Corioli. A Public Place. |
| |
Enter TULLUS AUFIDIUS, with Attendants. |
| Auf. Go tell the lords o' the city I am here: |
| Deliver them this paper: having read it, |
| Bid them repair to the market-place; where I, |
| Even in theirs and in the commons' ears, |
| Will vouch the truth of it. Him I accuse |
| The city ports by this hath enter'd, and |
| Intends to appear before the people, hoping |
| To purge himself with words: dispatch. [Exeunt Attendants. |
| |
Enter three or four Conspirators of AUFIDIUS' faction. |
| Most welcome! |
| First Con. How is it with our general? |
| Auf. Even so |
| As with a man by his own alms empoison'd, |
| And with his charity slain. |
| Sec. Con. Most noble sir, |
| If you do hold the same intent wherein |
| You wish'd us parties, we'll deliver you |
| Of your great danger. |
| Auf. Sir, I cannot tell: |
| We must proceed as we do find the people. |
| Third Con. The people will remain uncertain whilst |
| 'Twixt you there's difference; but the fall of either |
| Makes the survivor heir of all. |
| Auf. I know it; |
| And my pretext to strike at him admits |
| A good construction. I rais'd him, and I pawn'd |
| Mine honour for his truth: who being so heighten'd, |
| He water'd his new plants with dews of flattery, |
| Seducing so my friends; and, to this end, |
| He bow'd his nature, never known before |
| But to be rough, unswayable, and free. |
| Third Con. Sir, his stoutness |
| When he did stand for consul, which he lost |
| By lack of stooping,— |
| Auf. That I would have spoke of: |
| Being banish'd for't, he came unto my hearth; |
| Presented to my knife his throat: I took him; |
| Made him joint-servant with me; gave him way |
| In all his own desires; nay, let him choose |
| Out of my files, his projects to accomplish, |
| My best and freshest men; serv'd his designments |
| In mine own person; holp to reap the fame |
| Which he did end all his; and took some pride |
| To do myself this wrong: till, at the last, |
| I seem'd his follower, not partner; and |
| He wag'd me with his countenance, as if |
| I had been mercenary. |
| First Con. So he did, my lord: |
| The army marvell'd at it; and, in the last, |
| When we had carried Rome, and that we look'd |
| For no less spoil than glory,— |
| Auf. There was it; |
| For which my sinews shall be stretch'd upon him. |
| At a few drops of women's rheum, which are |
| As cheap as lies, he sold the blood and labour |
| Of our great action: therefore shall he die, |
| And I'll renew me in his fall. But, hark! [Drums and trumpets sound, with great shouts of the People. |
| First Con. Your native town you enter'd like a post, |
| And had no welcomes home; but he returns, |
| Splitting the air with noise. |
| Sec. Con. And patient fools, |
| Whose children he hath slain, their base throats tear |
| With giving him glory. |
| Third Con. Therefore, at your vantage, |
| Ere he express himself, or move the people |
| With what he would say, let him feel your sword, |
| Which we will second. When he lies along, |
| After your way his tale pronounc'd shall bury |
| His reasons with his body. |
| Auf. Say no more: |
| Here come the lords. |
| |
Enter the Lords of the city. |
| Lords. You are most welcome home. |
| Auf. I have not deserv'd it. |
| But, worthy lords, have you with heed perus'd |
| What I have written to you? |
| Lords. We have. |
| First Lord. And grieve to hear 't. |
| What faults he made before the last, I think |
| Might have found easy fines; but there to end |
| Where he was to begin, and give away |
| The benefit of our levies, answering us |
| With our own charge, making a treaty where |
| There was a yielding, this admits no excuse. |
| Auf. He approaches: you shall hear him. |
| |
And grieve to hear 't. |
| What faults he made before the last, I think |
| Might have found easy fines; but there to end |
| Where he was to begin, and give away |
| The benefit of our levies, answering us |
| With our own charge, making a treaty where |
| There was a yielding, this admits no excuse. |
| Auf. He approaches: you shall hear him. |
| |
Enter CORIOLANUS, with drums and colours; a crowd of Citizens with him. |
| Cor. Hail, lords! I am return'd your soldier; |
| No more infected with my country's love |
| Than when I parted hence, but still subsisting |
