Go tell the lords o’ th’ city I am here.

Deliver them this paper.

Having read it,

Bid them repair to th’ marketplace, 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 entered and

Intends t’ appear before the people, hoping

To purge himself with words. Dispatch.

Most welcome!

How is it with our general?

Even so

As with a man by his own alms empoisoned

And with his charity slain.

Most noble sir,

If you do hold the same intent wherein

You wished us parties, we’ll deliver you

Of your great danger.

Sir, I cannot tell.

We must proceed as we do find the people.

The people will remain uncertain whilst

’Twixt you there’s difference, but the fall of either

Makes the survivor heir of all.

I know it,

And my pretext to strike at him admits

A good construction. I raised him, and I pawned

Mine honour for his truth, who being so heightened,

He watered his new plants with dews of flattery,

Seducing so my friends; and to this end,

He bowed his nature, never known before

But to be rough, unswayable, and free.

Sir, his stoutness

When he did stand for consul, which he lost

By lack of stooping—

That I would have spoke of.

Being banished 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; served 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 seemed his follower, not partner; and

He waged me with his countenance as if

I had been mercenary.

So he did, my lord.

The army marvelled at it, and, in the last,

When he had carried Rome and that we looked

For no less spoil than glory—

There was it

For which my sinews shall be stretched 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!

Your native town you entered like a post

And had no welcomes home, but he returns

Splitting the air with noise.

And patient fools,

Whose children he hath slain, their base throats tear

With giving him glory.

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 pronounced shall bury

His reasons with his body.

Say no more.

Here come the lords.

You are most welcome home.

I have not deserved it.

But, worthy lords, have you with heed perused

What I have written to you?

We have.

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.

with him.

He approaches. You shall hear him.

Hail, lords! I am returned 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

Doth 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 th’ Romans, and we here deliver,

Subscribed by th’ Consuls and patricians,

Together with the seal o’ th’ Senate, what

We have compounded on.

Read it not, noble lords,

But tell the traitor in the highest degree

He hath abused your powers.

“Traitor?” How now?

Ay, traitor, Martius.

Martius?

Ay, Martius, Caius Martius. Dost thou think

I’ll grace thee with that robbery, thy stol’n name

Coriolanus, in Corioles?

You lords and heads o’ th’ state, perfidiously

He has betrayed 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’ th’ war, but at his nurse’s tears

He whined and roared away your victory,

That pages blushed at him and men of heart

Looked wond’ring each at other.

Hear’st thou, Mars?

Name not the god, thou boy of tears.

Ha?

No more.

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 forced to scold. Your judgments, my grave lords,

Must give this cur the lie; and his own notion—

Who wears my stripes impressed upon him, that

Must bear my beating to his grave—shall join

To thrust the lie unto him.

Peace, both, and hear me speak.

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 dovecote, I

Fluttered your Volscians in Corioles,

Alone I did it. “Boy”!

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?

Let him die for’t.

Tear him to pieces! Do it presently! He killed my son! My daughter! He

killed my cousin Marcus! He killed my father!

Peace, ho! No outrage! Peace!

The man is noble, and his fame folds in

This orb o’ th’ Earth. His last offences to us

Shall have judicious hearing. Stand, Aufidius,

And trouble not the peace.

O that I had him,

With six Aufidiuses, or more, his tribe,

To use my lawful sword.

Insolent villain!

Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill him!

[_Draw the Conspirators, and kills Martius, who falls. Aufidius stands

on him._]

Hold, hold, hold, hold!

My noble masters, hear me speak.

O Tullus!

Thou hast done a deed whereat valour will weep.

Tread not upon him.—Masters, all be quiet.—

Put up your swords.

My lords, when you shall know—as in this rage,

Provoked 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.

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.

His own impatience

Takes from Aufidius a great part of blame.

Let’s make the best of it.

My rage is gone,

And I am struck with sorrow.—Take him up.

Help, three o’ th’ chiefest soldiers; I’ll be one.—

Beat thou the drum that it speak mournfully.—

Trail your steel pikes. Though in this city he

Hath widowed and unchilded many a one,

Which to this hour bewail the injury,

Yet he shall have a noble memory.

Assist.