The Bodleian First Folio

A digital facsimile of the First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Bodleian Arch. G c.7.



Text and Image

Here you can read a digital edition of each play in various views.

Page Image & Text
Digital Text
XML

Reference: aa4r - Tragedies, p. 7

Left Column


The Tragedie of Coriolanus.
[Act 1, Scene 9] 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,
[700]
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
[705]
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:
[710]
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,
[715]
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:
[720]
'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,
[725]
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:
[730]
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,
[735]
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,
[740]
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
[745]
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

Image


[full image]

Right Column


My Nose that bled, or foyl'd some debile Wretch,
[750]
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:
[755]
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,
[760]
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,
[765]
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

Martius. I will goe wash: And when my Face is faire, you shall perceiue
[770]
Whether I blush or no: howbeit, I thanke you, I meane to stride your Steed, and at all times To vnder‑crest your good Addition, To th'fairenesse of my power.
Com. So, to our Tent:
[775]
Where ere we doe repose vs, we will write To Rome of our successe: you Titus Lartius Must to Corioles backe, send vs to Rome The best, with whom we may articulate, For their owne good, and ours.
Lartius.
[780]

I shall, my Lord.

Martius. The Gods begin to mocke me: I that now refus'd most Princely gifts, Am bound to begge of my Lord Generall. Com.

Tak't, 'tis yours: what is't?

Martius.
[785]
I sometime lay here in Corioles, At a poore mans house: he vs'd me kindly, He cry'd to me: I saw him Prisoner: But then Auffidius was within my view, And Wrath o're‑whelm'd my pittie: I request you
[790]
To giue my poore Host freedome.
Com. Oh well begg'd: Were he the Butcher of my Sonne, he should Be free, as is the Winde: deliuer him, Titus. Lartius.

Martius, his Name.

Martius.
[795]
By Iupiter forgot: I am wearie, yea, my memorie is tyr'd: Haue we no Wine here?
Com. Goe we to our Tent: The bloud vpon your Visage dryes, 'tis time
[800]
It should be lookt too: come.
Exeunt.
[Act 1, Scene 10] A flourish. Cornets. Enter Tullus Auffidius bloudie, with two or three Souldiors. Auffi.

The Towne is ta'ne.

Sould.

'Twill be deliuer'd backe on good Condition.

Auffid. Condition? I would I were a Roman, for I cannot,
[805]
Being a Volce, be that I am. Condition? What good Condition can a Treatie finde I'th'part that is at mercy ? fiue times, Martius, I haue fought with thee; so often hast thou beat me: And would'st doe so, I thinke, should we encounter As

Download the digital text and images of the play



 
[Act 1, Scene 10] A flourish. Cornets. Enter Tullus Auffidius bloudie, with two or three Souldiors. Auffi.

The Towne is ta'ne.

Sould.

'Twill be deliuer'd backe on good Condition.

Auffid. Condition? I would I were a Roman, for I cannot,
[805]
Being a Volce, be that I am. Condition? What good Condition can a Treatie finde I'th'part that is at mercy ? fiue times, Martius, I haue fought with thee; so often hast thou beat me: And would'st doe so, I thinke, should we encounter
[810]
As often as we eate. By th'Elements, If ere againe I meet him beard to beard, He's mine, or I am his: Mine Emulation Hath not that Honor in't it had: For where I thought to crush him in an equall Force,
[815]
True Sword to Sword: Ile potche at him some way, Or Wrath, or Craft may get him.
Sol.

He's the diuell.

Auf. Bolder, though not so subtle: my valors poison'd, With onely suff'ring staine by him: for him
[820]
Shall flye out of it selfe, nor sleepe, nor sanctuary, Being naked, sicke; nor Phane, nor Capitoll, The Prayers of Priests, nor times of Sacrifice: Embarquements all of Fury, shall lift vp Their rotten Priuiledge, and Custome 'gainst
[825]
My hate to Martius. Where I finde him, were it At home, vpon my Brothers Guard, euen there Against the hospitable Canon, would I Wash my fierce hand in's heart. Go you to th' Citie, Learne how 'tis held, and what they are that must
[830]
Be Hostages for Rome.
Soul.