| Under your great command. You are to know, |
| That prosperously I have attempted and |
| With bloody passage led your wars even to |
| The gates of Rome. Our spoils we have brought home |
| Do more than counterpoise a full third part |
| The charges of the action. We have made peace |
| With no less honour to the Antiates |
| Than shame to the Romans; and we here deliver, |
| Subscrib'd by the consuls and patricians, |
| Together with the seal o' the senate, what |
| We have compounded on. |
| Auf. Read it not, noble lords; |
| But tell the traitor in the highest degree |
| He hath abus'd your powers. |
| Cor. Traitor! How now? |
| Auf. Ay, traitor, Marcius. |
| Cor. Marcius! |
| Auf. Ay, Marcius, Caius Marcius. Dost thou think |
| I'll grace thee with that robbery, thy stol'n name |
| Coriolanus in Corioli? |
| You lords and heads of the state, perfidiously |
| He has betray'd your business, and given up, |
| For certain drops of salt, your city Rome, |
| I say 'your city,' to his wife and mother; |
| Breaking his oath and resolution like |
| A twist of rotten silk, never admitting |
| Counsel o' the war, but at his nurse's tears |
| He whin'd and roar'd away your victory, |
| That pages blush'd at him, and men of heart |
| Look'd wondering each at other. |
| Cor. Hear'st thou, Mars? |
| Auf. Name not the god, thou boy of tears. |
| Cor. Ha! |
| Auf. No more. |
| Cor. Measureless liar, thou hast made my heart |
| Too great for what contains it. Boy! O slave! |
| Pardon me, lords, 'tis the first time that ever |
| I was forc'd to scold. Your judgments, my grave lords, |
| Must give this cur the lie: and his own notion— |
| Who wears my stripes impress'd upon him, that |
| Must bear my beating to his grave—shall join |
| To thrust the lie unto him. |
| First Lord. Peace, both, and hear me speak. |
| Cor. Cut me to pieces, Volsces; men and lads, |
| Stain all your edges on me. Boy! False hound! |
| If you have writ your annals true, 'tis there, |
| That, like an eagle in a dove-cote, I |
| Flutter'd your Volscians in Corioli: |
| Alone I did it. Boy! |
| Auf. Why, noble lords, |
| Will you be put in mind of his blind fortune, |
| Which was your shame, by this unholy braggart, |
| 'Fore your own eyes and ears? |
| Conspirators. Let him die for 't. |
| All the People. Tear him to pieces.—Do it presently.—He killed my son.—My daughter.—He killed my cousin Marcus.—He killed my father. |
| Sec. Lord. Peace, ho! no outrage: peace! |
| The man is noble and his fame folds in |
| This orb o' the earth. His last offences to us |
| Shall have judicious hearing. Stand, Aufidius, |
| And trouble not the peace. |
| Cor. O! that I had him, |
| With six Aufidiuses, or more, his tribe, |
| To use my lawful sword! |
| Auf. Insolent villain! |
| Conspirators. Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill him! [AUFIDIUS and the Conspirators draw, and kill CORIOLANUS, who falls: AUFIDIUS stands on his body. |
| Lords. Hold, hold, hold, hold! |
| Auf. My noble masters, hear me speak. |
| First Lord. O Tullus! |
| Sec. Lord. Thou hast done a deed whereat valour will weep. |
| Third Lord. Tread not upon him. Masters all, be quiet. |
| Put up your swords. |
| Auf. My lords, when you shall know,—as in this rage, |
| Provok'd by him, you cannot,—the great danger |
| Which this man's life did owe you, you'll rejoice |
| That he is thus cut off. Please it your honours |
| To call me to your senate, I'll deliver |
| Myself your loyal servant, or endure |
| Your heaviest censure. |
| First Lord. Bear from hence his body; |
| And mourn you for him! Let him be regarded |
| As the most noble corse that ever herald |
| Did follow to his urn. |
| Sec. Lord. His own impatience |
| Takes from Aufidius a great part of blame. |
| Let's make the best of it. |
| Auf. My rage is gone, |
| And I am struck with sorrow. Take him up: |
| Help, three o' the chiefest soldiers; I'll be one. |
| Beat thou the drum, that it speak mournfully; |
| Trail your steel pikes. Though in this city he |
| Hath widow'd and unchilded many a one, |
| Which to this hour bewail the injury, |
| Yet he shall have a noble memory. |
| Assist. [Exeunt, bearing the body of CORIOLANUS. A dead march sounded. |
Design © 1995-2007 ZeFLIP.com All rights reserved.