ACT 1
Scene 3

...Farewell. Farewell. Farewell.
Enter Volumnia and Virgilia, mother and wife to Martius. They set them down on two low stools and sew.
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 honor than in the embracements
of his bed where he would show most love. When
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 honor would become
such a person—that it was no better than picture-like
to hang by th’ 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.

...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.

...to retire myself.
Indeed you shall not.
Methinks I hear hither your husband’s drum,
See him pluck Aufidius down by th’ 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
Like to a harvestman that’s tasked to mow
Or all or lose his hire.

...Jupiter, no blood!
Away, you fool! It more becomes a man
Than gilt his trophy. The breasts of Hecuba,
When she did suckle Hector, looked not lovelier
Than Hector’s forehead when it spit forth blood
At Grecian sword, contemning.—Tell Valeria
We are fit to bid her welcome.

...from fell Aufidius!
He’ll beat Aufidius’ head below his knee
And tread upon his neck.

...day to you.
Sweet madam.

...well, good madam.
He had rather see the swords and hear a
drum than look upon his schoolmaster.

...he mammocked it!
One on ’s father’s moods.

...out of doors?
She shall, she shall.

...cannot go thither.
Why, I pray you?

...in everything hereafter.
Let her alone, lady. As she is now, she will
but disease our better mirth.

...Well, then, farewell.
Ladies exit.

ACT 2
Scene 1

...Sicinius stand aside.
Enter Volumnia, Virgilia, and Valeria.

...eyes so fast?
Honorable Menenius, my boy Martius approaches.
For the love of Juno, let’s go!

...Martius coming home?
Ay, worthy Menenius, and with most prosperous
approbation.

...Nay, ’tis true.
Look, here’s a letter from him. She produces a paper.
The state hath another, his wife another,
and I think there’s one at home for you.

...no, no, no!
O, he is wounded, I thank the gods for ’t.

...wounds become him.
On ’s brows, Menenius. He comes the third
time home with the oaken garland.

...disciplined Aufidius soundly?
Titus Lartius writes they fought together,
but Aufidius got off.

...possessed of this?
Good ladies, let’s go.—Yes, yes, yes. The
Senate has letters from the General, wherein he
gives my son the whole name of the war. He hath
in this action outdone his former deeds doubly.

...grant them true.
True? Pow waw!

...is he wounded?
I’ th’ shoulder and i’ th’ 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 i’ th’ body.

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

...Hark, the trumpets!
These are the ushers of Martius: before him
he carries noise, and behind him he leaves tears.
Death, that dark spirit, in ’s nervy arm doth lie,
Which, being advanced, declines, and then men die.

...Coriolanus. Sound flourish.
Welcome to Rome, renownèd Coriolanus!

...For my prosperity.Kneels.
Nay, my good soldier, up.

He stands.
My gentle Martius, worthy Caius, and
By deed-achieving honor newly named—
What is it? Coriolanus must I call thee?
But, O, thy wife—

...lady, pardon.
I know not where to turn. O, welcome home!—
And, welcome, general.—And you’re welcome all.

...change of honors.
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
Our Rome will cast upon thee.

...to the Capitol.
Flourish of cornets. They exit in state, as before.

ACT 3
Scene 2

...peace or war.
Enter Volumnia.

...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 been enough the man you are
With striving less to be so. Lesser had been
The thwartings of your dispositions if
You had not showed them how you were disposed
Ere they lacked power to cross you.

...Let them hang!
Ay, and burn too.

...midst and perish.
Pray be counseled.
I have a heart as little apt as yours,
But yet a brain that leads my use of anger
To better vantage.

...’t to them?
You are too absolute,
Though therein you can never be too noble
But when extremities speak. I have heard you say
Honor and policy, like unsevered friends,
I’ th’ war do grow together. Grant that, and tell me
In peace what each of them by th’ other lose
That they combine not there?

...good demand.
If it be honor 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 hold companionship in peace
With honor as in war, since that to both
It stands in like request?

...force you this?
Because that now it lies you on to speak
To th’ people, not by your own instruction,
Nor by th’ matter which your heart prompts you,
But with such words that are but roted in
Your tongue, though but bastards and syllables
Of no allowance to your bosom’s truth.
Now, this no more dishonors 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 where
My fortunes and my friends at stake required
I should do so in honor. 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.

...what is past.
I prithee now, my son,
Go to them with this bonnet in thy hand,
And thus far having stretched it—here be with them—
Thy knee bussing the stones—for in such business
Action is eloquence, and the eyes of th’ ignorant
More learnèd than the ears—waving thy head,
Which often thus correcting thy stout heart,
Now 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.

