All language subtitles for Кориолан. Coriolanus (Donmar Warehouse, National Theatre Live, 2014)_untitled_track5_[eng]

(GENTLE MUSIC PLAYS)

(CHILD HUMMING)

(CLAMOUR OF VOICES)

(DRUMBEAT)

CROWD CHANTING: Annona plebis!

Annona plebis! Annona plebis!

(CHANTING STOPS)

Annona plebis!

Before you proceed any further,
hear me speak.

Speak.

You are both resolved rather to die
than to famish?

Resolved.

First, you know Caius Martius
is chief enemy to the people.

– We know't.
– Well, let us kill him!

And we'll have grain at our own price.
Is't a verdict?

One word, good citizen.

You would proceed especially
against Caius Martius?

Against him first.
He's the very dog to the commonality.

Consider you what services
he has done for his country?

Very well, and could be content
to give him good report for't,

but that he pays himself with being proud.

Nay, speak not maliciously.

I say unto you,

what he hath done famously,

he did it to that end.

Though soft-conscienced men

may be content to say
it was for his country...

..he did it to please his mother...

..and to be proud.

What shouts are these?

The other side o'th'city is risen.

Why stay we prating here?
To th'Capitol!

– Come, come!
– Soft!

Who comes here?

Worthy Menenius Agrippa,
one that hath always loved the people.

What work's, my countrymen, in hand?

Where go you with bats and clubs?
The matter? Speak, I pray you.

Our business is not unknown to the senate.

They say poor suitors
have strong breaths.

They shall know
we have strong arms too.

I tell you, friends, most charitable care
have the patricians of you,

and you slander the helms o' the state,

who care for you like fathers,
when you curse them as enemies.

Care for us!

(LAUGHS)

They ne'er cared for us yet!

They suffer us to famish, and
their store-houses crammed with grain.

Repeal daily any wholesome act
established against the rich,

to provide more piercing statutes daily,
to chain up and restrain the poor.

I shall tell you a pretty tale:

it may be you have heard it,

but since it serves my purpose
I will venture to stale't a little more.

Well, I'll hear it, sir.

Yet you must not think
to fob off our disgrace with a tale.

There was a time when all the body's parts
rebelled against...the belly,

thus accused it:
That only like a gulf it did remain

in the midst o' the body,
idle and unactive,

still cupboarding the viand,
never bearing like labour with the rest,

where the other instruments
did see and hear,

devise, instruct, walk, feel,
and, mutually participate,

did minister unto the appetite
and affection common of the whole body.

– The belly answered...
– Well, sir, what answer made the belly?

Well, I shall tell you.
With a kind of smile, for look you,

I may make the belly smile
as well as speak. It...

– What?
– I will tell you.

You are long about it.

Note me this, good friend:

Your most grave belly was deliberate,

not rash like his accusers,
and thus answered:

'True is it, my incorporate friends,'
quoth he,

'That I receive the general food
at first,

'that you do live upon, and fit it is,

'because I am the store-house
and the shop of the whole body.

'But, if you do remember, I send it
through the rivers of your blood,

'even to the court,
the heart, to the seat o' the brain,

'and I can make my audit up

'that all from me do back
receive the flour of all

'and leave me but the bran.'

What say you to it?

It was an answer.

How apply you this?

The senators of Rome
are this good belly...

– (SCOFFS)
– ..and you the mutinous members.

for examine their counsels
and their cares.

You will find no public benefit
which you receive

but it proceeds or comes from them to you
and no way from yourselves.

What do you think?
You, the great toe of this assembly?

I the great toe? Why the great toe?

Why, for that, being one o' the lowest,
basest, poorest,

of this most wise rebellion,

thou go'st foremost. (LAUGHS)

Hail, noble Martius!

Thanks. What's the matter,
you dissentious rogues,

that, rubbing the poor itch
of your opinion, make yourselves scabs?

We have ever your good word.

He that will give good words to thee
will flatter beneath abhorring.

What would you have...

..you curs, that like nor peace nor war?

The one affrights you,
the other makes you proud.

He that trusts to you,

where he should find you lions,
finds you hares,

where foxes, geese.

You are no surer, no,

than is the coal of fire upon the ice.

or hailstone in the sun.

Who deserves greatness
deserves your hate.

And your affections
are a sick man's appetite.

He that depends upon your favours

swims with fins of lead
and hews down oaks with rushes.

Hang ye! Trust you?

With every minute you do change a mind

and call him noble
who was now your hate,

him vile that was your garland.

What's the matter,

that in these several places of the city

you cry against the noble senate,
who, under the gods, keep you in awe,

which else would feed on one another?
What's their seeking?

For corn at their own rates, whereof,
they say, the city is well stored.

– (CITIZENS CHEER)
– Hang 'em! They say!

They'll sit by the fire, and presume
to know what's done in the Capitol,

who's like to rise,
who thrives and who declines –

side factions and give out
conjectural marriages,

making parties strong and feebling such
as stand not in their liking

below their cobbled shoes.

They say there's grain enough!

Would the nobility lay aside their ruth
and let me use my sword.

Nay, these are almost thoroughly
persuaded. What says the other troop?

They are dissolved. Hang 'em!

They said they were a-hungry,
sighed forth proverbs –

that hunger broke stone walls,
that dogs must eat,

that meat was made for mouths,

that the gods sent not corn
for the rich men only.

And with these shreds
they vented their complainings,

which being answered
and a petition granted them ...

What is granted them?

Two tribunes to defend their
vulgar wisdoms, of their own choice.

ALL: Yes!

: One's Junius Brutus,
one's Sicinia Veluta. 'Sdeath.

The rabble should have first
unroof'd the city,

ere so prevail'd with me.

It will in time win upon power
and throw forth greater themes

– for insurrection's arguing.
– This is strange.

– Go get you home, you fragments.
– Where's Caius Martius?

Here. What's the matter?

Martius, 'tis true that you have lately
told us – the Volsces are in arms.

They have a leader...

..Tullus Aufidius,

that will put you to it.

I sin in envying his nobility,

and were I any thing but what I am,
I would wish me only he.

– You have fought together.
– (LAUGHTER)

Were half to half the world by the ears
and he upon my party,

I'd revolt to make only my wars with him.

He is a lion
that I am proud to hunt.

Then, worthy Martius,
attend upon Cominius to these wars.

Titus Lartius, thou shalt see me
once more strike at Tullus' face.

What, art thou stiff? Stand'st out?

No, Caius Marcius.

I'll lean upon one crutch and fight with
t'other, ere stay behind this business.

MENENIUS: O, true-bred!

– Your company to the Capitol.
– Lead you on.

Was ever man so proud as is this Martius?

He has no equal.

When we were chosen tribunes
for the people...

Marked you his lip and eyes?

Nay, but his taunts.

Being moved,
he will not spare to gird the gods.

Bemock the modest moon.

The present wars devour him!
He is grown too proud to be so valiant.

Such a nature,
tickled with good success,

disdains the shadow
that he treads on at noon.

Let's hence,
and hear how the dispatch is made.

Let's along.

So, your opinion is, Aufidius,

that spies of Rome have entered Volscian
counsels and know how we proceed?

Is it not yours?

What ever have been thought on
in this state,

that could be brought to bodily act
ere Rome had circumvention?

'Tis not four days gone
since I heard thence.

These are the words –
have you the letter here?

Sir, here it is.

'They have pressed a power.

'The famine is great, the people mutinous.

'And it is rumoured, Cominius,
Martius your old enemy,

'who is of Rome
worse hated than of you,

'and Titus Lartius,
a most valiant Roman,

'these three lead on this
preparation whither 'tis bent.

'Most likely 'tis for Corioles.
Consider of it.'

Our army's in the field.
We never yet made doubt

but Rome was ready to answer us.

Nor did you think it folly
to keep your great pretences veiled

till when they needs must
show themselves,

which in the hatching, it seemed,
appeared to Rome.

Beseech you sir, recall my power,
and fortify your city.

Noble Aufidius,
let us alone to guard Corioles.

If they set down before us,
for the remove bring your army.

But, I think, you'll find
they're not prepared for us.

(LAUGHING) O, doubt not that.

I speak from certainties. Nay, more, some
parcels of their power are forth already,

– and only hitherward.
– Recall your army.

Corioles gives you thanks, noble Aufidius.

The gods assist
and keep your honours safe.

If we and Caius Martius
should chance to meet,

'tis sworn between us we shall
ever strike till one can do no more.

(SNIFFS)

I pray you, daughter, sing.

Or express yourself
in a more comfortable sort.

If my son were my husband,

I should freelier rejoice in that absence
wherein he won honour

than in the embracements of his bed
where he would show most love.

And yet he was but tender-bodied
and the only son of my womb,

when youth with comeliness
plucked all gaze his way,

when for a day of kings' entreaties

a mother should not sell him
an hour from her beholding,

I, considering how honour
would become such a person,

that it was no better than picture-like
to hang by the wall,

if renown made it not stir,

was pleased to let him seek danger
where he was like to find fame.

To a cruel war I sent him,

from whence he returned,

his brows bound with oak.

I tell thee, daughter,

I sprang not more in joy
at first hearing he was a man-child

than now in first seeing
he had proved himself a man.

But had he died in the business,
madam, how then?

Then his good report
should have been my son.

I therein would have found issue.

Hear me profess sincerely –

had I a dozen sons,

each in my love alike and none less dear
than thine and my good Martius,

I had rather had eleven die nobly
for their country

than one voluptuously
surfeit out of action.

Madam, the Lady Valeria
is come to visit you.

Beseech you,
give me leave to retire myself.

Indeed, you shall not.

Methinks I hear hither
your husband's drum.

See him pluck Aufidius
down by the hair –

as children from a bear,
the Volsces shunning him.

Methinks I see him stamp thus,
and call thus,

'Come on, you cowards!
You were got in fear,

'though you were born in Rome.'

His bloody brow with his mailed hand
then wiping, forth he goes.

His bloody brow?
O Jupiter, no blood!

Away, you fool!

It more becomes a man
than gilt his trophy.

Tell Valeria
we are fit to bid her welcome.

Heavens bless my lord
from fell Aufidius!

He'll pluck Aufidius' head below his knee
and tread upon his neck.

My ladies both, good day to you.

Sweet madam.

I am glad to see your ladyship.

How do you both?
You are manifest housekeepers.

What are you sewing here?
A fine spot, in good faith.

How does your little son?

I thank your ladyship.
Well, good madam.

He had rather see the swords, and hear a
drum, than look upon his school-master.

O my word, the father's son.

I'll swear 'tis a very pretty boy.

O my troth, I looked upon him on Wednesday
half an hour together.

Has such a confirmed countenance.

I saw him run after a gilded butterfly,

and when he caught it,
he let it go again,

and after it again,
over and over he tumbles,

up again, catched it again.

Or whether
his fall enraged him, or how 'twas,

he did so set his teeth and tear it.

One of his father's moods.

Indeed, la, 'tis a noble child.

Come, lay aside your stitchery.

I must have you play the idle housewife
with me this afternoon.

No, good madam; I will not out of doors.

Not out of doors!

She shall, she shall.

Indeed, no, by your patience.

I'll not over the threshold
till my lord return from the wars.

