1    If I should tell thee o'er this thy day's work,
2    Thou'ldst not believe thy deeds: but I'll report it
3    Where senators shall mingle tears with smiles,
4    Where great patricians shall attend and shrug,
5    I' the end admire, where ladies shall be frighted,
6    And, gladly quaked, hear more; where the
7    dull tribunes,
8    That, with the fusty plebeians, hate thine honours,
9    Shall say against their hearts 'We thank the gods
10   Our Rome hath such a soldier.'
11   Yet camest thou to a morsel of this feast,
12   Having fully dined before.

13   O general,
14   Here is the steed, we the caparison:
15   Hadst thou beheld--

16   Pray now, no more: my mother,
17   Who has a charter to extol her blood,
18   When she does praise me grieves me. I have done
19   As you have done; that's what I can; induced
20   As you have been; that's for my country:
21   He that has but effected his good will
22   Hath overta'en mine act.

23   You shall not be
24   The grave of your deserving; Rome must know
25   The value of her own: 'twere a concealment
26   Worse than a theft, no less than a traducement,
27   To hide your doings; and to silence that,
28   Which, to the spire and top of praises vouch'd,
29   Would seem but modest: therefore, I beseech you
30   In sign of what you are, not to reward
31   What you have done--before our army hear me.

32   I have some wounds upon me, and they smart
33   To hear themselves remember'd.

34   Should they not,
35   Well might they fester 'gainst ingratitude,
36   And tent themselves with death. Of all the horses,
37   Whereof we have ta'en good and good store, of all
38   The treasure in this field achieved and city,
39   We render you the tenth, to be ta'en forth,
40   Before the common distribution, at
41   Your only choice.

42   I thank you, general;
43   But cannot make my heart consent to take
44   A bribe to pay my sword: I do refuse it;
45   And stand upon my common part with those
46   That have beheld the doing.

47   May these same instruments, which you profane,
48   Never sound more! when drums and trumpets shall
49   I' the field prove flatterers, let courts and cities be
50   Made all of false-faced soothing!
51   When steel grows soft as the parasite's silk,
52   Let him be made a coverture for the wars!
53   No more, I say! For that I have not wash'd
54   My nose that bled, or foil'd some debile wretch.--
55   Which, without note, here's many else have done,--
56   You shout me forth
57   In acclamations hyperbolical;
58   As if I loved my little should be dieted
59   In praises sauced with lies.

60   Too modest are you;
61   More cruel to your good report than grateful
62   To us that give you truly: by your patience,
63   If 'gainst yourself you be incensed, we'll put you,
64   Like one that means his proper harm, in manacles,
65   Then reason safely with you. Therefore, be it known,
66   As to us, to all the world, that Caius Marcius
67   Wears this war's garland: in token of the which,
68   My noble steed, known to the camp, I give him,
69   With all his trim belonging; and from this time,
70   For what he did before Corioli, call him,
71   With all the applause and clamour of the host,
72   CAIUS MARCIUS CORIOLANUS! Bear
73   The addition nobly ever!

74   Caius Marcius Coriolanus!

75   I will go wash;
76   And when my face is fair, you shall perceive
77   Whether I blush or no: howbeit, I thank you.
78   I mean to stride your steed, and at all times
79   To undercrest your good addition
80   To the fairness of my power.

81   So, to our tent;
82   Where, ere we do repose us, we will write
83   To Rome of our success. You, Titus Lartius,
84   Must to Corioli back: send us to Rome
85   The best, with whom we may articulate,
86   For their own good and ours.

87   I shall, my lord.

88   The gods begin to mock me. I, that now
89   Refused most princely gifts, am bound to beg
90   Of my lord general.

91   Take't; 'tis yours. What is't?

92   I sometime lay here in Corioli
93   At a poor man's house; he used me kindly:
94   He cried to me; I saw him prisoner;
95   But then Aufidius was within my view,
96   And wrath o'erwhelm'd my pity: I request you
97   To give my poor host freedom.

98   O, well begg'd!
99   Were he the butcher of my son, he should
100  Be free as is the wind. Deliver him, Titus.

101  Marcius, his name?

102  By Jupiter! forgot.
103  I am weary; yea, my memory is tired.
104  Have we no wine here?

105  Go we to our tent:
106  The blood upon your visage dries; 'tis time
107  It should be look'd to: come.