COMINIUS

Know, I pray you—

CORIOLANUS I’ll know no further.

Let them pronounce the steep Tarpeian death,

Vagabond exile, flaying, pent to linger

But with a grain a day, I would not buy

Their mercy at the price of one fair word,

Nor check my courage for what they can give

To have’t with saying ‘Good morrow’.

SICINIUS For that he has,

As much as in him lies, from time to time

Inveighed against the people, seeking means

To pluck away their power, as now at last

Given hostile strokes, and that not in the presence

Of dreaded justice, but on the ministers

That doth distribute it, in the name o‘th’ people,

And in the power of us the tribunes, we

E’en from this instant banish him our city

In peril of precipitation

From off the rock Tarpeian, never more

To enter our Rome gates. I’th’ people’s name

I say it shall be so.

ALL ⌈THE CITIZENS⌉ It shall be so,

It shall be so. Let him away. He’s banished,

And it shall be so.

COMINIUS

Hear me, my masters and my common friends.

SICINIUS

He’s sentenced. No more hearing.

COMINIUS

Let me speak.

I have been consul, and can show for Rome

Her enemies’ marks upon me. I do love

My country’s good with a respect more tender,

More holy and profound, than mine own life,

My dear wife’s estimate, her womb’s increase,

And treasure of my loins. Then if I would

Speak that—

SICINIUS

We know your drift. Speak what?

BRUTUS

There’s no more to be said, but he is banished,

As enemy to the people and his country.

It shall be so.

ALL ⌈THE CITIZENS⌉ It shall be so, it shall be so.

CORIOLANUS

You common cry of curs, whose breath I hate

As reek o’th’ rotten fens, whose loves I prize

As the dead carcasses of unburied men

That do corrupt my air: I banish you.

And here remain with your uncertainty.

Let every feeble rumour shake your hearts;

Your enemies, with nodding of their plumes,

Fan you into despair! Have the power still

To banish your defenders, till at length

Your ignorance—which finds not till it feels—

Making but reservation of yourselves,

Still your own foes, deliver you

As most abated captives to some nation

That won you without blows! Despising

For you the city, thus I turn my back.

There is a world elsewhere.

Exeunt Coriolanus, Cominius, and Menenius, with the rest of the Patricians. The Citizens all shout, and throw up their caps

AEDILE

The people’s enemy is gone, is gone.

ALL THE CITIZENS

Our enemy is banished, he is gone. Hoo-oo!

SICINIUS

Go see him out at gates, and follow him

As he hath followed you, with all despite.

Give him deserved vexation. Let a guard

Attend us through the city.

ALL THE CITIZENS

Come, come, let’s see him out at gates. Come.

The gods preserve our noble tribunes! Come. Exeunt

4.1 Enter Coriolanus, Volumnia, Virgilia, Menenius, and Cominius, with the young nobility of Rome

CORIOLANUS

Come, leave your tears. A brief farewell. The beast

With many heads butts me away. Nay, mother,

Where is your ancient courage? You were used

To say extremities was the trier of spirits,

That common chances common men could bear,

That when the sea was calm all boats alike

Showed mastership in floating; fortune’s blows

When most struck home, being gentle wounded craves

A noble cunning. You were used to load me

With precepts that would make invincible

The heart that conned them.

VIRGILIA O heavens, O heavens!

CORIOLANUS Nay, I prithee, woman—

VOLUMNIA

Now the red pestilence strike all trades in Rome,

And occupations perish!

CORIOLANUS What, what, what?

I shall be loved when I am lacked. Nay, mother,

Resume that spirit when you were wont to say,

If you had been the wife of Hercules

Six of his labours you’d have done, and saved

Your husband so much sweat. Cominius,

Droop not. Adieu. Farewell, my wife, my mother.

I’ll do well yet. Thou old and true Menenius,

Thy tears are salter than a younger man‘s,

And venomous to thine eyes. My sometime general,

I have seen thee stern, and thou hast oft beheld

Heart-hard’ning spectacles. Tell these sad women

‘Tis fond to wail inevitable strokes

As ’tis to laugh at ’em. My mother, you wot well

My hazards still have been your solace, and—

Believe’t not lightly—though I go alone,

Like to a lonely dragon that his fen

Makes feared and talked of more than seen, your son

Will or exceed the common or be caught

With cautelous baits and practice.

VOLUMNIA My first son,

Whither will thou go? Take good Cominius

With thee a while. Determine on some course

More than a wild exposure to each chance

That starts i’th’ way before thee.