No more infected with my country's love, With bloody passage, led your wars, even to The gates of Rome. Our spoils we have brought home, Than shame to th' Romans: And we here deliver, Together with the seal o'th'senate, what Auf. Read it not noble lords; But tell the traitor, in the highest degree Cor. Traitor!-How now?— Auf. Cor. Ay, traitor, Marcius. 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 o'th'state, perfidiously Cor. Hear'st thou, Mars? Auf. Name not the god, thou boy of tears, Cor. 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 Ha! I was forc'd to scold. Your judgements, my grave lords, Must give this cur the lie: and his own notion My beating to his grave;) shall join to thrust 1 Lord. Peace, both, and hear me speak. Cor. Cut me to pieces, Volces; 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 Volces 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? Con. Let him die for't. [Several speak at once. Cit. [Speaking promiscuously.] Tear him to pieces, do it presently. He killed my son ;-my daughter; —He killed my cousin Marcus;-He killed my father. 2 Lord. Peace, ho;-no outrage ;-peace. The man is noble, and his fame folds in This orb o'th'earth. His last offence to us Cor. O, that I had him, With six Aufidiuses, or more, his tribe, To use my lawful sword! Auf. Insolent villain! Con. Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill him. Lords. [AUFIDIUS and the Conspirators draw, and kill CORIOLANUS, who falls, and AUFIDIUS stands on him. Hold, hold, hold, hold. O Tullus, Auf. My noble masters, hear me speak. 1 Lord. 2 Lord. Thou hast done a deed whereat valour will weep. 3 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 Myself your loyal servant, or endure Your heaviest censure. 1 Lord. Bear from hence his body, And mourn you for him: let him be regarded Did follow to his urn. 2 Lord. His own impatience Takes from Aufidius a great part of blame, Auf. My rage is gone, And I am struck with sorrow.-Take him up:- |