Original
Modern English
Wine, wine, wine! What service is here! I think our fellows are asleep.
Wine, wine, wine! What’s going on here? I think our men are all asleep.
Where’s Cotus? my master calls for him. Cotus!
Where’s Cotus? My master wants him. Cotus!
A goodly house: the feast smells well; but I Appear not like a guest.
A fine house. The feast smells good, but I Don’t feel like I’m a guest here.
What would you have, friend? whence are you? Here’s no place for you: pray, go to the door.
What do you want, friend? Where are you from? This isn’t the place for you. Please, go to the door.
I have deserved no better entertainment, In being Coriolanus.
I don’t deserve any better treatment, Just for being Coriolanus.
Whence are you, sir? Has the porter his eyes in his head; that he gives entrance to such companions? Pray, get you out.
Where are you from, sir? Does the doorman not see That he lets in people like you? Please, leave.
Away!
Get out of my way!
Away! get you away.
Get out! Leave now.
Now thou’rt troublesome.
Now you’re just being a nuisance.
Are you so brave? I’ll have you talked with anon.
You think you’re so tough? I’ll have someone talk to you soon.
What fellow’s this?
Who’s this guy?
A strange one as ever I looked on: I cannot get him out of the house: prithee, call my master to him.
A strange one, like nothing I’ve seen before: I can’t get him out of the house: please, call my master to him.
What have you to do here, fellow? Pray you, avoid the house.
What are you doing here, man? Please, leave the house.
Let me but stand; I will not hurt your hearth.
Just let me stand here; I won’t harm your home.
What are you?
Who are you?
A gentleman.
A gentleman.
A marvellous poor one.
A terribly poor one.
True, so I am.
True, that’s right.
Pray you, poor gentleman, take up some other station; here’s no place for you; pray you, avoid: come.
Please, poor man, go stand somewhere else; there’s no place for you here; please, leave: come on.
Follow your function, go, and batten on cold bits.
Do your job, go, and feed on scraps.
What, you will not? Prithee, tell my master what a strange guest he has here.
What, you won’t? Please, tell my master what a strange guest he has here.
And I shall.
And I will.
Where dwellest thou?
Where do you live?
Under the canopy.
Under the shelter.
Under the canopy!
Under the shelter!
Ay.
Yes.
Where’s that?
Where’s that?
I’ the city of kites and crows.
In the city of vultures and scavengers.
I’ the city of kites and crows! What an ass it is! Then thou dwellest with daws too?
In the city of vultures and scavengers! What a fool you are! Then you live with crows too?
No, I serve not thy master.
No, I don’t serve your master.
How, sir! do you meddle with my master?
What did you say, sir! Do you have a problem with my master?
Ay; ’tis an honester service than to meddle with thy mistress. Thou pratest, and pratest; serve with thy trencher, hence!
Yes; it’s a more honorable job than dealing with your mistress. You talk too much, and talk too much; go serve with your plate, get out of here!
Where is this fellow?
Where is this guy?
Here, sir: I’ld have beaten him like a dog, but for disturbing the lords within.
Here, sir: I would have beaten him like a dog, but I didn’t want to disturb the lords inside.
Whence comest thou? what wouldst thou? thy name? Why speak’st not? speak, man: what’s thy name?
Where are you from? What do you want? What’s your name? Why aren’t you speaking? Speak, man: what’s your name?
If, Tullus,
If, Tullus,
Not yet thou knowest me, and, seeing me, dost not Think me for the man I am, necessity Commands me name myself.
Not yet you know who I am, and, seeing me, you don’t Think I’m the man I really am, necessity Forces me to tell you my name.
What is thy name?
What is your name?
A name unmusical to the Volscians’ ears, And harsh in sound to thine.
A name that sounds unpleasant to the Volscians, And harsh to your ears as well.
Say, what’s thy name? Thou hast a grim appearance, and thy face Bears a command in’t; though thy tackle’s torn. Thou show’st a noble vessel: what’s thy name?
Say, what’s your name? You look fierce, and your face Shows command, even though you’re in tatters. You look like a noble ship: what’s your name?
Prepare thy brow to frown: know’st thou me yet?
Get ready to frown: do you know Who I am yet?