Fie, you confine yourself
most unreasonably.

Come, you must go visit the good lady
that lies in.

I will wish her speedy strength,

and visit her with my prayers,
but I cannot go thither.

Why, I pray you?

'Tis not to save labour,
nor that I want love.

You would be another Penelope –

yet, they say, all the yarn
she spun in Ulysses' absence

did but fill Ithaca full of moths.

– (LAUGHTER)
– Come, you shall go with us.

No, good madam, pardon me,
indeed, I will not forth.

In truth, la, go with me, and I'll tell
you excellent news of your husband.

O, good madam, there can be none yet.

Verily, I do not jest with you –
there came news from him last night.

– Indeed, madam?
– In earnest, it's true.

I heard a senator speak it.
Thus it is –

Cominius the general,
your lord and Titus Lartius

are set down before Corioles.

They nothing doubt prevailing against
the Volsces and to make it brief wars.

On mine honour, this is true.
And so, I pray, go with us.

Give me excuse, good madam.
I will obey you in everything hereafter.

Let her alone, lady; as she is now,
she will but disease our better mirth.

In truth, I think she would.
Fare you well, then.

Come, good sweet lady.

Prithee, Virgilia, turn thy solemness
out o' door and go along with us.

No, at a word, madam;
indeed, I must not.

I wish you much mirth.

Well, then, farewell.

Yonder comes news.

– A wager they will yield.
– My horse to yours, no.

– 'Tis done.
– Agreed.

Say, will the town
surrender to our general?

This city rams its gates up
'gainst the world.

– So, the good horse is mine.
– I'll buy him of you.

No, I'll nor sell nor give him.
Lend you him I will

for half a hundred years.

Ready the men.

Now Mars, I prithee,
make me quick in work.

Set me directly against Aufidius.

– LARTIUS: Ladders, ho!
– (ALARM BELL RINGS)

Now put your shields before your hearts

and fight with hearts
more proof than shields.

Advance, my fellows!

He that retires I'll take him for
a Volsce, and he shall feel mine edge.

(BOOMING)

All the contagion of the south
light on you, you shames of Rome!

You herd of boils and plagues!

Plaster you o'er, you souls of geese
that bear the shapes of men.

How have you run
from slaves that apes would beat!

Pluto and hell!

All hurt behind –
backs red, and faces pale

with flight and agued fear!

Mend and charge home,

or by the fires of heaven I'll leave
the foe and make my wars on you!

Look to it!

Come on!

– FIRST SOLDIER: Fool-hardiness; not I.
– Nor I.

See, they have shut him in.

To the pot, I warrant him.

(LAUGHTER)

What is become of Martius?

Slain, sir, doubtless.

He is himself alone, sir,
to answer all the city.

O noble fellow!

(SOLDIERS LAUGH)

Who sensibly outdares
his senseless sword,

and, when it bows, stands up.

Thou art lost, Martius.

A carbuncle entire,
as big as thou art,

were not so rich a jewel.

Thou wast a soldier
even to Cato's wish,

not fierce and terrible
only in strokes,

but, with thy grim looks and
the thunder-like percussion of thy sounds,

thou madst thine enemies shake, as if
the world were feverous and did tremble.

COMINIUS: Where is Martius?

Lost. Alone he fights within Corioles.

O Martius, Martius.

Such manhood is call'd foolery,

when it stands against a falling fabric.

Hads't though but breathed,

we should have come off Like Romans,

neither foolish in our stands,
nor cowardly in retire.

Believe me sirs,
we shall be charged again.

Who's yonder,
that does appear as he were flayed?

O gods!
He has the stamp of Martius,

and I have before-time seen him thus.

So, now the gates are ope –
now prove good seconds.

Flower of warriors!

Worthy sir, thou bleed'st.
Thy exercise hath been too violent

for a second course of fight.

Sir, praise me not.

My work hath yet not warmed me.

The blood I drop is rather physical
than dangerous to me.

To Aufidius thus
will I appear and fight.

Though I could wish
you were conducted to a gentle bath

and balms applied to you,

yet dare I never deny your asking.

If any such be here,

as it were sin to doubt,

that love this painting
wherein you see me smeared;

if any fear lesser his person
than an ill report;

If any think brave death
outweighs bad life

and that his country's
dearer than himself;

let him alone, or so many so minded,

wave thus, to express his disposition,

and follow Martius.

O, me alone!

Make you a sword of me?

ALL: Martius! Martius!

If these shows be not outward,

which of you but is four Volsces?

None of you but is able
to bear against the great Aufidius

a shield as hard as his.

Come on, my fellows.
Make good this ostentation,

and you shall divide in all with us.

I'll fight with none but thee,

for I do hate thee worse
than a promise-breaker.

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, Martius,
hollo me like a hare.

Within these three hours, Tullus,

alone I fought in your Corioles walls,

and made what work I pleased.

'Tis not my blood
wherein thou seest me masked.

For thy revenge
wrench up thy power to the highest.

Wert thou Hector
thou shouldst not scape me here.

(ROARS)

(AUFIDIUS PANTS)

– (SOLDIER LAUGHS)
– (GRUNTS)

Officious, and not valiant,

you have shamed me
in your condemned seconds.

CITIZENS CHANTING:
Martius! Martius! Martius!

Martius! Martius! Martius!

Martius! Martius! Martius!
Martius! Martius!

Martius! Martius! Martius!

If I should tell thee
o'er this thy day's work,

thou'ldst not believe thy deeds.

But I'll report it where senators
shall mingle tears with smiles,

and where the dull tribunes,
who hate thine honours,

shall say against their hearts 'We thank
the gods Our Rome hath such a soldier.'

Martius! Martius! Martius!

Martius! Martius! Martius!
Martius! Martius!

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.

I do beseech you,
before our army hear me.

I have some wounds upon me, and they
smart to hear themselves remembered.

Should they not, well might they
fester 'gainst ingratitude,

and cure themselves with death.

Of all the horses, whereof we have
ta'en good, and good store,

of all the treasure in this field achieved
and city, we render you the tenth.

I thank you, general,
but I 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.

Martius! Martius! Martius!
Martius! Martius! Martius!

(WHOOPING)

May these same instruments,
which you profane, never sound more!

No more, I say!

For that I have not washed
my nose that bled...

..nor foiled some feeble wretch,

which without note
here's many else have done,

you shout me forth
in acclamations hyperbolical.

If 'gainst yourself you be incensed,

we'll put you, like one that means
to harm himself, in manacles,

then reason safely with you.

Therefore be it known, as to us,

to all the world,

that Caius Martius
wears this war's garland,

and from this time forth,

for what he did before Corioles,

call him, with all the applause
and clamour of the host,

Caius Martius Coriolanus.

ALL: Caius Martius Coriolanus!

Caius Martius Coriolanus!

Caius Martius Coriolanus!

Caius Martius Coriolanus.

Bear the addition nobly ever!

I will go wash,
and when my face is fair,

you shall perceive whether I blush or no.
Howbeit, I thank you.

So to our tent.

Now the gods begin to mock me.

I, that now refused most princely gifts,

am bound to beg of my lord general.

Take it, 'tis yours. What is't?

I sometime lay here in Corioles

at a poor man's house.

He used me kindly.

He cried to me.

I saw him taken prisoner...

..but then Aufidius was with in my view,

and wrath o'erwhelm'd my pity.

I request you
to give my poor host freedom.

O, well begged!

Were he the butcher of my son,
he should be free as is the wind.

– Deliver him, Titus.
– Martius, his name?

By Jupiter!

Er...

I forgot.

I am weary. Yea, my memory is tired.

Have we no wine here?

Go we to our tent.

The blood upon your visage dries.
'Tis time it should be looked to. Come.

(GRUNTS)

(YELLS)

The town is ta'en.

'Twill be delivered back
on good conditions.

Conditions!

I would I were a Roman, for I cannot,

being a Volsce, be that I am.

Conditions? What good conditions

can a treaty find
for the side that is defeated?

Five times, Martius,
I have fought with thee.

So often hast thou beat me,

and wouldst do so, I think,
should we encounter as often as we eat.

By the elements, if e'er again
I meet him face to face,

he's mine, or I am his.

Mine appetite hath not that honour
in it it had,

for where I thought to crush him
in an equal force,

true sword to sword,

I'll potch at him some way.
Or wrath or craft will get him.

– He's the devil.
– Bolder,

though not so subtle.

My valour's poisoned.

Where'er I find him, in his home,
in sanctuary, or in the Capitol,

naked, sick, asleep,

nor prayers of priests
nor time of sacrifice

shall lift their rotten privilege
against my hate to Martius.

Whereso'er, I would wash
my fierce hand in his heart.

Go you to the city.

Learn how 'tis held, and what they are
that must be hostages for Rome.

– Will not you go?
– I'll home to Antium.

I am attended at the cypress grove.
I pray you, bring word thither

how the world goes, that to the
pace of it I may spur on my journey.

I shall, sir.

(VOICES WHISPER)

(DRUMBEAT)

The augurer tells me
we shall have news tonight.

Good or bad?

Not according to the prayers of
the people, for they love not Martius.

Nature teaches beasts
to know their friends.

Pray you, who does the wolf love?

The lamb.

Ay, to devour him; as the hungry plebeians
would the noble Martius.

He's a lamb indeed,
that baas like a bear.

He's a bear indeed,
that lives like a lamb.

You two are wise ones.Tell me
one thing that I shall ask you.

– Well?
– Sir.

In what enormity is Martius poor in,
that you two have not in abundance?

He's poor in no one fault,
but stored with all.

– Especially in pride.
– And topping all others in boasting.

This is strange now. Do you two know
how you are censured here in the city,

I mean of us of the right-hand file?
Do you?

– How are we censured?
– Why are we censured?

You blame Martius for being proud?

We do it not alone, sir.

I know you can do very little alone,
for your helps are many,

or else your actions
would grow wondrous single.

Your abilities are too infant-like
for doing much alone.

You talk of pride.

O that you could turn your eyes
toward the napes of your necks,

and make but an interior survey
of your good selves! O that you could!

BRUTUS: What then, sir?

Why, then you should discover
a brace of unmeriting, proud,

violent, testy magistrates,
alias fools, as any in Rome.

Menenius, you are known
well enough too.

I am known to be a humorous patrician,

and one that loves a cup of hot wine
with not a drop of allaying Tiber in it –

hasty and tinder-like
upon too trivial motion.

One that converses more
with the buttock of the night

than with the forehead
of the morning.

What I think, I utter,
and spend my malice in my breath.

What harm can your blind conspectuities
glean out of this character,

if I be known well enough too?

Come, sir, come,
we know you well enough.

You know neither me,
yourselves nor any thing.

You are ambitious
for poor knaves' caps and legs.

You wear out
a good wholesome forenoon

hearing a cause between an orange wife
and a fosset-seller,

and then rejourn the controversy of
threepence to a second day of audience.

You are a pair of strange ones.

Come, come, you are well understood
to be a perfecter giber for the table

than a necessary bencher
in the Capitol.

Good evening to your worships.

More of your conversation
would infect my brain,

being the herdsmen
of the beastly plebeians.

I will be bold to take my leave of you.

How now,
my as fair as noble ladies!

And the moon, were she earthly,
no nobler.

