The Tragedy of Coriolanus

LORDSYou are most welcome home.AUFIDIUSI have not deserv'd it.But, worthy lords, have you with heed perus'dWhat I have written to you?LORDSWe have.FIRST LORDAnd grieve to hear't.What faults he made before the last, I thinkMight have found easy fines: but there to endWhere he was to begin, and give awayThe benefit of our levies, answering usWith our own charge: making a treaty whereThere was a yielding. – This admits no excuse.AUFIDIUSHe approaches: you shall hear him.

[Enter CORIOLANUS, with drum and colours; a crowd of Citizens with him.]

CORIOLANUSHail, lords! I am return'd your soldier;No more infected with my country's loveThan when I parted hence, but still subsistingUnder your great command. You are to knowThat prosperously I have attempted, andWith bloody passage led your wars even toThe gates of Rome. Our spoils we have brought homeDo more than counterpoise a full third partThe charges of the action. We have made peaceWith no less honour to the AntiatesThan shame to the Romans: and we here deliver,Subscribed by the consuls and patricians,Together with the seal o' the senate, whatWe have compounded on.AUFIDIUSRead it not, noble lords;But tell the traitor, in the highest degreeHe hath abus'd your powers.CORIOLANUSTraitor! – How now?AUFIDIUSAy, traitor, Marcius.CORIOLANUSMarcius!AUFIDIUSAy, Marcius, Caius Marcius! Dost thou thinkI'll grace thee with that robbery, thy stol'n nameCoriolanus, in Corioli? —You lords and heads o' the state, perfidiouslyHe 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, likeA twist of rotten silk; never admittingCounsel o' the war; but at his nurse's tearsHe whin'd and roar'd away your victory;That pages blush'd at him, and men of heartLook'd wondering each at others.CORIOLANUSHear'st thou, Mars?AUFIDIUSName not the god, thou boy of tears, —CORIOLANUSHa!AUFIDIUSNo more.CORIOLANUSMeasureless liar, thou hast made my heartToo great for what contains it. Boy! O slave! —Pardon me, lords, 'tis the first time that everI 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 bearMy beating to his grave, – shall join to thrustThe lie unto him.FIRST LORDPeace, both, and hear me speak.CORIOLANUSCut 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, IFlutter'd your Volscians in Corioli:Alone I did it. – Boy!AUFIDIUSWhy, 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?CONSPIRATORSLet him die for't.CITIZENS. Tear him to pieces, do it presently: – he killed my son; my daughter; he killed my cousin Marcus; he killed my father, —SECOND LORDPeace, ho! – no outrage; – peace!The man is noble, and his fame folds inThis orb o' the earth. His last offences to usShall have judicious hearing. – Stand, Aufidius,And trouble not the peace.CORIOLANUSO that I had him,With six Aufidiuses, or more, his tribe,To use my lawful sword!AUFIDIUSInsolent villain!CONSPIRATORSKill, kill, kill, kill, kill him!

[AUFIDIUS and the CONSPIRATORS draw, and kill CORIOLANUS,who falls. AUFIDIUS stands on him.]

LORDSHold, hold, hold, hold!AUFIDIUSMy noble masters, hear me speak.FIRST LORDO Tullus, —SECOND LORDThou hast done a deed whereat valour will weep.THIRD LORDTread not upon him. – Masters all, be quiet;Put up your swords.AUFIDIUSMy lords, when you shall know, – as in this rage,Provok'd by him, you cannot, – the great dangerWhich this man's life did owe you, you'll rejoiceThat he is thus cut off. Please it your honoursTo call me to your senate, I'll deliverMyself your loyal servant, or endureYour heaviest censure.FIRST LORDBear from hence his body,And mourn you for him. Let him be regardedAs the most noble corse that ever heraldDid follow to his um.SECOND LORDHis own impatienceTakes from Aufidius a great part of blame.Let's make the best of it.AUFIDIUSMy 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 heHath 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.]