I know thee not: thy name?
I don’t know you: what’s your name?
My name is Caius Marcius, who hath done To thee particularly and to all the Volsces Great hurt and mischief; thereto witness may My surname, Coriolanus: the painful service, The extreme dangers and the drops of blood Shed for my thankless country are requited But with that surname; a good memory, And witness of the malice and displeasure Which thou shouldst bear me: only that name remains; The cruelty and envy of the people, Permitted by our dastard nobles, who Have all forsook me, hath devour’d the rest; And suffer’d me by the voice of slaves to be Whoop’d out of Rome. Now this extremity Hath brought me to thy hearth; not out of hope-- Mistake me not--to save my life, for if I had fear’d death, of all the men i’ the world I would have ’voided thee, but in mere spite, To be full quit of those my banishers, Stand I before thee here. Then if thou hast A heart of wreak in thee, that wilt revenge Thine own particular wrongs and stop those maims Of shame seen through thy country, speed thee straight, And make my misery serve thy turn: so use it That my revengeful services may prove As benefits to thee, for I will fight Against my canker’d country with the spleen Of all the under fiends. But if so be Thou darest not this and that to prove more fortunes Thou’rt tired, then, in a word, I also am Longer to live most weary, and present My throat to thee and to thy ancient malice; Which not to cut would show thee but a fool, Since I have ever follow’d thee with hate, Drawn tuns of blood out of thy country’s breast, And cannot live but to thy shame, unless It be to do thee service.
My name is Caius Marcius, who has done You, and all the Volscians, much harm And mischief; my surname, Coriolanus, is proof of that. The painful service, the extreme dangers, and the blood Shed for my thankless country are repaid Only with that surname; a good memory, And a sign of the hate and anger You should feel toward me: that name is all that’s left; The cruelty and envy of the people, Allowed by our cowardly nobles, who Have all abandoned me, have taken everything else; And I’ve been driven out of Rome by the voice of slaves. Now this extreme Situation has brought me to your home; not out of hope-- Don’t get me wrong--to save my life, because if I feared death, I would have avoided you of all men, But purely out of spite, To get back at those who banished me, I stand here before you. So if you have A heart for revenge, that will right Your own personal wrongs and stop the wounds Of shame seen in your country, act quickly, And make my suffering serve your purpose: use it So that my vengeful actions may work As benefits to you, for I will fight Against my diseased country with the fury Of all the underworld’s demons. But if you dare not, And you’re too tired to try more, then, in one word, I’m Also tired of living, and ready To give my throat to you and to your old hatred; Not to cut it would only make you look a fool, Since I’ve always hated you, And drawn tons of blood from your country’s heart, And can only live to your shame, unless I do you some service.
O Marcius, Marcius! Each word thou hast spoke hath weeded from my heart A root of ancient envy. If Jupiter Should from yond cloud speak divine things, And say ’Tis true,’ I’ld not believe them more Than thee, all noble Marcius. Let me twine Mine arms about that body, where against My grained ash an hundred times hath broke And scarr’d the moon with splinters: here I clip The anvil of my sword, and do contest As hotly and as nobly with thy love As ever in ambitious strength I did Contend against thy valour. Know thou first, I loved the maid I married; never man Sigh’d truer breath; but that I see thee here, Thou noble thing! more dances my rapt heart Than when I first my wedded mistress saw Bestride my threshold. Why, thou Mars! I tell thee, We have a power on foot; and I had purpose Once more to hew thy target from thy brawn, Or lose mine arm fort: thou hast beat me out Twelve several times, and I have nightly since Dreamt of encounters ’twixt thyself and me; We have been down together in my sleep, Unbuckling helms, fisting each other’s throat, And waked half dead with nothing. Worthy Marcius, Had we no quarrel else to Rome, but that Thou art thence banish’d, we would muster all From twelve to seventy, and pouring war Into the bowels of ungrateful Rome, Like a bold flood o’er-bear. O, come, go in, And take our friendly senators by the hands; Who now are here, taking their leaves of me, Who am prepared against your territories, Though not for Rome itself.