Whither do you follow your eyes so fast?

O honourable Menenius,
my boy Martius approaches.

– For the love of Juno, let's go.
– Ha! Martius coming home!

Nay,'tis true.

Look, here's a letter from him.

The state has another,
his wife another,

and I think there's one at home for you.

I will make my very house reel tonight.
A letter for me!

Yes, certain, there's a letter for you.
I saw it.

A letter for me! Is he not wounded?
He was wont to come home wounded.

O, no, no, no.

O, he is wounded.
I thank the gods for it.

So do I too, if it be not too much.

Brings he victory in his pocket?
The wounds become him.

On his brows, Menenius.

He comes the third time home
with the oaken garland.

– Is the senate possessed of this?
– Good ladies, let's go.

Yes, yes, yes,
the senate has letters from the general,

in which he gives my son
the whole name of the war.

He has in this action
outdone his former deeds doubly.

God save your good worships!
Martius is coming home.

He has more cause to be proud.
Where is he wounded?

In the shoulder and in the left arm.

There will be large cicatrices
to show the people,

when he shall stand for his place.

He received in the repulse of Tarquin
seven hurts in the body.

One in the neck,
and two in the thigh –

there's nine that I know.

He had, before this last expedition,
twenty-five wounds upon him.

Now it's twenty-seven.
And every gash was an enemy's grave.

– (DRUMS BEATING)
– Hark! The drums.

These are the ushers of Martius.

Before him he carries noise,

and behind him he leaves tears.

Death, that dark spirit,
in his nervy arm doth lie,

which being advanced, declines,
and then men die.

Know, Rome,

that all alone Martius did fight
within Corioles gates,

where he hath won, with fame,
a name to Caius Martius –

these in honour follows 'Coriolanus'.

Welcome to Rome,
renowned Coriolanus!

ALL: Welcome to Rome,
renowned Coriolanus!

No more of this, it does offend my heart.
Pray now, no more.

COMINIUS: Look, sir, your mother!

Oh.

You have, I know,
petition'd all the gods for my prosperity.

Nay, my good soldier, up.

My gentle Martius, worthy Caius,

and by deed-achieving honour
newly named...

What is it?

Coriolanus must I call thee?

But O, thy wife!

My gracious silence, hail!

Wouldst thou have laughed
had I come coffined home,

that weep'st to see me triumph?

Ah, my dear,

such eyes the widows
in Corioles wear,

and mothers that lack sons.

(CLEARS THROAT) Now, the gods crown thee!

And live you yet?

I know not where to turn.
O, welcome home!

And welcome, general,
and you're welcome all.

A hundred thousand welcomes.

I could weep and I could laugh,
I am light and heavy.

Welcome. A curse begin at very root
on his heart that is not glad to see thee!

I have lived
to see inherited my very wishes

and the buildings of my fancy.
Only there's one thing wanting,

which I doubt not but
that our Rome will cast upon thee.

Know, good mother, I had rather be
their servant in my way,

than sway with them in theirs.

On, to the Capitol!

(CLAMOURING VOICES)

All tongues speak of him, and the
bleared sights are spectacled to see him.

Such a pother
as if that whatsoever god who leads him

were slily crept into his human powers
and gave him graceful posture.

On the sudden,
I warrant him consul.

Then our office
may during his power go sleep.

He cannot temperately
transport his honours

from where he should begin and end,
but will lose those that he hath won.

In that there's comfort.

Doubt not the commoners
for whom we stand

but they upon their ancient malice

will forget with the least cause
these his new honours,

which that he will give them

make I as little question
as he is proud to do it.

I heard him swear,
were he to stand for consul,

never would he appear
in the market-place

nor on him put the napless vesture
of humility,

nor showing, as the manner is,

his wounds to the people,
beg their stinking breaths.

– 'Tis right.
– It was his word.

I wish no better than have him hold
that purpose and to put it in execution.

'Tis most like he will.

It shall be to him then as our good wills,
a sure destruction.

So it must fall out to him
or our authority's for an end.

We must suggest the people
in what hatred he still holds them.

This, as you say, suggested
at some time when his soaring insolence

shall touch the people
will be his fire

to kindle their dry stubble, and their
blaze shall darken him for ever.

Let's to the Capitol, and carry with us
ears and eyes for the time,

but hearts for the event.

Have with you.

(ECHOING VOICES)

Having determined of the Volsces,

it remains as the main point
of this our senate meeting

to gratify his noble service
that hath thus stood for his country.

Therefore please you,
most reverend and grave elders,

to desire the present consul,
Cominius,

to report a little of that worthy work
performed by Caius Martius Coriolanus.

Speak, good General.
Leave nothing out for length.

Masters of the people,

we do request your kindest ears
and, after,

your loving motion
toward the common body

to yield what passes here.

We both have hearts
inclinable to honour

and advance
the theme of our assembly.

Which the rather we shall be glad to do

if he remember
a kinder value of the people

than he hath hereto prized them at.

That's off. I would you
rather had been silent.

He loves your people,
but tie him not to be their bedfellow.

– (LAUGHTER)
– Worthy Cominius, speak.

Nay, keep your place.

– Stay, Coriolanus.
– Your honours' pardon.

(CLEARS THROAT)

I had rather have my wounds to heal again
than hear say how I got them.

Sir, I hope my words
disbenched you not?

No, sir. Yet oft when blows
have made me stay

I fled from words.

I'll not stay now
to hear my nothings monstered.

Tribunes withdraw. Proceed, Cominius.

I shall lack voice.

The deeds of Coriolanus
should not be uttered feebly.

It is held that valour is the chiefest
virtue, and most dignifies the haver.

If it be, the man I speak of cannot
in the world be singly counterpoised.

At sixteen years,
when Tarquin made a head for Rome,

he fought beyond the mark of others.

In that day's feats, when he
might act the woman in the scene,

he proved best man in the field.

His pupil age man-entered thus,

he waxed like a sea,

and in the brunt
of seventeen battles since

he robbed all swords of the garland.

For this last, before and in Corioles,
let me say I cannot speak him home.

He stopp'd the fliers,
and by his rare example

made the coward turn terror into sport.

As weeds before a vessel under sail,

so men obeyed
and fell below his stem.

His sword, death's stamp,

where it did mark, it took.

From face to foot he was a thing of blood,

whose every motion
was timed with dying cries.

Alone he entered
the mortal gate of the city,

which he painted with shunless destiny,

aidless came off,
and with a sudden reinforcement

struck Corioles like a planet;

Now...now all's his,

when by and by the din of war
gan pierce his ready sense,

then straight his doubled spirit
requickened what in flesh was fatigate,

and to the battle came he; and till
we called both field and city ours,

he never stood
to ease his breast with panting.

Worthy man!

He cannot but with measure fit the honours
which we devise him.

He covets less than
misery itself would give,

rewards his deeds with doing them.

He's right noble.
Let him be called for.

Call Coriolanus.

O he doth appear!

The senate, Coriolanus...

..are well pleased to make thee consul.

I do owe them still
my life and services.

It then remains
that you do speak to the people.

I do beseech you,
let me o'erleap that custom,

for I cannot put on the gown,

stand naked and entreat them
for my wounds' sake,

to give their suffrage. Please you
that I may pass this doing.

Sir, the people must have their voices.

Neither will they bate
one jot of ceremony.

It is a part
that I shall blush in acting,

and may well be taken from the people.

Mark you that?

To brag unto them, thus I did,
and... thus,

to show them the unaching scars
which I should hide,

as if I had received them
for the hire of their breath only!

Do not stand upon it.

We recommend to you,
tribunes of the people,

our purpose to them,
and to our noble consul

wish we all joy and honour.

ALL: All joy and honour!
All joy and honour!

All joy and honour!

All joy and honour!

You see how he intends
to use the people.

May they perceive's intent!

On the market-place
I know they do attend us.

If he do require our voices,
we ought not to deny him.

We may if we will.

I say, if he would incline to the people,

there was never a worthier man.

Here he comes,
and in the gown of humility.

– Mark his behavior.
– You are not to stay all together,

but to come by him where he stands,
by ones and twos.

Every one of you has a single honour

in giving him your own voices
with your own tongues.

Content, content.

What must I say?

Plague upon it! I cannot bring
my tongue to such a pace.

Look, sir – my wounds.

I got them in my country's service,

when some certain of your brethren
roared and ran

from the noise of our own drums.

O me, the gods!
You must not speak of that.

You must desire them
to think upon you.

Think upon me? Hang them!
I would they would forget me.

You'll mar all. I'll leave you.

Pray you, speak to them, I pray you,
in wholesome manner.

Bid them wash their faces
and keep their teeth clean.

So, here comes a brace.

(CITIZENS LAUGH)

You know, sirs,
the cause of my standing here.

We do, sir.
Tell us what hath brought you to it.

Mine own desert.

– Your own desert?
– Ay, but not mine own desire.

How, not your own desire?

No sir, 'twas never my desire yet
to trouble the poor with begging.

You must think,
if we give you any thing,

we hope to gain by you.

Well then, I pray,
your price o' the consulship?

The price...is to ask it kindly.

(IMITATING HER) Kindly!

(LAUGHS MOCKINGLY)

Madam...

I pray...let me have it.

I have wounds to show you,

which shall be yours in private.

Your good voice, sir –
what say you?

A match, sir. So there's in all
two worthy voices begged. Adieu.

Pray you now, if it may stand with
the tune of your voices

that I may be consul,

I have here the customary gown.

You have deserved nobly
of your country,

and you have not deserved nobly.

Your enigma?

You have been a scourge
to her enemies,

a rod to her friends.

You have not indeed
loved the common people.

You should account me
the more virtuous

that I have not been common
in my love.

I will, sir, flatter my sworn brother,
the people,

to earn a dearer estimation of them.
'Tis a condition they account gentle.

And since, sir, the wisdom of their choice

is rather to have my hat
than my heart,

I will practice the insinuating nod
and be off to them most counterfeitly.

Indeed, I may be consul.

You have received many wounds
for your country.

I will not seal your knowledge
with showing them.

I will make much of your voices,

and so trouble you no further.

(STRAINED LAUGHTER)

Most sweet voices!

Better it is to die, better to starve,

than crave the hire
which first we do deserve.

Why in this...woolvish toge

do I stand here

to beg of Hob and Dick
that does appear,

their needless vouches?

Custom calls me to it.

What custom wills...

..in all things should we do it...

..the dust on antique time
would lie unswept

and mountainous error
be too highly heaped

for truth to o'er-peer.

Rather than fool it so,

let the high office and the honour go
to one that would do thus.

I am half through.

The one part suffered,
the other will I do.

Here come more voices.

(STRAINED CHEERING)

Your voices!
For your voices I have fought,

watched for your voices,

for your voices bear of wounds
two dozen odd.

Battles thrice six
I have seen and heard of.

For your voices
have done many things,

some less, some more.

Indeed...I may be consul.

ALL: Amen, amen.
God save thee, noble consul!

– Worthy voices!
– You have stood your limitation,

and the tribunes endow you
with the people's voice.

Is this done?

The custom of request
you have discharged.

The people do admit you,

and are summoned to meet anon,
upon your approbation.

Where? At the senate-house?

There, Coriolanus.

May I change these garments?

