William Shakespeare: The Tragedy of Coriolanus

ACT II. 2. SCENE II. Rome. The Capitol. (continued)

MENENIUS.
Pray now, sit down.

CORIOLANUS.
I had rather have one scratch my head i' the sun
When the alarum were struck, than idly sit
To hear my nothings monster'd.

[Exit.]

MENENIUS.
Masters o' the people,
Your multiplying spawn how can he flatter,--
That's thousand to one good one,--when you now see
He had rather venture all his limbs for honour
Than one on's ears to hear it?--Proceed, Cominius.

COMINIUS.
I shall lack voice: the deeds of Coriolanus
Should not be utter'd feebly.--It is held
That valour is the chiefest virtue, and
Most dignifies the haver: if it be,
The man I speak of cannot in the world
Be singly counterpois'd. At sixteen years,
When Tarquin made a head for Rome, he fought
Beyond the mark of others; our then dictator,
Whom with all praise I point at, saw him fight,
When with his Amazonian chin he drove
The bristled lips before him: he bestrid
An o'erpress'd Roman and i' the consul's view
Slew three opposers: Tarquin's self he met,
And struck him on his knee: in that day's feats,
When he might act the woman in the scene,
He proved best man i' the field, and for his meed
Was brow-bound with the oak. His pupil age
Man-enter'd thus, he waxed like a sea;
And in the brunt of seventeen battles since
He lurch'd all swords of the garland. For this last,
Before and in Corioli, let me say,
I cannot speak him home: he stopp'd the fliers;
And by his rare example made the coward
Turn terror into sport: as weeds before
A vessel under sail, so men obey'd,
And fell below his stem: his sword,--death's stamp,--
Where it did mark, it took; from face to foot
He was a thing of blood, whose every motion
Was timed with dying cries: alone he enter'd
The mortal gate of the city, which he painted
With shunless destiny; aidless came off,
And with a sudden re-enforcement struck
Corioli like a planet. Now all's his:
When, by and by, the din of war 'gan pierce
His ready sense; then straight his doubled spirit
Re-quick'ned what in flesh was fatigate,
And to the battle came he; where he did
Run reeking o'er the lives of men, as if
'Twere a perpetual spoil: and till we call'd
Both field and city ours he never stood
To ease his breast with panting.