Act I.]

CORIOLANUS.

Officious, and not valiant—you have sham’d meIn your condemned seconds.

^Exeunt fighting, driven in by Marcius .

SCENE IX.— The Roman camp.

Alarum. A retreat is sounded. Flourish. En-ter at one side, Cominius, and Romans; atthe other side, Marcius , with his arm in ascarf, and other Romans.

Com. If I should tell thee o’er this thy day’swork,

Tliou’lt 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 he frighted,And, gladly quak’d, hear more; where the dulltribunes,

That, with thefusty plebeians, hate thine honours,Shall say against their hearts,— We thank the gods,Our Rome luith such a soldier !—

Yet cam’st thou to a morsel of this feast,Having fully din’d before.

Enter Titus Lartius, with his power, fromthe pursuit.

Lart. 0 general,

Here is the steed, we the caparison :

Hadst thou beheld-

Mar. Pray now, no more: my mother,

Who has a cnarter to extol her blood,

When she does praise me, grieves me. I havedone,

As you have done; that’s what I can; induc’dAs you have been ; that’s for my country :

He, that has but effected his good will,

Hath overta’en mine act.

Com. You shall not be

The grave of your deserving; Rome must knowThe value of her own : 'twere a concealmentWorse 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 beseechyou,

(In sign of what you are, not to rewardWhat you have done,) before our army hear me.Mar. I have some wounds upon me, and theysmart

To hear themselves remember’d.

Com. Should they not,

Well might they fester ’gainst ingratitude,

And tent themselves with death. Of all thehorses,

(Whereof we have ta’en good, and good store,)of all

The treasure, in this field achiev’d, and city,We render you the tenth; to be ta’en forthBefore the common distribution, atYour only choice.

Mar. I thank you, general ;

But cannot make my heart consent to takeA bribe to pay my sword: I do refuse it;

And stand upon my common part with thoseThat have beheld the doing.

\\A long Flourish. They all cry, Mar-cius ! Marcius ! cast up their capsand lances: Cominius and Lartiusstand bare.

Mar. May these same instruments, whichyou profane,

Never sound more ! When drums and trumpetsshall

I’the field prove flatterers, let courts and cities heMade all of false-fac’d soothing! When steelgrows

Soft as the parasite’s silk, let him be madeAn overture for the wars ! No more, I say ;

For that I have not wash’d my nose that bled,Or foil’d some debile w’retch,—which, withoutnote,

Here’s many else have done,—you shout me forthIn acclamations hyperbolical;

As if I loved my little should be dietedIn praises sauc’d with lies.

Com. Too modest are you ;

More cruel to your good report, than gratefulTo us that give you truly: by your patience,

If ’gainst yourself you be incens’d, we’ll put you(Like one that means his proper harm,) inmanacles,

Then reason safely with you.—Therefore, be itknown,

As to us, to all the world, that Caius Marcius Wears this war’s garland: in token of the whichMy 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 Corioi.anus.—

Bear the addition nobly ever!

j~ Flourish. Trumpets sound, and drums.All. Caius Marcius Coriolanus !

Cor. I will go wash;

And when my face is fair, you shall perceiveWhether Iblusli,or no: Howbeit, I thankyou:—I mean to stride your steed; and, at all times,To undercrest your good addition,

To the fairness of my power.

Com. So, to our tent:

Where, ere we do repose us, we will writeTo 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.

Lart. 1 shall, my lord.

Cor. The gods begin to mock me. I, that nowRefus’d most princely gifts, am bound to begOf my lord general.

Com. Take it: ’tis yours.—What is’t ?

Cor. I sometime lay, here in Corioli,

At a poor man’s house; he us’d me kindly :

He cried to me ; I saw him prisoner ;

But then Aufidius was within my view,

And wrath o’erwhelm’d my pity: I request youTo give my poor host freedom.