You may, sir.

That I'll straight do,
and, knowing myself again,

repair to the senate-house.

I'll keep you company.
Will you along?

– We stay here for the people.
– Fare you well.

How now, my masters!
Have you chose this man?

He has our voices, madam.

We pray the gods
he may deserve your loves.

Amen, sir.
To my poor unworthy notice,

he mocked us
when he begged our voices.

Certainly, he flouted us downright.

No, 'tis his kind of speech.
He did not mock us.

He used us scornfully.

He should have showed us
his marks of merit,

wounds received for his country.

Why, so he did, I am sure.

No, no. No man saw 'em.

He said he had wounds,
which he could show in private.

And with his garment thus,
waving it in scorn,

'I would be consul,' says he.
That being granted,

here was 'I thank you for your voices.

'Your most sweet voices. Thank you.

'Now I have your voices,
I have no further with you.'

Was not this mockery?

Why either were you ignorant to see it,

or, seeing it, of such childish
friendliness to yield your voices?

Did you not perceive
he did solicit you in free contempt

when he did need your loves?

Do you think that his contempt
shall not be bruising to you,

when he hath power to crush?

Why, had your bodies
no heart among you?

He's not confirmed.
We may deny him yet.

And will deny him.

I'll have five hundred voices...
of that sound.

I twice five hundred and their friends
to piece 'em.

Get you hence instantly, and tell those
friends they have chose a consul

that will from them take their liberties.

Let them assemble,

and on a safer judgment all revoke
your ignorant election.

Enforce his pride
and his old hate unto you.

Besides, forget not with what contempt
he wore the humble robe,

how in his suit he scorned you,
but your loves,

thinking upon his services,

took from you the apprehension
of his present portance.

Lay a fault on us, your tribunes.

Say you chose him
more after our commandment

than as guided by your own
true affections. Lay the fault on us.

Ay, spare us not.
Say we read lectures to you.

How youngly he began
to serve his country,

how long continued,
and what stock he springs of.

You ne'er had done it
but by our putting on.

Go now, draw your number
to the Capitol.

To the Capitol, come.

We shall be there before
the stream o' the people.

And this shall seem, as partly 'tis,

their own,
which we have goaded onward.

(DISTORTED VOICES)

He has the peoples' voices, and the
senate is pleased to name him consul.

Coriolanus.

Titus Lartius is returned
and brings report

that Rome's great enemy
has made new head.

So then the Volsces stand
but as at first,

ready, when time shall prompt them,
to make road upon us again.

They are worn, lord consul,

so that we shall hardly in our ages
see their banners wave again.

– Saw you Aufidius?
– On safe-guard he came to me,

and did curse against the Volsces,

for they had so vilely yielded the town.
He is retired to Antium.

Spoke he of me?

– He did, my lord.
– How? What?

How often he had met you,
sword to sword –

that of all things upon the earth
he hated your person most,

that he would pawn his fortunes
to hopeless restitution,

so he might be called your vanquisher.

– At Antium lives he?
– At Antium.

I wish I had a cause
to seek him there,

to oppose his hatred fully.
Welcome home.

Behold, these are the tribunes
of the people,

the tongues o' the common mouth.
What's this?

The people are incensed.

They cry they are at point
to lose their liberties.

Martius would have all from them.

Martius, whom late
you chose for consul.

– What makes this change?
– Hath he not passed

– the noble and the common?
– Cominius, no.

Have I had children's voices?

He shall to the market-place,
and test it there.

Beseech you to remain here
in the senate.

– It will be dangerous to go outside.
– Remain within,

– or all shall fall in broil.
– Tribunes, give way.

– Give way.
– Are these your herd?

Must these have voices,
which can yield them now

and straight disclaim their tongues?

What are your offices? You being their
mouths, why rule you not their teeth?

– Have you not set them on?
– Be calm, be calm.

It is a purposed thing,

and grows by plot
to curb the will of the nobility.

Suffer it, and live with such as
cannot rule nor ever will be ruled.

Call it not a plot.

The people cry you mocked them,
\N

and of late, when corn was given them
gratis, you repined,

scandalled the suppliants
for the people,

called them time-pleasers,
flatterers, foes to nobleness.

– Why, this was known before.
– Not to them all.

– Have you informed them since?
– How! I inform them!

– You are like to do such business.
– Let's be calm.

The people are abused, set on.
This paltering becomes not Rome.

(CLAPPING)

Tell me of corn! This was my speech,
and I will speak it again.

– Not now, not now.
– Not in this heat, sir, now.

Now, as I live, I will. My nobler friends,
I crave their pardons.

Tribunes both, give way.

For the mutable, rank-scented many,

let them regard me as I do not flatter,
and therein behold themselves.

I say again, in soothing them,
we nourish against our senate

the cockle of rebellion,
insolence, sedition,

which we ourselves have ploughed for,
sowed, and scattered

by mingling them with us,
the honoured number,

who lack not virtue, no, nor power,

but that which
they have given to beggars.

– Well, no more.
– We thank you, no more words, pray.

How now? No more?

As for my country
I have shed my blood,

not fearing outward force,

so shall my lungs coin words till
their decay against those measles,

which we disdain should tatter us,
yet sought the very way to catch them.

You speak of the people,
as if you were a god to punish.

'Twere well
We let the people know it.

What, what? His choler?

Choler!

Were I as patient as the midnight sleep,
by Jove, 'twould be my mind!

It is a mind
that shall remain a poison where it is,

not poison any further.

'Shall remain'!
Hear you this Triton of the minnows?

– Mark you her absolute 'shall'?
– COMINIUS: 'Twas from the canon.

'Shall'!
O good but most unwise patricians!

Why, you grave but reckless senators,

have you thus given...

..Hydra here to choose an officer,

that with her peremptory 'shall',

being but the horn and noise
of the monster's,

wants not spirit to say
she'll turn your current in a ditch,

and make your channel hers?

If she have power
then vail your ignorance.

If none, awake your dangerous lenity.

If you are learned,
be not as common fools.

If you are not,
let them have cushions by you.

You are plebeians, if they be senators.

They choose their magistrate,

and such a one as she,
who puts her 'shall,' her popular 'shall'

against a graver bench
than ever frown in Greece.

By Jove himself,
it makes the consuls base,

and my soul aches to know,
when two authorities are up,

neither supreme, how soon confusion
may enter 'twixt the gap of both

and take the one by the other.

– Well, on to the market-place.
– Whoever gave that counsel,

to give forth
the corn o' the storehouse gratis,

– as 'twas used sometime in Greece...
– Well, well, no more of that.

Though there the people
had more absolute power,

I say, they nourished disobedience,
fed the ruin of the state.

Why shall the people give one
that speaks thus their voice?

I'll give my reasons,
more worthier than their voices.

They know the corn
was not our recompense...

..resting well assured
that ne'er did service for it.

Being pressed to the war, even when
the navel of the state was touched,

they would not thread the gates.

This kind of service
did not deserve corn gratis.

Being in the war
their mutinies and revolts,

wherein they showed most valour,
spoke not for them.

The accusation which they have
often made against the senate,

all cause unborn, could never be
the motive of our so frank donation.

Well, what then?

How shall this bosom
multiplied digest the senate's courtesy?

Let deeds express
what's like to be their words.

'We did request it.

'We are the greater poll, and in true fear
they gave us our demands.'

Thus we debase the nature of our seats.

We make the rabble
call our cares fears,

which will in time

break ope the locks o' the senate
and bring in the crows

to peck the eagles.

– Come, enough.
– Enough, with over-measure.

No, take more –
what may be sworn by,

both divine and human,
seal what I end withal!

This double worship,

where one part
does disdain with cause,

the other insult without all reason –

where gentry, title, wisdom,

cannot conclude but by the yea and no
of general ignorance.

It must omit real necessities,
and give way the while

to unstable slightness.

Purpose so barred, it follows,
nothing is done to purpose.

Therefore, beseech you...

..you that will be less cowardly
than wise...

..that love the fundamental part of state
more than you fear the change on it,

and prefer a noble life before a long...

..pluck out the multitudinous tongue.

Let them not lick the sweet
which is their poison.

Your dishonour mangles true judgment
and bereaves the state

of that integrity
which should become it,

not having the power
to do the good it would,

– for the ill which doth control it.
– Has said enough.

Has spoken like a traitor,
and shall answer as traitors do.

This a consul?

No. Let him be apprehended.

– Hence, you goat!
– Go, call the people,

in whose name myself
attach thee as a traitorous innovator,

an enemy of the people.

Hence rotten things, or I shall
shake thy bones out of thy garments.

– Rude sir, hands off.
– On both sides more respect.

Obey, we charge thee,
and follow to thine answer.

This is the way to kindle,
not to quench.

To unbuild the city and to lay all flat.

What is the city but the people?

By the consent of all

we were established
the people's magistrates.

That is the way to lay the city flat,

to bring the roof to the foundation,
and bury all.

This deserves death.

Or let us stand to our authority,
or let us lose it.

We do here pronounce,
upon the part of the people,

in whose power we were elected theirs...

..Martius is worthy of present death.

Therefore lay hold of him.
Bear him to the rock Tarpeian,

and from thence into destruction cast him.

No, I'll die here.

There's some among you
have beheld me fighting –

try upon yourselves
what you have seen me.

Down with that sword!
What, have you lost your wits?

– Call the citizens!
– Lay hands upon him.

Go, get you to your house. Be gone!

Stand fast.
We have as many friends as enemies.

– Shall it be put to that?
– The gods forbid!

Tribunes, withdraw awhile.

He is a viper that would depopulate
the city and be every man himself.

Be that you seem,

truly your country's friends
and pray withdraw.

I'll undertake to bring him by and by
where he shall answer by a lawful form.

We shall attend you on the market-place.

I would they were barbarians,
as they are,

though in Rome littered, not Romans,
as they are not,

though whelped
in the porch o' the Capitol.

– Be gone!
– On fair ground

I could beat forty of them.

I prithee, noble friend,
home to thy house.

Leave us to cure this cause,
and pray you, be gone.

I'll try whether my old wit be in request
with those that have but little.

Will you hence?

This man has marred his fortune.

His nature is too noble for the world.

He would not flatter Neptune
for his trident,

or Jove for his power to thunder.

His heart's his mouth –

what his breast forges,
that his tongue must vent,

and, being angry, does forget that ever
he heard the name of death.

This must be patched
with cloth of any colour.

I muse my mother
does not approve me further...

..who was wont to call them
woollen vassals,

things created
to buy and sell with groats,

to show bare heads in congregations,
to yawn, to be still and wonder,

when one but of my ordinance stood up
to speak of peace or war.

I talk of you.

Why did you wish me milder?

Would you have me false to my nature?
Rather say I play the man I am.

O, sir, sir, sir, I would have had you
put your power well on,

– before you had worn it out.
– Let go.

You might have seemed enough the man
you are, with striving less to be so.

Come, come, you have been too rough,
something too rough.

You must return and mend it.

Let them hang.

Ay, and burn too.

I have a heart as little apt as yours,

but yet a brain that leads my use of anger
to better vantage.

Well said, noble woman.

Pray, be counselled.

– What must I do?
– Return to the tribunes.

Well, what then? What then?