Oh Marcius, Marcius! Every word you’ve said has pulled an old root of envy from my heart. If Jupiter Should speak from the sky and say ’It’s true,’ I wouldn’t believe him more than I believe you, all noble Marcius. Let me wrap My arms around your body, against which My tough oak has broken a hundred times And scarred the moon with splinters: here I hold The forge of my sword, and I fight As passionately and nobly for your love As I have ever fought against your courage. Know this, I loved the woman I married; no man Ever sighed more truthfully; but when I see you here, You noble man! my heart dances more Than when I first saw my bride Step over the threshold. Why, you are like Mars! I tell you, We have power on our side; and I had intended To take your shield from your arm once again, Or lose my arm in the process: you’ve beaten me Twelve times, and since then I’ve dreamed Of us fighting each other; We’ve been on the ground together in my sleep, Pulling off helmets, choking each other, And waking up half-dead from nothing. Worthy Marcius, If we had no other reason to go to war with Rome, except that You’re banished, we would gather everyone From twelve to seventy, and bring war To ungrateful Rome, Like a bold flood overwhelming everything. Oh, come, let’s go in, And take our friendly senators by the hands; They’re here, saying goodbye to me, While I’m preparing against your territories, Though not for Rome itself.
You bless me, gods!
You bless me, gods!
Therefore, most absolute sir, if thou wilt have The leading of thine own revenges, take The one half of my commission; and set down-- As best thou art experienced, since thou know’st Thy country’s strength and weakness,--thine own ways; Whether to knock against the gates of Rome, Or rudely visit them in parts remote, To fright them, ere destroy. But come in: Let me commend thee first to those that shall Say yea to thy desires. A thousand welcomes! And more a friend than e’er an enemy; Yet, Marcius, that was much. Your hand: most welcome!
So, most excellent sir, if you want to lead Your own revenge, take Half of my commission; and write down-- As you’re most experienced, since you know Your country’s strengths and weaknesses-- Your own plans; Whether to attack the gates of Rome, Or visit them in distant parts, To scare them before you destroy them. But come in: Let me first introduce you to those who will Support your desires. A thousand welcomes! And I’m more a friend than any enemy; Yet, Marcius, that’s saying a lot. Your hand: most welcome!
Here’s a strange alteration!
What a strange change!
By my hand, I had thought to have strucken him with a cudgel; and yet my mind gave me his clothes made a false report of him.
By my hand, I thought I was going to hit him with A club; but something about his clothes made me think it was wrong.
What an arm he has! he turned me about with his finger and his thumb, as one would set up a top.
What strength he has! He spun me around with his Finger and thumb, like someone setting up a top.
Nay, I knew by his face that there was something in him: he had, sir, a kind of face, methought,--I cannot tell how to term it.
No, I could tell by his face there was something special About him: he had, sir, a certain look, I thought-- I can’t quite explain it.
He had so; looking as it were--would I were hanged, but I thought there was more in him than I could think.
He did; looking like it was—I’d rather be hanged, but I thought there was more to him than I could imagine.
So did I, I’ll be sworn: he is simply the rarest man i’ the world.
So did I, I swear: he’s definitely the most unique man in the world.
I think he is: but a greater soldier than he you wot on.
I think he is; but there’s a greater soldier than him, you know.
Who, my master?
Who, my master?
Nay, it’s no matter for that.
No, it doesn’t matter who.
Worth six on him.
Worth six of him.
Nay, not so neither: but I take him to be the greater soldier.
No, not really: but I think he’s the better soldier.
Faith, look you, one cannot tell how to say that: for the defence of a town, our general is excellent.
Honestly, it’s hard to say that: because for defending a town, our general is excellent.
Ay, and for an assault too.
Yes, and for attacking too.
O slaves, I can tell you news,-- news, you rascals!
Oh slaves, I have news for you,-- news, you idiots!
What, what, what? let’s partake.
What, what, what? Let’s hear it.
I would not be a Roman, of all nations; I had as lieve be a condemned man.
I wouldn’t want to be a Roman, of all people; I’d rather be a condemned man.
Wherefore? wherefore?
Why? Why?
Why, here’s he that was wont to thwack our general, Caius Marcius.
Well, here’s the guy who used to beat our general, Caius Marcius.
Why do you say ’thwack our general ’?
