Shakespearefor Bharat
Coriolanus

Act I · Scene IX

The Roman camp.

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Flourish. Alarum. A retreat is sounded. Flourish. Enter, from one side, COMINIUS with the Romans; from the other side, MARCIUS, with his arm in a scarf

COMINIUS
If I should tell thee o'er this thy day's work,Thou'ldst not believe thy deeds: but I'll report itWhere senators shall mingle tears with smiles,Where great patricians shall attend and shrug,I' the end admire, where ladies shall be frighted,And, gladly quaked, hear more; where thedull tribunes,That, with the fusty plebeians, hate thine honours,Shall say against their hearts 'We thank the godsOur Rome hath such a soldier.'Yet camest thou to a morsel of this feast,Having fully dined before.

Enter TITUS LARTIUS, with his power, from the pursuit

LARTIUS
O general,Here is the steed, we the caparison:Hadst thou beheld--
MARCIUS
Pray now, no more: my mother,Who has a charter to extol her blood,When she does praise me grieves me. I have doneAs you have done; that's what I can; inducedAs you have been; that's for my country:He that has but effected his good willHath overta'en mine act.
COMINIUS
You shall not beThe grave of your deserving; Rome must knowThe value of her own: 'twere a concealmentWorse than a theft, no less than a traducement,To hide your doings; and to silence that,Which, to the spire and top of praises vouch'd,Would seem but modest: therefore, I beseech youIn sign of what you are, not to rewardWhat you have done--before our army hear me.
MARCIUS
I have some wounds upon me, and they smartTo hear themselves remember'd.
COMINIUS
Should they not,Well might they fester 'gainst ingratitude,And tent themselves with death. Of all the horses,Whereof we have ta'en good and good store, of allThe treasure in this field achieved and city,We render you the tenth, to be ta'en forth,Before the common distribution, atYour only choice.
MARCIUS
I thank you, general;But cannot make my heart consent to takeA bribe to pay my sword: I do refuse it;And stand upon my common part with thoseThat have beheld the doing.

A long flourish. They all cry 'Marcius! Marcius!' cast up their caps and lances: COMINIUS and LARTIUS stand bare

MARCIUS
May these same instruments, which you profane,Never sound more! when drums and trumpets shallI' the field prove flatterers, let courts and cities beMade all of false-faced soothing!When steel grows soft as the parasite's silk,Let him be made a coverture for the wars!No more, I say! For that I have not wash'dMy nose that bled, or foil'd some debile wretch.--Which, without note, here's many else have done,--You shout me forthIn acclamations hyperbolical;As if I loved my little should be dietedIn praises sauced with lies.
COMINIUS
Too modest are you;More cruel to your good report than gratefulTo us that give you truly: by your patience,If 'gainst yourself you be incensed, we'll put you,Like one that means his proper harm, in manacles,Then reason safely with you. Therefore, be it known,As to us, to all the world, that Caius MarciusWears this war's garland: in token of the which,My noble steed, known to the camp, I give him,With all his trim belonging; and from this time,For what he did before Corioli, call him,With all the applause and clamour of the host,CAIUS MARCIUS CORIOLANUS! BearThe addition nobly ever!

Flourish. Trumpets sound, and drums

All
Caius Marcius Coriolanus!
CORIOLANUS
I will go wash;And when my face is fair, you shall perceiveWhether I blush or no: howbeit, I thank you.I mean to stride your steed, and at all timesTo undercrest your good additionTo the fairness of my power.
COMINIUS
So, to our tent;Where, ere we do repose us, we will writeTo Rome of our success. You, Titus Lartius,Must to Corioli back: send us to RomeThe best, with whom we may articulate,For their own good and ours.
LARTIUS
I shall, my lord.
CORIOLANUS
The gods begin to mock me. I, that nowRefused most princely gifts, am bound to begOf my lord general.
COMINIUS
Take't; 'tis yours. What is't?
CORIOLANUS
I sometime lay here in CorioliAt a poor man's house; he used me kindly:He cried to me; I saw him prisoner;But then Aufidius was with in my view,And wrath o'erwhelm'd my pity: I request youTo give my poor host freedom.
COMINIUS
O, well begg'd!Were he the butcher of my son, he shouldBe free as is the wind. Deliver him, Titus.
LARTIUS
Marcius, his name?
CORIOLANUS
By Jupiter! forgot.I am weary; yea, my memory is tired.Have we no wine here?
COMINIUS
Go we to our tent:The blood upon your visage dries; 'tis timeIt should be look'd to: come.

Exeunt