers, to lay cushions.

First Off. Come, come; they are almost here. How many stand for consulships?

Second Off. Three, they say; but 'tis thought of every one Coriolanus will carry it.

First Off. That's a brave fellow; but he's vengeance proud, and loves not the common people.

Second Off. Faith, there have been many great men that have flattered the people, who ne'er loved them; and there be many that they have loved, they know not wherefore: so that, if they

love they know not why, they hate upon no better a ground. Therefore, for Coriolanus neither to care whether they love or hate him manifests the true knowledge he has in their disposition; and out of his noble carelessness lets them plainly see 't.


First Of. If he did not care whether he had their love or no, he waved indifferently 'twixt doing them neither good nor harm; but he seeks their hate with greater devotion than they can render it him, and leaves nothing undone that may fully discover him their opposite. Now, to seem to affect the malice and displeasure of the people is as bad as that which he dislikes, to flatter them for their love.

Second Off. He hath deserved worthily of his country; and his ascent is not by such easy degrees as those who, having been supple and courteous to the people, bonneted, without any further deed to have them at all into their estimation and report; but he hath so planted his honours in their eyes, and his actions in their hearts, that for their tongues to be silent, and not confess so much, were a kind of ingrateful injury; to report otherwise, were a malice, that, giving itself the lie, would pluck reproof and rebuke from every ear that heard it.

First Off. No more of him; he's a worthy man: make way, they are coming.


A Sennet. Enter, with Lictors before them, COMINIUS the Consul, MENENIUS, CORIOLANUS, many other Senators, SICINIUS and BRUTUS. The Senators take their places; the Tribunes take theirs also by themselves.

Men. Having determin'd of the Volsces, and To send for Titus Lartius, it remains, As the main point of this our after-meeting, To gratify his noble service that

Hath thus stood for his country: therefore, please you,

Most reverend and grave elders, to desire
The present consul, and last general
In our well-found successes, to report

A little of that worthy work perform'd

By Caius Marcius Coriolanus, whom

We met here both to thank and to remember With honours like himself.

First Sen.


Speak, good Cominius:
Leave nothing out for length, and make us think
Rather our state's defective for requital
Than we to stretch it out. To the Tribunes.
Masters o' the people,

We do request your kindest ears, and after,
Your loving motion toward the common body,
To yield what passes here.

We are convented

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But tie him not to be their bedfellow.
Worthy Cominius, speak.

He loves your people;

CORIOLANUS rises, and offers to go away. Nay, keep your place. 70 First Sen. Sit, Coriolanus; never shame to hear What you have nobly done. Cor. Your honours' pardon: I had rather have my wounds to heal again Than hear say how I got them. Sir, I hope


My words disbench'd you not.

No, sir: yet oft,
When blows have made me stay, I fled from
But your

You sooth'd not, therefore hurt not.

I love them as they weigh.
Pray now, sit down.
Cor. I had rather have one scratch my head
i' the sun

When the alarum were struck than idly sit 80
To hear my nothings monster'd.

Masters o' the people, Your multiplying spawn how can he flatter, That's thousand to one good one, when you now


He had rather venture all his limbs for honour
Than one on's ears to hear it? Proceed,

Should not be utter'd feebly. It is held
Com. I shall lack voice: the deeds of Coriolanus
That valour is the chiefest virtue, and
Most dignifies the haver: if it be,


The man I speak of cannot in the world
Be singly counterpois'd. At sixteen years,
When Tarquin made a head for Rome, he fought
Beyond the mark of others; our then dictator,
Whom with all praise I point at, saw him fight,
When with his Amazonian chin he drove
The bristled lips before him. He bestrid
An o'er-press'd Roman, and i' the consul's view
Slew three opposers: Tarquin's self he met,
And struck him on his knee: in that day's feats,
When he might act the woman in the scene, 100
He prov'd best man i' the field, and for his meed
Was brow-bound with the oak. His pupil age
Man-enter'd thus, he waxed like a sea,
And in the brunt of seventeen battles since
He lurch'd all swords of the garland.

Before and in Corioli, let me say,

For this

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And fell below his stem: his sword, death's stamp,

Where it did mark, it took; from face to foot
He was a thing of blood, whose every motion
Was tim'd with dying cries: alone he enter'd
The mortal gate of the city, which he painted
With shunless destiny; aidless came off,
And with a sudden reinforcement struck
Corioli like a planet. Now all's his :
When by and by the din of war 'gan pierce
His ready sense; then straight his doubled spirit
Re-quicken'd what in flesh was fatigate,
And to the battle came he; where he did
Run reeking o'er the lives of men, as if


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