LITMIR.BIZ

      We hate alike:

      Not Afric owns a serpent I abhor

      More than thy fame and envy. Fix thy foot.

      Let the first budger die the other's slave,

      And the gods doom him after!

      If I fly, Marcius,

      Halloo me like a hare.

      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 the highest.

      Wert thou the Hector

      That was the whip of your bragg'd progeny,

      Thou shouldst not scape me here. —

      Officious, and not valiant, – you have sham'd me

      In your condemned seconds.

      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' the 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 gods

      Our Rome hath such a soldier.'

      Yet cam'st thou to a morsel of this feast,

      Having fully dined before.

      O general,

      Here is the steed, we the caparison:

      Hadst thou beheld, —

      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 overta'en mine act.

      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.

      I have some wounds upon me, and they smart

      To hear themselves remember'd.

      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 achiev'd and city,

      We render you the tenth; to be ta'en forth

      Before the common distribution at

      Your only choice.

      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.

      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-fac'd soothing.

      When steel grows soft as the parasite's silk,

      Let him be made a coverture for the 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 loved my little should be dieted

      In praises sauc'd with lies.

      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 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 clamour of the host,

      'Caius Marcius Coriolanus.' —

      Bear the addition nobly ever!

      Caius Marcius Coriolanus!

      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.

      So, to our tent;

      Where, ere we do repose us, we will write

      To Rome of

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