Auf.

We hate alike;

Not Afric owns a serpent, I abhor

More than thy fame and envy. Fix thy foot.
Mar. Let the first budger die the other's slave,
And the gods doom him after!

Auf.

Halloo me like a hare.

Mar.

If I fly, Marcius,

Within these three hours, Tullus,

Alone I fought in your Corioli walls,

And made what work I pleased. 'Tis not my blood, Wherein thou seest me masked; for thy revenge, Wrench up thy power to the highest.

Wert thou the Hector,

Auf.
That was the whip of your bragged progeny,
Thou shouldst not 'scape me here.-

[They fight, and certain Volces come to the aid
of AUFIDIUS.

Officious, and not valiant-you have shamed me
In your condemned seconds.

[Exeunt, fighting, driven in by MARCIUS.

SCENE IX. The Roman Camp.

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.

Com. If I should tell thee o'er this thy day's work, Thou'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 be frighted, And, gladly quaked, hear more; where the dull tribunes, That, with the fusty plebeians, hate thine honors, 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. Lart.

O general,

Here is the steed, we the caparison;
Hadst thou behold-

Mar.

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 o'erta'e mine act.

Com.
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 vouched,
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.

Mar. I have some wounds upon me, and they smart To hear themselves remembered.

Com.

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 achieved, and city,

We render you the tenth; to be ta'en forth,
Before the common distribution, at

Your only choice.

Mar.

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-faced soothing. When steel grows
Soft as the parasite's silk, let him be made
An overture for the wars! No more, I say;
For that I have not washed my nose that bled,
Or foiled 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 sauced with lies.

Com.

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 incensed, 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 clamor of the host,
CAIUS MARCIUS CORIOLANUS.-

Bear the addition nobly ever!

[Flourish. Trumpets sound, and drums.

All. Caius Marcius Coriolanus!

Cor. 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.

Com.
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.

Lart.

I shall, my lord.

Cor. The gods begin to mock me. I that now
Refused most princely gifts, am bound to beg
Of 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 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.

Com.
O, well begged!
Were he the butcher of my son, he should
Be free as is the wind. Deliver him, Titus.
Lart. Marcius, his name?

Cor.

By Jupiter, forgot.

I am weary; yea, my memory is tired.

Have we no wine here?

Com. Go we to our tent;

The blood upon your visage dries: 'tis time

It should be looked to; come.

SCENE X. The Camp of the Volces.

[Exeunt.

A Flourish. Cornets. Enter TULLUS AUFIDIUS, bloody, with two or three Soldiers.

Auf. The town is ta'en!

1 Sol. Twill be delivered back on good condition. Auf. Condition?

I would I were a Roman; for I cannot,

Being a Volce, 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 is mine, or I am his. Mine emulation
Hath not that honor 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.

1 Sol.

He's the devil.

Auf. Bolder, though not so subtle. My valor's poisoned,

With only suffering stain by him; for him

Shall fly out of itself. Nor sleep, nor sanctuary,

Being naked, sick; nor fame, nor Capitol,

The prayers of priest, 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 his heart. Go you to the city; Learn how 'tis beld; and what they are that must

Be hostages for Rome.

1 Sol.

Will not you go?

Auf. 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.

1 Sol.

I shall, sir.

[Exeunt.

ACT II.

SCENE I. Rome. A public Place.

Enter MENENIUS, SICINIUS, and BRUTUS.

Men. The augurer tells me, we shall have news to-night. Bru. Good or bad?

Men. Not according to the prayer of the people, for they love not Marcius.

Sic. Nature teaches beasts to know their friends.
Men. Pray you, who does the wolf love?

Sic. The lamb.

Men. Ay, to devour him; as the hungry plebeians would the noble Marcius.

Bru. He's a lamb indeed, that baas like a bear.

Men. He's a bear indeed, that lives like a lamb. You two are old men; tell me one thing that I shall ask you. Both Trib. Well, sir.

Men. In what enormity is Marcius poor in, that you two have not in abundance?

Bru. He's poor in no one fault, but stored with all. Sic. Especially in pride.

Bru. And topping all others in boasting.

Men. This is strange, now. Do you two know how you are censured here in the city, I mean of us o' the right hand file? Do you?

Both Trib. Why, how are we censured?

Men. Because you talk of pride now,-Will you not be angry?

Both Trib. Well, well, sir, well.

Men. Why, 'tis no great matter; for a very little thief of occasion will rob you of a great deal of patience. Give your disposition the reins, and be angry at your pleasures; at the least, if you take it as a pleasure to you, in being so. You blame Marcius for being proud!

Bru. We do it not alone, sir.

Men. I know you can do very little alone; for your helps are many; or else your actions would grow wondrous single. Your abilities are too infant-like, for doing much alone. You talk of pride; O that you could turn your eyes towards the napes of your necks, and make but an interior survey of your good selves! O that you could!

Bru. What then, sir?

Men. Why, then you should discover a brace of unmerit