Will not you go?

Auf. I am attended at the Cyprus groue. I pray you ('Tis South the City Mils) bring me word thither How the world goes: that to the pace of it
[835]
I may spurre on my iourney.
Soul.

I shall sir.

 

Download the digital text of the play

        
<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8"?>
<div type="scene" n="10" rend="notPresent">
   <head type="supplied">[Act 1, Scene 10]</head>
   <stage rend="italic center" type="mixed">A flourish. Cornets. Enter Tullus Auffidius
      <lb/>bloudie, with two or three Souldiors.</stage>
   <sp who="#F-cor-auf">
      <speaker rend="italic">Auffi.</speaker>
      <p n="801">The Towne is ta'ne.</p>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-cor-sol">
      <speaker rend="italic">Sould.</speaker>
      <p n="802">'Twill be deliuer'd backe on good Condition.</p>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-cor-auf">
      <speaker rend="italic">Auffid.</speaker>
      <l n="803">Condition?</l>
      <l n="804">I would I were a Roman, for I cannot,</l>
      <l n="805">Being a<hi rend="italic">Volce</hi>, be that I am. Condition?</l>
      <l n="806">What good Condition can a Treatie finde</l>
      <l n="807">I'th'part that is at mercy<hi rend="italic">?</hi>fiue times,<hi rend="italic">Martius</hi>,</l>
      <l n="808">I haue fought with thee; so often hast thou beat me:</l>
      <l n="809">And would'st doe so, I thinke, should we encounter</l>
      <pb facs="FFimg:axc0626-0.jpg" n="8"/>
      <cb n="1"/>
      <l n="810">As often as we eate. By th'Elements,</l>
      <l n="811">If ere againe I meet him beard to beard,</l>
      <l n="812">He's mine, or I am his: Mine Emulation</l>
      <l n="813">Hath not that Honor in't it had: For where</l>
      <l n="814">I thought to crush him in an equall Force,</l>
      <l n="815">True Sword to Sword: Ile potche at him some way,</l>
      <l n="816">Or Wrath, or Craft may get him.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-cor-sol">
      <speaker rend="italic">Sol.</speaker>
      <p n="817">He's the diuell.</p>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-cor-auf">
      <speaker rend="italic">Auf.</speaker>
      <l n="818">Bolder, though not so subtle: my valors poison'd,</l>
      <l n="819">With onely suff'ring staine by him: for him</l>
      <l n="820">Shall flye out of it selfe, nor sleepe, nor sanctuary,</l>
      <l n="821">Being naked, sicke; nor Phane, nor Capitoll,</l>
      <l n="822">The Prayers of Priests, nor times of Sacrifice:</l>
      <l n="823">Embarquements all of Fury, shall lift vp</l>
      <l n="824">Their rotten Priuiledge, and Custome 'gainst</l>
      <l n="825">My hate to<hi rend="italic">Martius</hi>. Where I finde him, were it</l>
      <l n="826">At home, vpon my Brothers Guard, euen there</l>
      <l n="827">Against the hospitable Canon, would I</l>
      <l n="828">Wash my fierce hand in's heart. Go you to th' Citie,</l>
      <l n="829">Learne how 'tis held, and what they are that must</l>
      <l n="830">Be Hostages for Rome.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-cor-sol">
      <speaker rend="italic">Soul.</speaker>
      <p n="831">Will not you go?</p>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-cor-auf">
      <speaker rend="italic">Auf.</speaker>
      <l n="832">I am attended at the Cyprus groue. I pray you</l>
      <l n="833">('Tis South the City Mils) bring me word thither</l>
      <l n="834">How the world goes: that to the pace of it</l>
      <l n="835">I may spurre on my iourney.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-cor-sol">
      <speaker rend="italic">Soul.</speaker>
      <p n="836">I shall sir.</p>
   </sp>
</div>

        
        

Download the XML