William Shakespeare: The Tragedy of Coriolanus

ACT I. 9. SCENE IX. The Roman camp. (continued)

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

[A long flourish. They all cry 'Marcius, Marcius!', cast up their
caps and lances. COMINIUS and LARTIUS stand bare.]

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

COMINIUS.
Too modest are you;
More cruel to your good report than grateful
To us that give you truly; by your patience,
If 'gainst yourself you be incens'd, we'll put you,--
Like one that means his proper harm,--in manacles,
Then reason safely with you.--Therefore be it known,
As to us, to all the world, that Caius Marcius
Wears this war's garland: in token of the which,
My noble steed, known to the camp, I give him,
With all his trim belonging; and from this time,
For what he did before Corioli, call him,
With all the applause--and clamour of the host,
'Caius Marcius Coriolanus.'--
Bear the addition nobly ever!

[Flourish. Trumpets sound, and drums]

ALL.
Caius Marcius Coriolanus!

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

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

LARTIUS.
I shall, my lord.