Repent what you have spoke.

For them! I cannot do it to the gods –
must I do it to them?

You are too absolute, though therein
you can never be too noble,

but when extremities speak...

I have heard you say,

honour and policy, like unsevered friends,
in the war do grow together.

Grant that, and tell me,

in peace what each of them by the other
lose, that they combine not there.

– Tush, tush!
– MENENIUS: A good demand.

If it be honour in your wars
to seem the same you are not,

which, for your best ends,
you adopt your policy,

how is it less or worse,

that it shall seek companionship
in peace with honour,

as in war, since that to both
it stands in like request?

– Why force you this?
– Because it now lies on you

to speak to the people,
not by your own instruction,

nor by the matter
which your heart prompts you,

but with such words
that are but rooted in your tongue,

though but bastards and syllables
of no allowance to your bosom's truth.

Now, this no way dishonours you at all

than to take in a town with gentle words,

which else would put you to your fortune
and the hazard of much blood.

I would dissemble with my nature

if my fortune and my friends at stake
required I should do so in honour.

I am in this, your wife, your son,
these senators, the nobles –

and you will rather show
our general louts

how you can frown
than spend a fawn upon 'em

for the inheritance of their loves

and safeguard
of what that want might ruin.

Noble lady!

Come, go with us, speak fair.

You may salve so,
not what is dangerous present,

but the loss of what is past.

I prithee now, my son,

go to them,
with this garland in thy hand.

And thus far having stretched it,
here be with them,

thy knee bussing the stone,

for in such business
action is eloquence,

and the eyes of the ignorant
more learned than the ears.

Bowing thy head,
as humble as the ripest mulberry

that will not hold the handling,

or say to them, thou art their soldier,

and being bred in broils hast not
the soft way which, thou dost confess,

were fit for thee to use as they to claim,
in asking their good loves,

but thou wilt frame thyself, forsooth,
hereafter theirs,

so far as thou hast power and person.

This but done,
even as she speaks,

why, their hearts were yours,
for they will pardon, being asked.

Pray now, go, and be ruled,

although I know thou hadst rather
follow thine enemy in a fiery gulf

than flatter him in a bower.
Here is Cominius.

I have been in the market-place,

and, sir, 'tis fit you make strong party,

or defend yourself by calmness
or by absence. All's in anger.

Only fair speech.

I think 'twill serve,
if he can thereto frame his spirit.

He must, and will.
Pray, say you will...

..and go about it.

Must I...

..with base tongue

give unto my noble heart

a lie that it must bear?

Well, I will do't.

Yet, were there but this single plot
to lose,

this mould of Martius,
they to dust should grind it

and throw't against the wind.
To the market-place!

You have put me now to such a part

which never I shall enact to the life.

Come, come, we'll prompt you.

I prithee now, sweet son.

As thou hast said

my praises made thee first a soldier,

so, to have my praise for this,

perform a part thou hast not done before.

Well, I will do it.

Away, my disposition...

..and possess me some harlot's spirit!

My throat of war be turned,

which choired with my drum,

into a pipe small as a eunuch's,

or the virgin's voice
that babies lulls asleep!

The smiles of knaves
tent in my cheeks,

and schoolboys' tears
take up the glasses of my sight!

I will not do it!

Lest I surcease
to honour mine own truth

and by my body's action teach my mind
a most inherent baseness.

(SHOUTING) At thy choice, then.

It is my more dishonour
to beg of thee than thou of them.

Come all to ruin.
Let thy mother rather feel thy pride

than fear thy dangerous stubborness,

for I mock at death
with as big heart as thou.

Do as thou list
thy valiantness was mine,

thou suck'dst it from me,
but owe thy pride thyself.

Pray, be content, Mother.
I am going to the market-place.

Chide me no more.

[AUDIENCE LAUGHS]

I'll mountebank their loves,

cog their hearts from them,

and come home beloved
of all the trades in Rome.

Look, I'm going.

Commend me to my wife.

I'll return consul...

..or never trust to what my tongue
can do in the way of flattery further.

Do your will.

Away! The tribunes do attend you.

Arm yourself to answer mildly,

for they are prepared with accusations,
as I hear,

more strong than are upon you yet.

The word is 'mildly'.

Pray you, let's go.

Let them accuse me by invention,
I will answer in mine honour.

Ay, but mildly.

Well, mildly be it then. Mildly!

(VOICES WHISPER)

In this point charge him home,
that he affects tyrannical power.

If he evade us there,
enforce him with his envy to the people,

and that the spoil got at Corioles
was ne'er distributed.

What, will he come?

– He's coming.
– How accompanied?

But with Menenius, and those senators
that always favoured him.

Have you a catalogue
of all the voices that we have procured

– set down by the poll?
– I have, 'tis ready.

– Have you collected them by tribes?
– I have.

Assemble presently the people hither,
and when they hear me say

'It shall be so in the right and strength
o' the commons,'

be it either for death, for fine,
or banishment,

then let them if I say fine, cry 'Fine'.

If death, cry 'Death'.

Insisting on the old prerogative
and power in the truth of the cause.

– I shall inform them.
– Make them be strong

and ready for this hint,
when we shall hap to give it them.

Go about it.

Put him to choler straight.

Well...here he comes.

Calmly, I do beseech you.

The honour'd gods
keep Rome in safety,

and the chairs of justice
supplied with worthy men!

Plant love among us!

Throng our large temples
with the shows of peace,

and not our streets with war!

– Amen, amen.
– A noble wish.

Draw near, ye people.

Enemy of the people!

Peace, I say!

– First, hear me speak.
– Well...

– Say.
– (YELLS)

Peace!

Shall I be charged
no further than this present?

– Must all determine here?
– I do demand,

if you submit you to the people's voices,

allow their officers

and are content to suffer lawful censure

for such faults
as shall be proved upon you?

I am content.

– Lo, citizens, he says he is content.
– (SHOUTING)

The warlike service he has done, consider.

Think about the wounds his body bears,

which show like the graves
in the holy churchyard.

Scratches with briers,
Scars to move laughter only.

Consider further, that when he speaks...

(CITIZENS' SHOUTING DROWNS OUT SPEECH)

– What is the matter?
– (SHOUTING STOPS)

That being passed for consul
with full voice,

I am so dishonoured
that the very hour you take it off again?

Answer to us.

Say, then. 'Tis true, I ought so.

We charge you, that you have contrived
to take from Rome all seasoned office

and to wind yourself
into a power tyrannical...

..for which you are a traitor
to the people.

How now! 'Traitor?'

Nay, temperately! Your promise.

(ANGRY SHOUTING)

The fires in the lowest hell
fold-in the people!

Call me their traitor!
Thou injurious tribune!

Should twenty thousand deaths
sit in thine eyes,

as many millions
clutched within thy hand,

I'd say 'thou liest' with a voice as free
as I do pray the gods.

– Mark you this, people?
– To the rock!

To the rock with him!

Peace!

We need not put new matter to his charge.

What you have seen him do
and heard him speak,

beating your officers,
cursing yourselves,

opposing laws with strokes

and here defying those
whose great power must try him –

even this, so criminal
and in such capital kind,

deserves the extremest death.

Death! Death! Death! Death!

But since he hath served well for Rome...

What do you prate of service?

– I talk as one that knows it.
– You?

Is this the promise you made your mother?

– Know, I pray you...
– I know no further.

Let them pronounce
the steep Tarpeian death,

vagabond exile, raying,
pent to linger but with a grain a day.

I would not buy their mercy
at the price of one fair word,

nor check my courage
for what they can give,

to have it with saying 'Good morrow.'

For that he has,
as much as in him lies,

from time to time
envied against the people,

seeking means to pluck away their power,

in the name o' the people
and in the power of us the tribunes,

we, even from this instant,

banish him our city...

..in peril of precipitation
from off the rock Tarpeian

never more to enter our Rome gates.

In the people's name,
I say it shall be so.

CITIZENS CHANTING:
It shall be so, it shall be so!

It shall be so, it shall be so!

Hear me, my masters,
and my common friends...

– He's sentenced. No more hearing.
– Let me speak.

I have been consul,

and can show for Rome
her enemies' marks upon me.

I do love my country's good with a respect
more tender, more holy and profound,

than mine own life,
my dear wife's estimate,

her womb's increase,
and treasure of my loins...

There's no more to be said,
but he is banished,

as enemy to the people
and his country. It shall be so.

It shall be so! It shall be so!

It shall be so! It shall be so!

You common cry of curs!

Whose breath I hate
as reek o' the rotten fens,

whose loves I prize
as the dead carcasses

of unburied men that do corrupt my air,

I banish you.

And here remain with your uncertainty.

Let every feeble rumour shake your hearts,

your enemies, with nodding of their
plumes, fan you into despair!

Have the power still to banish
your defenders,

till at length your ignorance –
which finds not till it feels,

making not reservation of yourselves,
still your own foes –

deliver you as most abated captives

to some nation that won you without blows!

Despising, for you,

the city...

..thus I turn my back.

There is a world elsewhere.

(SOBBING)

Come, leave your tears.

A brief farewell.

The beast with many heads butts me away.

Nay, mother!

Where is your ancient courage?

You were used to say
extremity was the trier of spirits...

..that common chances
common men could bear...

..that when the sea was calm

all boats alike
showed mastership in floating.

– O heavens! O heavens!
– No! Prithee, woman...

Now the red pestilence

strike all trades in Rome,
and occupations perish!

(WAILS)

What, what!

I shall be loved when I am lack'd.

Nay, mother.

Resume that spirit,
when you were wont to say,

if you had been the wife of Hercules,

six of his labours you'd have done,
and saved your husband so much sweat.

Menenius, droop not. Adieu.

Farewell, my wife, my mother.

I'll do well yet.

My sometime general...

I have seen thee stern,

and thou hast oft beheld
heart-hardening spectacles.

Tell these sad women
'tis fond to wail inevitable strokes,

as 'tis to laugh at them.

My mother...

You wot well my hazards
still have been your solace.

And believe it not lightly...

– ..though I go alone...
– No!

..like to a lonely dragon...

..whose fen makes feared
and talked of more than seen,

your son will or exceed the common...

..or be caught
with cautelous baits and practise.

My first son.

Whither wilt thou go?

– Take good Cominius with thee awhile.
– O the gods!

I'll follow thee a month, devise with thee
where thou shalt rest,

that thou mayst hear of us
and we of thee.

So if the time thrust forth
a cause for thy repeal,

we shall not send o'er the vast world

to seek a single man.

Fare ye well.

Thou hast years upon thee.

And thou art too full
of the wars' surfeits,

to go rove with one
that's yet unbruised.

Bring me but out at gate.

Come, my sweet wife...

..my dearest mother...

..and my friends of noble touch.

When I am forth...

..bid me farewell, and smile.

I pray thee, come.

While I remain above the ground,
you shall hear from me still,

and never of me aught
but what is like me formerly.

That's worthily as any ear can hear.
Come, let's not weep.

Give me thy hand.

Come.

(ANGRY SHOUTING)

CHANTING: Out! Out! Out!

[AUDIENCE APPLAUDS]

Go, see him out at gates,

and follow him,
as he hath followed you, with all despite.

Give him deserved vexation.
Let a guard attend us through the city.

