Coriolanus Part 4

LARTIUS. So, let the ports be guarded; keep your duties As I have set them down. If I do send, dispatch Those centuries to our aid; the rest will serve For a short holding. If we lose the field We cannot keep the town.

LIEUTENANT. Fear not our care, sir.

LARTIUS. Hence, and shut your gates upon's.

Our guider, come; to th' Roman camp conduct us. Exeunt

SCENE VIII.

A field of battle between the Roman and the Volscian camps

Alarum, as in battle. Enter MARCIUS and AUFIDIUS at several doors

MARCIUS. I'll fight with none but thee, for I do hate thee Worse than a promise-breaker.

AUFIDIUS. We hate alike: Not Afric owns a serpent I abhor More than thy fame and envy. Fix thy foot.

MARCIUS. Let the first budger die the other's slave, And the G.o.ds doom him after!

AUFIDIUS. If I fly, Marcius, Halloa me like a hare.

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 th' highest.

AUFIDIUS. Wert thou the Hector That was the whip of your bragg'd progeny, Thou shouldst not scape me here.

Here they fight, and certain Volsces come in the aid of AUFIDIUS. MARCIUS fights till they be driven in breathless

Officious, and not valiant, you have sham'd me In your condemned seconds. Exeunt

SCENE IX.

The Roman camp

Flourish. Alarum. A retreat is sounded. Enter, at one door, COMINIUS with the Romans; at another door, MARCIUS, with his arm in a scarf

COMINIUS. 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' th' 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 G.o.ds Our Rome hath such a soldier.'

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

Enter t.i.tUS LARTIUS, with his power, from the pursuit

LARTIUS. O General, Here is the steed, we the caparison.

Hadst thou beheld- MARCIUS. 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; induc'd As you have been- that's for my country.

He that has but effected his good will Hath overta'en mine act.

COMINIUS. 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.

MARCIUS. I have some wounds upon me, and they smart To hear themselves rememb'red.

COMINIUS. Should they not, Well might they fester 'gainst ingrat.i.tude 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' th' 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 An overture for th' 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 lov'd 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 n.o.ble 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 th' applause-and clamour of the host, Caius Marcius Coriola.n.u.s.

Bear th' addition n.o.bly ever!

[Flourish. Trumpets sound, and drums]

ALL. Caius Marcius Coriola.n.u.s!

CORIOLa.n.u.s. 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 th' fairness of my power.

COMINIUS. So, to our tent; Where, ere we do repose us, we will write To Rome of our success. You, t.i.tus 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.

CORIOLa.n.u.s. The G.o.ds 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?

CORIOLa.n.u.s. 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.

COMINIUS. O, well begg'd!

Were he the butcher of my son, he should Be free as is the wind. Deliver him, t.i.tus.

LARTIUS. Marcius, his name?

CORIOLa.n.u.s. 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 b.l.o.o.d.y, with two or three soldiers

AUFIDIUS. The town is ta'en.

FIRST SOLDIER. 'Twill be deliver'd 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' th' 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 th' 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 poison'd With only suff'ring 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 th' city; Learn how 'tis held, and what they are that must Be hostages for Rome.

FIRST SOLDIER. Will not you go?

AUFIDIUS. 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 SOLDIER. I shall, sir. Exeunt

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ACT II. SCENE I.

Rome. A public place