...to little purpose.
Prithee now,
Go, and be ruled; although I know thou hadst rather
Follow thine enemy in a fiery gulf
Than flatter him in a bower.

Enter Cominius.
Here is Cominius.

...frame his spirit.
He must, and will.—
Prithee, now, say you will, and go about it.

...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.

...most inherent baseness.
At thy choice, then.
To beg of thee, it is my more dishonor
Than thou of them. Come all to ruin. Let
Thy mother rather feel thy pride than fear
Thy dangerous stoutness, for I mock at death
With as big heart as thou. Do as thou list.
Thy valiantness was mine; thou suck’st it from me,
But owe thy pride thyself.

...of flattery further.
Do your will.
Volumnia exits.

ACT 4
Scene 1

...noble tribunes! Come!
Enter Coriolanus, Volumnia, Virgilia, Menenius, Cominius, with the young nobility of Rome.

...prithee, woman—
Now the red pestilence strike all trades in Rome,
And occupations perish!

...baits and practice.
My first son,
Whither wilt thou go? Take good Cominius
With thee awhile. Determine on some course
More than a wild exposure to each chance
That starts i’ th’ way before thee.

...thy hand. Come.
They exit.

Scene 2

...comes his mother.
Enter Volumnia, Virgilia, and Menenius.

...on your way.
O, you’re well met. The hoarded plague o’ th’ gods
Requite your love!

...not so loud.
to the Tribunes
If that I could for weeping, you should hear—
Nay, and you shall hear some. (To Sicinius.)
Will you be gone?

...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 blessèd 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.

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

...would he had.
“I would he had”? ’Twas you incensed the rabble.
Cats, that can judge as fitly of his worth
As I can of those mysteries which heaven
Will not have Earth to know.

...Pray, let’s go.
Now, pray, sir, get you gone.
You have done a brave deed. Ere you go, hear this:
As far as doth the Capitol exceed
The meanest house in Rome, so far my son—
This lady’s husband here, this, do you see?—
Whom you have banished, does exceed you all.

...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 ’t.

...with me?
Anger’s my meat. I sup upon myself
And so shall starve with feeding. (To Virgilia.)
Come, let’s go.
Leave this faint puling, and lament as I do,
In anger, Juno-like. Come, come, come.
They exit.

ACT 5
Scene 3

...I will not.
Enter Virgilia, Volumnia, Valeria, young Martius, with Attendants.

...earth than others.
Volumnia bows.

...of common sons.
O, stand up blest,

He rises.
Whilst with no softer cushion than the flint
I kneel before thee and unproperly
Show duty, as mistaken all this while
Between the child and parent.
She kneels.

...your corrected son?
He raises her up.

...be slight work.
Thou art my warrior;
I holp to frame thee. Do you know this lady?

...Dian’s temple!—Dear Valeria.
presenting young Martius
This is a poor epitome of yours,
Which by th’ interpretation of full time
May show like all yourself.

...that eye thee.
to young Martius
Your knee, sirrah.

...my brave boy!
Even he, your wife, this lady, and myself
Are suitors to you.

...Your colder reasons.
O, no more, no more!
You have said you will not grant us anything;
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.

...Your request?
Should we be silent and not speak, our raiment
And state of bodies would bewray 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 find
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 ’t, thou shalt not—on thy mother’s womb
That brought thee to this world.

...too long.He rises.
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 honor. No, our suit
Is that you reconcile them, while the Volsces
May say “This mercy we have showed,” 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 th’ ensuing age abhorred.” Speak to me, son.
Thou hast affected the fine strains of honor
To imitate the graces of the gods,
To tear with thunder the wide cheeks o’ th’ air
And yet to charge thy sulfur with a bolt
That should but rive an oak. Why dost not speak?
Think’st thou it honorable 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 ’s mother, yet here he lets me prate
Like one i’ th’ stocks. Thou hast never in thy life
Showed 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 honor. 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! An end. They kneel.
This is the last. So, we will home to Rome
And die among our neighbors.—Nay, behold ’s.
This boy that cannot tell what he would have,
But kneels and holds up hands for fellowship,
Does reason our petition with more strength
Than thou hast to deny ’t.—Come, let us go. They rise.
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.
He holds her by the hand, silent.

...this cause.—O mother!—Wife!
He speaks with them aside.

...made this peace.
They exit.

Scene 5

...help the joy.
Enter two Senators, with Ladies (Volumnia, Virgilia, Valeria) passing over the stage, with other Lords.

...drums and trumpets.
They exit.