He's gone, and we'll no further.

The nobility are vexed,
whom we see have sided in his behalf.

Now we have shown our power,

let us seem humbler after it is done
than when it was a-doing.

Bid them home.
Say their great enemy is gone,

and they stand in their ancient strength.

– Here comes his mother.
– Let's not meet her.

– Why?
– They say she's mad.

They have taken note of us.
Keep on your way.

O, ye're well met. The hoarded plague
o' the gods requite your love!

Peace, peace. Be not so loud.

If that I could for weeping,
you should hear,

nay, and you shall hear some.
Will you be gone?

You shall stay too. I would I had
the power to say so to my husband.

Are you mankind?

Ay, fool, is that a shame?
Note but this fool.

Was not a man my father?

Hadst thou foxship to banish him

that struck more blows for Rome
than thou hast spoken words?

O blessed heavens!

More noble blows than ever thou
wise words, and for Rome's good.

I'll tell thee what... Yet go.

Nay, but thou shalt stay too.
I would my son were in Arabia,

and thy tribe before him,
his good sword in his hand.

– What then?
– What then!

He'd make an end of thy posterity.

Bastards and all. Good man,
the wounds that he does bear for Rome!

Come, come, peace.

I would he had continued to his country
as he began,

and not unknit himself
the noble knot he made.

I would he had.

(SCOFFS) 'I would he had'!

– 'Twas you incensed the rabble.
– Pray, let's go.

Ay, get you gone.
You have done a brave deed.

Ere you go, hear this.

So far as doth the Capitol exceed
the meanest house in Rome,

so far my...

..my son –

this lady's husband here, this,
do you see –

whom you have banished,

does exceed you all.

– Well, well, we'll...leave you.
– [LAUGHTER]

Why stay we to be baited
with one that wants her wits?

Take my prayers with you.

I would the gods had nothing else to do
but to confirm my curses!

Could I meet 'em but once a-day,

it would unclog my heart
of what lies heavy to it.

You have told them home.

And, by my troth, you have cause.

You'll sup with me?

Anger's my meat.

I sup upon myself,
and so shall starve with feeding.

Come, let's go.

Leave this faint puling

and lament as I do,

in anger, Juno-like.

Come.

Come.

Come.

Fie, fie, fie!

A goodly city is this Antium.

City...

..'tis I that made thy widows.

Many an heir of these fair edifices
'fore my wars

have I heard groan and drop.

Then know me not,

lest that thy wives
with spits and boys with stones

in puny battle slay me.

Save you, sir.

And you.

Direct me, if it be your will,
where great Aufidius lies.

Is he in Antium?

He is, and feasts the nobles of the state
at his house this night.

Which is his house, beseech you?

This, here before you.

(CHUCKLES) Thank you, sir. Farewell.

O world, thy slippery turns!

Friends now fast sworn,

whose double bosoms
seem to wear one heart,

whose house, whose bed, whose meal,
and exercise, are still together,

who twin, as 'twere, in love unseparable,
shall within this hour,

on a dissension of a doit,

break out to bitterest enmity.

So, fellest foes, whose passions
and whose plots have broke their sleep,

to take the one the other,

by some chance...

..some trick not worth an egg...

..shall grow dear friends
and interjoin their issues.

So with me.

My birth-place hate I,

and my love's upon this enemy town.

I'll enter.

If he slay me, he does fair justice.

If he give me way...

..I'll do his country service.

Wine, wine, wine! What service is here!
I think our fellows are asleep.

Where is Cotus?
My master calls for him. Cotus!

A goodly house. The feast smells well,
though I appear not like a guest.

What would you have, friend?
Whence are you?

Here's no place for you.
Pray, go to the door.

I have deserved no better entertainment,
in being Coriolanus.

Whence are you, sir?
Has the porter his eyes in his head,

that he gives entrance to such companions?
Pray, get you out.

– Away!
– Away! Get you away.

– Now thou art troublesome.
– Are you so brave?

I'll have you talked with anon.

– What fellow's this?
– A strange one as ever I looked upon.

I cannot get him out of the house.
Prithee, call my master to him.

What have you to do here, fellow?
Pray you, avoid the house.

Let me but stand.
I will not hurt your hearth.

– What are you?
– A gentleman.

(MOCKING LAUGHTER)

– A marvellous poor one.
– True, so I am.

Pray you, poor gentleman,
take up some other station.

Here is no place for you.
Pray you, avoid. Come.

Follow your function, go,
and batten on cold bits.

What, you will not?

Prithee, tell my master
what a strange guest he has here.

And I shall.

Where dwellest thou?

– Under the canopy.
– Under the canopy!

Ay.

Where's that?

– In the city of kites and crows.
– In the city of kites and crows!

What an ass it is!
Then thou dwellest with daws too?

No, I serve not thy master.

How, sir! Do you meddle with my master?

Ay, 'tis an honester service
than to meddle with your mistress.

Thou pratest, and pratest.
Serve with thy trencher.

– Hence!
– Where is this fellow?

Here, sir. I'd have beaten him like a dog,
but for disturbing the lords within.

Whence comest thou?
What wouldst thou? Thy name?

Why speak'st not? Speak, man.
What's thy name?

If, Tullus, not yet thou knowest me,

and, seeing me, dost not think me
for the man I am,

necessity commands me name myself.

What is thy name?

A name unmusical to the Volscians' ears,
and harsh in sound to thine.

Say, what's thy name?
Thou hast a grim appearance,

and thy face...

bears a command in't.

Though thy tackle's torn,
thou show'st a noble vessel.

What is thy name?

Prepare thy brow to frown.

[LAUGHTER]

Know'st thou me yet?

I know thee not. Thy name?

My name

is Caius Martius...

..who hath done to thee particularly
and to all the Volsces

great hurt and mischief...

..thereto witness may my surname...
Coriolanus.

The painful service,

the extreme dangers
and the drops of blood

shed for my thankless country
are requited but with that surname...

..a good memory,

and witness of the malice and displeasure

which thou shouldst bear me.

Only that name remains.

The cruelty and envy of the people,

permitted by our dastard nobles,

who have all forsook me,
hath devoured the rest...

..and suffered me by the voice of slaves
to be whooped out of Rome.

Now this extremity hath brought me
to thy hearth,

not out of hope – mistake me not –
to save my life.

For if I had feared death,

of all the men in the world
I would have 'voided thee.

But in mere spite,

to be full quit of those my banishers,

stand I before thee here.

Then if thou hast
a heart of wreak in thee,

that wilt revenge thine own
particular wrongs

and stop those maims of shame
seen through thy country,

speed thee straight,
and make my misery serve thy turn.

So use it that my revengeful services
may prove as benefits to thee,

for I will fight against
my cankered country

with the spleen of all the under fiends.

But if so be thou darest not this...

..and that to prove more fortunes
thou'rt tired...

..then, in a word...

..I also am longer to live most weary...

..and do present my throat to thee
and to thy ancient malice,

which not to cut
would show thee but a fool...

..since I have ever followed thee
with hate...

..drawn tuns of blood
out of thy country's breast...

..and cannot live but to thy shame...

..unless it be to do thee service.

O Martius, Martius!

Each word thou hast spoke

hath weeded from my heart

a root of ancient envy.

If Jupiter should from yond cloud
speak divine things,

and say 'Tis true'...

..I'd not believe them more than thee,
all noble Martius.

Let me twine mine arms
about that body,

where against my grained ash
an hundred times hath broke

and scarred the moon with splinters.

(CHUCKLES)
Here I clip the anvil of my sword...

..and do contest as hotly
and as nobly with thy love

as ever in ambitious strength
I did contend against thy valour.

Know thou first,

I loved the maid I married,

never man sigh'd truer breath.

But that I see thee here,
thou noble thing,

more dances my rapt heart

than when I first my wedded mistress
saw bestride my threshold.

Why, thou Mars!

I tell thee, we have a power on foot,

and I had purpose once more
to hew thy target from thy brawn,

or lose mine arm for’t.

Thou hast beat me out
twelve several times,

and I have nightly since dreamt of
encounters 'twixt thyself and me.

We have been down together in my sleep,

unbuckling helms,
fisting each other's throat,

and waked half dead with nothing.

Worthy Martius,

had we no quarrel else to Rome,

but that thou art thence banished,

we would muster all
from twelve to seventy,

and pouring war
into the bowels of ungrateful Rome,

like a bold flood o'er-bear.
(LAUGHS MANIACALLY)

O, come, go in, and take
our friendly senators by the hand,

who now are here,
taking their leaves of me,

who am prepared against your territories,
though not for Rome itself.

– You bless me, gods!
– (CHUCKLES)

Therefore, most absolute sir...

..if thou wilt have the leading
of thine own revenges...

..take the one half of my commission...

..and set down
as best thou art experienced,

since thou know'st
thy country's strengths and weakness,

thine own ways, whether to knock
against the gates of Rome,

or rudely visit in parts remote,
to fright them, ere destroy.

But come in,
let me commend thee first

to those that shall say yea
to thy desires.

A thousand welcomes!

And more a friend
than e'er an enemy.

Yet, Martius, that was much.

Your hand.

Most welcome!

[LAUGHTER]

(CLAMOUR OF VOICES)

We hear not of him,
neither need we fear him.

We stood to it in good time.
Is this Menenius?

'Tis he,'tis he.
O, he is grown most kind of late.

Hail sir!

Hail to you both!

Your Coriolanus is not much missed,
but with his friends.

The commonwealth doth stand,
and so would do, were he more angry at it.

All's well, and might have been much
better, if he could have temporized.

Where is he, hear you?

Nay, I hear nothing. His mother
and his wife hear nothing from him.

– The gods preserve you both!
– Good e'en, our neighbours.

Good e'en to you,
good e'en to you.

Ourselves, our husbands,
and our children, on our knees,

are bound to pray for you both.

Live, and thrive!

Farewell, kind neighbours.

We wished Coriolanus
had loved you as we did.

Now the gods keep you!

– Farewell.
– Farewell.

This is a happier and more comely time

than when these fellows
ran about the streets, crying confusion.

Rome sits safe and still.

Worthy tribunes, there is a slave,
whom we have put in prison,

reports the Volsces
with two several powers

are entered in the Roman territories.

And with the deepest malice of the war
destroy what lies before 'em.

Ha! 'Tis Aufidius, who,
hearing of our Martius' banishment,

thrusts forth
his horns again into the world.

Come, what talk you of Martius?

Go see this rumourer whipped.

It cannot be the Volsces
dare break with us.

Cannot be! We have record
that very well it can,

and three examples of the like
have been within my age.

But reason with the fellow,
before you punish him,

where he heard this, lest you shall chance
to whip your information

and beat the messenger who bids beware
of what is to be dreaded.

– Tell not me. I know this cannot be.
– Not possible.

Menenius, we are sent for to the senate.

The nobles in great earnestness
are going all to the Capitol.

Some news is come
that turns their countenances.

Know you yet, good Titus Lartius?

'Tis this slave.
Go whip him, 'fore the people's eyes.

No, sure the slave's report is seconded.
And more, more fearful, is delivered.

What more fearful?

Say on, good Titus Lartius.
What more fearful?

