Officious and not valiant, you haue sham'd me In your condemned Seconds.
Flourish. Alarum. A Retreat is sounded. Enter at one Doore Cominius, with the Romanes: At another Doore Martius, with his Arme in a Scarfe.
Com. If I should tell thee o're this thy dayes Worke, Thou't not beleeue thy deeds: but Ile report it, Where Senators shall mingle teares with smiles, Where great Patricians shall attend, and shrug, I'th' end admire: where Ladies shall be frighted, And gladly quak'd, heare more: where the dull Tribunes, That with the fustie Plebeans, hate thine Honors, Shall say against their hearts, We thanke the Gods Our Rome hath such a Souldier. Yet cam'st thou to a Morsell of this Feast, Hauing fully din'd before. Enter Titus with his Power, from the Pursuit.
Titus Lartius. Oh Generall: Here is the Steed, wee the Caparison: Hadst thou beheld- Martius. Pray now, no more: My Mother, who ha's a Charter to extoll her Bloud, When she do's prayse me, grieues me: I haue done as you haue done, that's what I can, Induc'd as you haue beene, that's for my Countrey: He that ha's but effected his good will, Hath ouerta'ne mine Act
Com. You shall not be the Graue of your deseruing, Rome must know the value of her owne: 'Twere a Concealement worse then a Theft, No lesse then a Traducement, To hide your doings, and to silence that, Which to the spire, and top of prayses vouch'd, Would seeme but modest: therefore I beseech you, In signe of what you are, not to reward What you haue done, before our Armie heare me
Martius. I haue some Wounds vpon me, and they smart To heare themselues remembred
Com. Should they not: Well might they fester 'gainst Ingratitude, And tent themselues with death: of all the Horses, Whereof we haue ta'ne good, and good store of all, The Treasure in this field atchieued, and Citie, We render you the Tenth, to be ta'ne forth, Before the common distribution, At your onely choyse
Martius. I thanke you Generall: But cannot make my heart consent to take A Bribe, to pay my Sword: I doe refuse it, And stand vpon my common part with those, That haue beheld the doing.
A long flourish. They all cry, Martius, Martius, cast vp their Caps and Launces: Cominius and Lartius stand bare.
Mar. May these same Instruments, which you prophane, Neuer sound more: when Drums and Trumpets shall I'th' field proue flatterers, let Courts and Cities be Made all of false-fac'd soothing: When Steele growes soft, as the Parasites Silke, Let him be made an Ouerture for th' Warres: No more I say, for that I haue not wash'd My Nose that bled, or foyl'd some debile Wretch, Which without note, here's many else haue done, You shoot me forth in acclamations hyperbolicall, As if I lou'd my little should be dieted In prayses, sawc'st with Lyes
Com. Too modest are you: More cruell to your good report, then gratefull To vs, that giue you truly: by your patience, If 'gainst your selfe you be incens'd, wee'le put you (Like one that meanes his proper harme) in Manacles, Then reason safely with you: Therefore be it knowne, As to vs, to all the World, That Caius Martius Weares this Warres Garland: in token of the which, My Noble Steed, knowne to the Campe, I giue him, With all his trim belonging; and from this time, For what he did before Corioles, call him, With all th' applause and Clamor of the Hoast, Marcus Caius Coriolanus. Beare th' addition Nobly euer? Flourish. Trumpets sound, and Drums.
Omnes. Marcus Caius Coriolanus