Come, come; they are almost here. How many stand for consulships?
Three, they say; but 'tis thought of every one Coriolanus will
That's a brave fellow; but he's vengeance proud and loves not the
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.
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
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, bonnetted, 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.
No more of him; he is a worthy man.: make way, they are coming.
[A sennet. Enter, with Lictors before them, COMINIUS the Consul,
MENENIUS, CORIOLANUS, Senators, SICINIUS and BRUTUS. The Senators
take their places; the Tribunes take theirs also by themselves.]
Having determined 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.
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.--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
Upon a pleasing treaty; and have hearts
Inclinable to honour and advance
The theme of our assembly.
Which the rather
We shall be bless'd to do, if he remember
A kinder value of the people than
He hath hereto priz'd them at.
That's off, that's off;
I would you rather had been silent. Please you
To hear Cominius speak?
But yet my caution was more pertinent
Than the rebuke you give it.
He loves your people;
But tie him not to be their bedfellow.--
Worthy Cominius, speak.
Masters o' the people,
Your multiplying spawn how can he flatter,--
That's thousand to one good one,--when you now see
He had rather venture all his limbs for honour
Than one on's ears to hear it?--Proceed, Cominius.
I shall lack voice: the deeds of Coriolanus
Should not be utter'd feebly.--It is held
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'erpress'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,
He proved 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. For this last,
Before and in Corioli, let me say,
I cannot speak him home: he stopp'd the fliers;
And by his rare example made the coward
Turn terror into sport: as weeds before
A vessel under sail, so men obey'd,
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 timed 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 re-enforcement 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-quick'ned what in flesh was fatigate,
And to the battle came he; where he did
Run reeking o'er the lives of men, as if
'Twere a perpetual spoil: and till we call'd
Both field and city ours he never stood
To ease his breast with panting.
He cannot but with measure fit the honours
Which we devise him.
Our spoils he kick'd at;
And looked upon things precious as they were
The common muck of the world: he covets less
Than misery itself would give; rewards
His deeds with doing them; and is content
To spend the time to end it.