It is spoke freely out of many mouths –
how probable I do not know –

that Martius, joined with Aufidius,
leads a power 'gainst Rome,

and vows revenge as spacious
as between the young'st and oldest thing.

This is most likely!

Raised only, that the weaker sort
may wish good Martius home again.

The very trick on't.

This is unlikely. He and Aufidius can no
more atone than violentest contrariety.

O, you have made good work!

What news? What news?

O you have helped to ravish
your own daughters,

to melt the city leads upon your pates,

to see your wives dishonoured
to your noses...

Pray, your news?
You have made fair work, I fear me,

if Martius should be
joined with Volscians...

If! He is their god.

He leads them like a thing
made by some other deity than nature,

that shapes man better,
and they follow him,

against us brats, with no less confidence

than boys pursuing summer butterflies,
or butchers killing flies.

O you have made good work,
you and your apron-men,

you that stood so up much
upon the voice of occupation

and the breath of garlic-eaters!

He will shake your Rome
about your ears.

– You have made fair work.
– But is this true, sir?

Ay, and you'll look pale
before you find it other.

He is now camped at Corioles,

and all the regions do smilingly revolt.

Those who resist
are mocked for valiant ignorance,

and perish constant fools.
Who is't can blame him?

Your enemies and his
find something in him.

We are all undone,
unless the noble man has mercy.

Who shall ask it?
The tribunes cannot do it for shame.

The people deserve such pity of him
as the wolf does of the shepherds.

For his best friends,
how may they say 'Be good to Rome',

they charged him even as those
should do that had deserved his hate,

and therein showed like enemies.

'Tis true. If he were putting to my house
the brand that should consume it,

I have not the face to say
'Beseech you, cease.'

You have made fair hands, you and
your crafts! You have crafted fair!

You have brought a trembling upon Rome,
such as was never so incapable of help.

Say not we brought it.

How! Was it we? We loved him
but, like beasts and cowardly nobles,

gave way unto your clusters,
who did hoot him out o' the city.

But I fear they'll roar him in again.

Tullus Aufidius, the second name of men,
obeys his points

as if he were his officer.

Desperation is all the policy,
strength and defence,

that Rome can make against them.

O! Here come the clusters.

And is Aufidius with him?

You are they
that made the air unwholesome,

when you cast your stinking greasy caps
in hooting at Coriolanus' exile.

Now he's coming,
and not a hair upon a soldier's head

which will not prove a whip.

As many heads as you threw caps up
will he tumble down,

and pay you for your voices.

(LAUGHS)

'Tis no matter. If he could burn us all
into one coal,

we have deserved it.

Faith, we hear fearful news.

For mine own part, when I said,
banish him, I said 'twas pity.

– And so did I.
– And so did I.

And, in truth,

so did very many of us.

What we did, we did for the best,

and though we willingly consented
to his banishment,

yet it was against our will.

You are goodly things, you voices!

You have made good work, you and your cry!

– Shall's to the Capitol?
– O, ay, what else?

Go, masters, get you home.
Be not dismayed.

These are a side that would be glad
to have this true

which they so seem to fear.

Go home, and show no sign of fear.

The gods keep us!

Come, masters, let's home.

I said we were in the wrong
when we banished him.

So did we all.

I do not like this news.

[LAUGHTER]

Nor I.

Would half my wealth
would buy this for a lie!

Pray, let us go.

Do they still fly to the Roman?

I don't know what witchcraft's in him,

but your soldiers use him
as their grace 'fore meat,

their talk at table,
and their thanks at end,

and you are darkened in this action, sir,
even by your own.

I cannot help it now, unless, by trickery,
I lame the foot of our design.

He bears himself more proudlier,
even to my person,

than I thought he would
when first I did embrace him.

Yet his nature in that's no changeling,
and I must excuse what cannot be amended.

Yet I wish, sir –
and I mean for your particular –

thatyou had not joined in commission
with him...

..but either had borne the action
of yourself,

or else to him had left it solely.

I understand thee well.

And be thou sure,
when he shall come to his account,

he knows not what I can urge against him.

Although it seems, and so he thinks,
and is no less apparent to the vulgar eye,

that he bears all things fairly.

And shows good husbandry for the
Volscian state, fights dragon-like,

and does achieve as soon
as draw his sword,

yet he hath left undone

that which shall break his neck

or hazard mine,
whene'er we come to our account.

Sir, I beseech you,
think you he'll carry Rome?

All places yield to him ere he sits down.

The senators and patricians love him,
the tribunes are no soldiers,

and their people will be as rash
in the repeal,

as hasty to expel him thence.

I think he'll be to Rome
as is the osprey to the fish,

who takes it by sovereignty of nature.

First he was a noble servant to them,

but he could not carry his honours even.

Whether 'twas pride, whether defect
of judgement, or whether nature –

commanding peace
as he controlled the war –

or whether spices of them
all have made him feared,

he's hated, and is banished.

Yet he has a merit to choke it
in the utterance.

One fire drives out one fire,

– one nail, one nail.
– One nail, one nail.

Rights by rights falter,
strengths by strengths do fail.

Come, let's away.

When, Caius, Rome is thine,

thou art poor'st of all –
then shortly art thou mine.

(VOICES WHISPER)

No, I'll not go. You hear what he hath
said to him which was his general,

who loved him in a most dear particular.

He call'd me father. But what o' that?

Go, you that banish'd him,

a mile before his tent fall down,
and knee the way into his mercy.

Nay, if he coyed to hear Cominius speak,
I'll keep at home.

He would not seem to know me.

Do you hear?

Yet one time he did call me by my name.

I urged our old acquaintance,

and the drops
that we have bled together.

Coriolanus he would not answer to,
forbade all names.

He was a kind of nothing, titleless,

till he had forged himself a name
of the fire of burning Rome.

Why, so, you have made good work!

I minded him how royal 'twas to pardon
when it was less expected.

He replied, it was a poor petition of
a state to one whom they had punished.

Very well. Could he say less?

I offered to awaken his regard
for his private friends.

His answer to me was,

he could not stay to pick them
from a pile of noisome musty chaff.

He said 'twas folly,
for one poor grain or two,

to leave unburnt,
and still to nose the offence.

For one poor grain or two!

I am one of those.

His mother, wife, his child, this
brave fellow too, we are the grains.

You are the musty chaff,
and you are smelt above the moon.

We must be burnt for you.

Nay, pray, be patient. If you refuse
your aid in this so never-needed help,

yet do not upbraid us with our distress.

Yet, sure, if you would be
your country's pleader,

your good tongue,

more than the instant army we can make,
might stop our countryman.

No, I'll not meddle.

– Pray you, go to him.
– What should I do?

Only make trial what your love can do
for Rome, towards Martius.

Well, and say that Martius return me,

as Cominius is returned, unheard –
what then?

But as a discontented friend, grief-shot
with his unkindness? Say it be so?

Then take Rome's thanks,
as you intended well.

O!

I'll undertake it.

I think he'll hear me.

Yet, to bite his lip and hum
at good Cominius, much unhearts me.

He was not taken well.

He had not dined. (LAUGHS)

The veins unfilled, our blood is cold,
and then we pout upon the morning,

are unapt to give or to forgive,

but when we have stuffed these
and these conveyances of our blood

with wine and feeding,
we have suppler souls

than in our priest-like fasts.

Therefore I'll watch him till he be dieted
to my request...

..and then I'll set upon him.

You know the very road into his kindness,
and cannot lose your way.

Good faith, I'll prove him,
speed how it will.

I shall ere long have knowledge
of my success.

He'll never hear him.

Not?

I tell you, he does sit in gold,

his eye red as 'twould burn Rome,

and his injury the gaoler to his pity.

I kneeled before him.
'Twas very faintly he said 'Rise',

dismissed me thus,
with his speechless hand.

What he would do,
he sent in writing after me,

what he would not, bound with an oath
to yield to his conditions.

So all hope is vain.

Unless...

..his noble mother, and his wife,

who, as I hear, mean to solicit him

for mercy to his country.

Therefore, let us hence,

and with our fair entreaties
haste them on.

– Stay. Whence are you?
– Stand, and go back.

You guard like men. 'Tis well.

But, by your leave,
I am an officer of state,

and come to speak with Coriolanus.

– From whence?
– From Rome.

You may not pass, you must return.

Our general will no more hear from thence.

You'll see your Rome embraced with fire
before you'll speak with Coriolanus.

Good my friends, if you have
heard your general talk of Rome,

and of his friends there,
it is lots to blanks,

my name hath touched your ears –
it is Menenius.

Well, be it so, go back.

The virtue of your name
is not here passable.

I tell thee, fellow,
the general is my lover.

I have been the book of his good acts,

whence men have read
his name unparalleled, haply amplified.

For I have ever verified my friends,
of whom he's chief,

with all the size that verity would
without lapsing suffer.

Nay, sometimes,
like to a bowl upon a subtle ground,

I have tumbled past the throw

and in his praise
have almost stamp'd the leasing.

Therefore, fellow,
I must have leave to pass.

In faith, sir, if you had told
as many lies in his behalf

as you have uttered words in your own,
you may not pass here, no,

though it were as virtuous to lie
as to live chastely. Therefore, go back.

Prithee, fellow,
remember my name is Menenius,

always factionary
on the party of your general.

Howsoever you have been his liar,
as you say you have,

I am one that, telling true under him,
must say,

you cannot pass.
Therefore, go back.

Has he dined, canst thou tell?

For I would not speak to him
till after dinner.

– You are a Roman, are you?
– I am, as thy general is.

Then you should hate Rome...
as he does.

Can you, when you have pushed out
your gates the very defender of them,

and, in a violent popular ignorance,
given your enemy your shield,

think to front his revenges
with the easy groans of old women...

..or the palsied intercession of such
a decayed dotant as you seem to be?

Can you think to blow out the intended
fire your city is ready to flame in,

with such a weak breath as this?

No, you are deceived.

Therefore, back to Rome,

and prepare for your execution.

You are condemned.

Our general has sworn you
out of reprieve and pardon.

Sirrah, if thy captain knew I were here,
he would use me with estimation.

– Come, sir, my captain knows you not.
– I mean, thy general.

My general cares not for you.

Back, I say!

Go, lest I let forth
your half-pint of blood.

Back, that's the utmost
of your having – back.

– Nay, but, fellow, fellow...
– CORIOLANUS: What's the matter?

MENENIUS: Now, you companion...

You shall know now
that I am in estimation.

You shall perceive that a Jack guardant
cannot office me from my son Coriolanus.

Guess, but by my entertainment with him,

if thou standest not
in the state of hanging,

and swoon for what is to come upon thee.

The glorious gods sit in hourly synod
about thy particular prosperity,

and love thee no worse...

..than thy old father Menenius does!

O my son!

My son!

Thou art preparing fire for us.

Look thee...

(CHUCKLES) ..here's water to quench it.

I was hardly moved to come to thee,

but being assured none but myself
could move thee,

I have been blown out of your gates
with sighs

and conjure thee to pardon Rome,
and thy petitionary countrymen.

The good gods assuage thy wrath,

and turn the dregs of it
upon this varlet here,

this, who, like a block,
hath denied my access to thee.

(LAUGHS)

Away!

How, away!

Wife, mother, child, I know not.

My affairs are servanted to others.

