[Alarum. A retreat is sounded. Flourish. Enter, at one side,
COMINIUS and Romans; at the other side, MARCIUS, with his arm
in a scarf, and other Romans.]
If I should tell thee o'er this thy day's work,
Thou't 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 quak'd, 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 cam'st thou to a morsel of this feast,
Having fully dined before.
[Enter TITUS LARTIUS, with his power, from the pursuit.]
Here is the steed, we the caparison:
Hadst thou beheld,--
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.
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.
I have some wounds upon me, and they smart
To hear themselves remember'd.
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.
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.
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!
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.
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.
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.
O, well begg'd!
Were he the butcher of my son, he should
Be free as is the wind. Deliver him, Titus.