The Complete Tragedies of William Shakespeare - All 12 Books in One Edition. William Shakespeare

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 achiev’d 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.]

       May these same instruments which you profane

       Never sound more! When drums and trumpets shall

       I’ the field prove flatterers, let courts and cities be

       Made all of false-fac’d soothing.

       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 sauc’d 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 incens’d, we’ll put you,—

       Like one that means his proper harm,—in manacles,

       Then reason safely with you.—Therefore be it known,

       As to us, to all the world, that Caius Marcius

       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

       Refus’d 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’erwhelmed 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 tir’d.—

       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.]

       SCENE X. The camp of the Volsces.

       [A flourish. Cornets. Enter TULLUS AUFIDIUS, bloody, with two or three soldiers.]

       AUFIDIUS.

       The town is ta’en.

       FIRST SOLDIER.

       ‘Twill be delivered back on good condition.

       AUFIDIUS.

       Condition!

       I would I were a Roman; for I cannot,

       Being a Volsce, be that I am.—Condition?

       What good condition can a treaty find

       I’ the part that is at mercy?—Five times, Marcius,

       I have fought with thee; so often hast thou beat me;

       And wouldst do so, I think, should we encounter

       As often as we eat.—By the elements,

       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 SOLDIER.

       He’s the devil.

       AUFIDIUS.

       Bolder, though not so subtle. My valour’s poisoned

       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