Though I alone owe my revenge,

my remission lies in Volscian breasts.

That we have been familiar,

ingrate forgetfulness shall poison,

rather than pity note how much.

Therefore, begone.

Mine ears against your suits

are stronger than your gates
against my force.

Yet, for I loved thee...

..take this along.

I writ it for thy sake
and would have rent it.

Another word, Menenius,
I will not hear you speak.

This man, Aufidius,
was my beloved in Rome.

Yet thou behold'st!

You keep a constant temper.

He is grown from man to dragon.

This Martius has wings.

He's more than a creeping thing.

When he walks,
he moves like an engine,

and the ground shrinks
before his treading.

There is no more mercy in him
than there is milk in a male tiger.

What he bids be done
is finished with his bidding.

He wants nothing of a god but eternity
and a heaven to throne it in.

Now, sir, is your name...

(MOCKING) ..Menenius?

'Tis a spell, you see, of much power.

You know the way home again.

Do you hear how we are shent
for keeping your greatness back?

What cause, do you think,
I have to swoon?

(LAUGHTER)

I neither care for the world
nor your general.

For such things as you,

I can scarce think there's any,
you are so slight.

He that hath a will to die by himself...

..fears it not from another.

Let your general do his worst.

For you...be that you are, long...

..and your misery increase with your age!

I say to you,

as I was said to...

..away!

A noble fellow, I warrant him.

The worthy fellow is our general.

He is the rock,
the oak not to be wind-shaken.

We will before the walls of Rome
tomorrow set down our host.

My partner in this action,
you must report to the Volscian lords,

how plainly I have borne this business.

Only their ends you have respected,

stopped your ears against
the general suit of Rome,

never admitted a private whisper,

no, not with such friends
that thought them sure of you.

This last old friend...
whom with a cracked heart

I have sent to Rome,

loved me above the measure of a father.

Nay, godded me, indeed.

Their latest refuge was to send him,
for whose old love I have,

though I showed sourly to him,

once more offered the first conditions,

which they did refuse
and cannot now accept,

to grace him only
that thought he could do more.

A very little I have yielded to.

Fresh embassies and suits,
nor from the state nor private friends,

hereafter will I lend ear to.

BOY: Father!

Ha! What shout is this?

Shall I be tempted to infringe my vow
in the same time 'tis made?

I will not.

My wife comes foremost...

..then the honoured mould
wherein this trunk was framed...

..and in her hand
the grandchild to her blood.

But, out, affection!

All bond and privilege of nature, break!

Let it be virtuous to be obstinate.

What is that curtsy worth?

Or those doves' eyes...

..which can make gods forsworn?

I melt...

..and am not of stronger earth
than others.

My mother bows.

As if Olympus to a molehill
should in supplication nod.

And my young boy
hath an aspect of intercession,

which great nature cries 'Deny not.'

Let the Volsces
plough Rome and harrow Italy,

I'll never be such a gosling
to obey instinct, but stand,

as if a man were author of himself
and knew no other kin.

My lord and husband!

These eyes are not the same
I wore in Rome.

The sorrow that delivers us
thus changed makes you think so.

Like a dull actor now,
I have forgot my part.

And I am out...

..even to a full disgrace.

Best of my flesh,

forgive my tyranny.

But do not say for that
'Forgive our Romans.'

O, a kiss.

Long as my exile,
sweet as my revenge!

Now, by the jealous queen of heaven,

that kiss I carried from thee, dear,

and my true lip hath virgined it
e'er since.

You gods! I prate.

And the most noble mother
of the world leave unsaluted.

Sink, my knee, in the earth.

Of thy deep duty more impression show
than that of common sons.

O, stand up blest!

Whilst, with no softer cushion
than the flint,

I kneel before thee,
and unproperly show duty,

as mistaken all the while
between the child and parent.

What's this?

Your knees to me?

To your corrected son?

Then let the pebbles on the hungry beach
strike at the stars.

Then let the mutinous winds

fling the proud cedars
against the fiery sun,

murdering impossibility,
to make what cannot be, slight work.

Thou art my warrior!

I helped to frame thee.

Do you know this lady?

The noble sister of Publicola,
the moon of Rome.

Chaste as the icicle that's congealed
by frost from purest snow

and hangs on Dian's temple –
dear Valeria!

This is a poor epitome of yours,

which by the full interpretation
of time may show like all yourself.

The god of soldiers,

with the consent of supreme Jove...

..inform thy thoughts with nobleness...

..that thou mayst prove
to shame unvulnerable...

..and stick in the wars
like a great sea-mark,

standing every flaw,
and saving those that eye thee!

Thy knee, sirrah.

That's my brave boy!

Even he, your wife, this lady,
and myself, are suitors to you.

I beseech you, peace.

Or, if you'd ask, remember this before –

the thing I have forsworn to grant
may never be held by you denials.

Do not bid me dismiss my soldiers,

or capitulate again
with Rome's mechanics.

Tell me not wherein I seem unnatural.

And desire not to ally my rages
and revenges with your colder reasons.

O, no more, no more!

You have said you will not grant us
any thing,

for we have nothing else to ask
but that which you deny already.

Yet we will ask,

that, if you fail in our request,

the blame may hang upon your hardness.

Therefore hear us.

Aufidius, and you Volsces, mark,

for we'll hear nought from Rome
in private.

Your request?

Should we be silent and not speak,

our raiment and state of bodies
would betray what life

we have led since thy exile.

Think with thyself...

..how more unfortunate

than all living women are we come hither,

since that thy sight,

which should make our eyes flow with joy,

hearts dance with comforts,

constrains them weep
and shake with fear and sorrow,

making the mother, wife and child

to see the son, the husband and the father

tearing his country's bowels out.

And to poor we
thine enmity's most capital.

Thou barr'st us our prayers to the gods,

which is a comfort that all but we enjoy.

For how can we,
alas, how can we for our country pray.

Whereto we are bound, together
with thy victory, whereto we are bound?

Alack, or we must lose
the country, our dear nurse,

or else thy person,

our comfort in the country.

We must face an evident calamity,

though we had our wish,
which side should win.

For either thou must,
as a foreign recreant,

be led with manacles through our streets,

or else triumphantly tread
on thy country's ruin,

and bear the palm for having bravely shed
thy wife and children's blood.

For myself, son...

..I purpose not to wait on fortune
till these wars determine.

If I cannot persuade thee
rather to show a noble grace to both parts

than seek the end of one,

thou shalt no sooner march
to assault thy country than to tread –

trust to it, thou shalt not –

on thy mother's womb,

that brought thee to this world.

Ay, and mine,
that brought you forth this boy,

to keep your name living to time.

A' shall not tread on me.

I'll run away till I am bigger,
but then I'll fight.

Not of a woman's tenderness to be,

requires nor child nor woman's face
to see. I have sat too long.

Nay, go not from us thus.

If it were so that our request
did tend to save the Romans,

thereby to destroy the Volsces
whom you serve,

you might condemn us,
as poisonous of your honour.

No, our suit is that you reconcile them,

so the Volsces may say
'This mercy we have show'd,'

the Romans, 'This we received,'

and each in either side
give the all-hail to thee and cry

'Be blest for making up this peace!'

Thou know'st, great son,

the end of war's uncertain,

but this certain,
that, if thou conquer Rome,

the benefit which thou shalt thereby reap
is such a name,

whose repetition
will be dogged with curses,

whose chronicle thus writ –

'The man was noble,
but with his last attempt he wiped it out,

'destroyed his country,
and his name remains

'to the ensuing age abhorred.'

Speak to me, son.

Think'st thou it honourable
for a noble man still to remember wrongs?

Daughter, speak you.

He cares not for your weeping.

Speak thou, boy.

Perhaps thy childishness will move him
more than can our reasons.

There's no man in the world
more bound to his mother,

yet here he lets me prate
like one in the stocks.

Thou hast never in thy life
shown thy dear mother any courtesy,

when she, poor hen,
fond of no second brood,

has clucked thee to the wars
and safely home,

loaden with honour.

Say my request's unjust,
and spurn me back.

But if it be not so,
thou art not honest,

and the gods will plague thee,

that thou restrain'st from me the duty
which to a mother's part belongs.

He turns away. Down, ladies.

Let us shame him with our knees.

To his surname Coriolanus
'longs more pride

than pity to our prayers.

Down.

(SOBBING) An end.

This is the last.

So...

We will home to Rome...

..and die among our neighbours.

Nay, behold 's.

This boy, that cannot tell
what he would have

but kneels and holds out hands
for fellowship,

does reason our petition
with more strength

than thou hast to deny it.

Come.

Let's go.

This fellow...

..had a Volscian to his mother.

His wife is in Corioles
and his child like him by chance.

Yet give us our dispatch.

I am hushed until our city be afire,

and then I'll speak a little.

O mother.

Mother.

What have you done?

Behold.

The heavens do ope...

..the gods look down...

..and this unnatural scene

they laugh at.

O my mother.

Mother!

O!

You have won a happy victory to Rome.

But, for your son...

Believe it...

O, believe it.

..most dangerously
you have with him prevail'd...

..if not most mortal to him.

But let it come.

Aufidius...

..though I cannot make true wars...

..I'll frame a convenient peace.

Now, good Aufidius,

were you in my stead,
would you have heard a mother less?

Or granted less, Aufidius?

I was moved withal.

I dare be sworn you were.

And, sir...

it is no little thing
to make mine eyes to sweat compassion.

But, good sir...

..what peace you'll make, advise me.

O mother!

Wife!

I'll not to Rome.

But by and by fear not

but we will drink together.

You deserve to have a temple built you.

All the swords in Italy,

and her confederate arms,

could not have made this peace.

Farewell.

Farewell.

Now, good sir...

..what peace you'll make, advise me.

We must proceed
as we do find the people.

Go, tell the lords of the city
what is done,

even in theirs and the commons' ears
I will avouch the truth of it.

This traitor...

– Traitor?
– 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?

Being banished,
you did come unto my hearth,

presented to my knife your throat.

I took you,
made you joint-servant with me,

gave you way in all your own desires,

nay, let you choose out of my files,
your projects to accomplish,

my best and freshest men,
till, at the last,

I seemed your follower, not partner.

Yet...

..what faults you made before the last,

I think might have found easy fines.

But here to end where we were 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.

Volsces, 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,

and at their tears,
which are as cheap as lies,

he whined and roared away your victory,

that pages blushed at him

and men of heart
looked wondering 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!

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 fluttered your Volscians in Corioles.

Alone I did it.

Boy!

My rage is gone
and I am struck with sorrow.

Let him die for it.

(CORIOLANUS YELLS)

The fault is mine.

I raised him,
and I pawned my honour for his truth.

We patient fools

whose children he hath slain,

our base throats tore
with giving him glory.

Take him up.

(GRUNTS)

Hold, hold, hold, hold!

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.

♪ Behold our patroness, the life of Rome!

♪ Call all your tribes together

♪ Praise the gods,
and make triumphant fires

♪ Strew flowers before them

♪ Unshout the noise

♪ That banished Martius

♪ Repeal him
with the welcome of his mother

♪ Cry, Welcome, ladies

♪ Welcome! ♪

[APPLAUSE]

[CHEERING]

[WHISTLING]

[CHEERING]