Why do you say ‘beat our general’?
I do not say ’thwack our general;’ but he was always good enough for him.
I don’t say ‘beat our general’; I just mean he was always good enough for him.
Come, we are fellows and friends: he was ever too hard for him; I have heard him say so himself.
Come on, we’re all friends here: he was always too tough for him; I’ve heard him say so himself.
He was too hard for him directly, to say the troth on’t: before Corioli he scotched him and notched him like a carbon ado.
He was definitely too tough for him, to tell the truth about it: before Corioli, he bruised him and scratched him up like a piece of charcoal.
An he had been cannibally given, he might have broiled and eaten him too.
If he’d been the cannibal type, he might have roasted and eaten him too.
But, more of thy news?
But, what’s the latest news?
Why, he is so made on here within, as if he were son and heir to Mars; set at upper end o’ the table; no question asked him by any of the senators, but they stand bald before him: our general himself makes a mistress of him: sanctifies himself with’s hand and turns up the white o’ the eye to his discourse. But the bottom of the news is that our general is cut i’ the middle and but one half of what he was yesterday; for the other has half, by the entreaty and grant of the whole table. He’ll go, he says, and sowl the porter of Rome gates by the ears: he will mow all down before him, and leave his passage polled.
Well, he’s been treated here like he’s the son and heir to Mars; sitting at the head of the table; no one questions him, and all the senators stand there looking dumb: our general himself treats him like a lady and makes himself holy by touching him, rolling his eyes when he talks. But the real story is that our general is halfway done for, only half of him is left from what he was yesterday; the other half’s gone, taken by the whole table’s request and agreement. He says he’ll go and grab the doorman at Rome’s gates by the ears: he’ll mow everything down in his way and leave his path cleared.
And he’s as like to do’t as any man I can imagine.
And he’s as likely to do it as anyone I can think of.
Do’t! he will do’t; for, look you, sir, he has as many friends as enemies; which friends, sir, as it were, durst not, look you, sir, show themselves, as we term it, his friends whilst he’s in directitude.
Do it? He will do it; because, look, he has as many friends as enemies; and these friends, as it happens, dare not show themselves as his friends while he’s in a bad situation.
Directitude! what’s that?
Bad situation? What’s that?
But when they shall see, sir, his crest up again, and the man in blood, they will out of their burrows, like conies after rain, and revel all with him.
But when they see, sir, his status rise again, and him ready to fight, they’ll come out of their hiding places, like rabbits after rain, and celebrate with him.
But when goes this forward?
But when will this happen?
To-morrow; to-day; presently; you shall have the drum struck up this afternoon: ’tis, as it were, a parcel of their feast, and to be executed ere they wipe their lips.
Tomorrow; today; right now; you’ll hear the drum roll this afternoon: it’s like a part of their feast, and they’ll carry it out before they even wipe their mouths.
Why, then we shall have a stirring world again. This peace is nothing, but to rust iron, increase tailors, and breed ballad-makers.
Well, looks like we’ll have a busy world again. This peace is useless, just rusts iron, makes more tailors, and creates songwriters.
Let me have war, say I; it exceeds peace as far as day does night; it’s spritely, waking, audible, and full of vent. Peace is a very apoplexy, lethargy; mulled, deaf, sleepy, insensible; a getter of more bastard children than war’s a destroyer of men.
Let me have war, I say; it’s better than peace, as far as day is better than night; it’s lively, awake, loud, and full of energy. Peace is like a stroke, sleepy, dull, quiet, numb; it creates more illegitimate children than war destroys men.
’Tis so: and as war, in some sort, may be said to be a ravisher, so it cannot be denied but peace is a great maker of cuckolds.
It’s true: and just like war, which can be seen as a rapist, peace also, in a way, creates men who are cheated on.
Ay, and it makes men hate one another.
Yes, and it makes people dislike each other.
Reason; because they then less need one another. The wars for my money. I hope to see Romans as cheap as Volscians. They are rising, they are rising.
Exactly; because when people are at peace, they rely on each other less. War’s the way to go, in my opinion. I hope the Romans become as poor as the Volscians. They’re rising up, they’re rising up.
In, in, in, in!
Inside, inside, inside, inside!