William Shakespeare, Coriolanus
W. G. Clark, W. Aldis Wright, Ed.

SCENE IV

Mar.
Yonder comes news. A wager they have met.

Lart.
My horse to yours, no.

Mar.
'Tis done.

Lart.
Agreed.

Mar.
Say, has our general met the enemy?

Mess.
They lie in view; but have not spoke as yet.

Lart.
So, the good horse is mine.

Mar.
I'll buy him of you.

Lart.
No, I'll nor sell nor give him: lend you him I will

For half a hundred years. Summon the town.

Mar.
How far off lie these armies?

Mess.
Within this mile and half.

Mar.
Then shall we hear their 'larum, and they ours.

Now, Mars, I prithee, make us quick in work, (11)

That we with smoking swords may march from hence,

To help our fielded friends! Come, blow thy blast. They sound a parley. Enter two Senators with others on the walls.


Tullus Aufidius, is he within your walls?

First Sen.
No, nor a man that fears you less than he,

That's lesser than a little. Drums afar off.


Hark! our drums

Are bringing forth our youth. We'll break our walls,

Rather than they shall pound us up: our gates,

Which yet seem shut, we have but pinn'd with rushes;

They'll open of themselves. Alarum afar off.


Hark you, far off!

There is Aufidius; list, what work he makes (21)

Amongst your cloven army.

Mar.
O, they are at it!

Lart.
Their noise be our instruction. Ladders, ho! Enter the army of the Volsces.

Mar.
They fear us not, but issue forth their city.

Now put your shields before your hearts, and fight

With hearts more proof than shields. Advance, brave Titus:

They do disdain us much beyond our thoughts,

Which makes me sweat with wrath. Come on, my fellows:

He that retires, I'll take him for a Volsce,

And he shall feel mine edge. Alarum. The Romans are beat back to their trenches.
Re-enter MARCIUS, cursing.
(30)

Mar.
All the contagion of the south light on you,

You shames of Rome? you herd of—Boils and plagues

Plaster you o'er, that you may be abhorr'd

Further than seen and one infect another

Against the wind a mile! 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 fright and agued fear! Mend and charge home,

Or, by the fires of heaven, I'll leave the foe (40)

And make my wars on you: look to't: come on:

If you'll stand fast, we'll beat them to their wives,

As they us to our trenches followed. Another alarum. The Volsces fly, and MARCIUS follows them to the gates.


So, now the gates are ope: now prove good seconds:

'Tis for the followers fortune widens them,

Not for the fliers: mark me, and do the like. Enters the gates.

First Sol.
Fool-hardiness; not I.

Sec. Sol.
Nor I. Marcius is shut in.

First Sol.
See, they have shut him in.

All.

To the pot, I warrant him. Alarum continues.
Re-enter TITUS LARTIUS.

Lart.
What is become of Marcius?

All.

Slain, sir, doubtless.

First Sol.
Following the fliers at the very heels,

With them he enters; who, upon the sudden,

Clapp'd to their gates: he is himself alone,

To answer all the city.

Lart.
O noble fellow!

Who sensibly outdares his senseless sword,

And, when it bows, stands up. Thou art left, Marcius:

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, (60)

Thou madest thine enemies shake, as if the world

Were feverous and did tremble. Re-enter MARCIUS, bleeding, assaulted by the enemy.

First Sol.
Look, sir.

Lart.
O, 'tis Marcius!

Let's fetch him off, or make remain alike. They fight, and all enter the city.