The town is ta’en.
It will be given back on good terms of negotiation.
They'll hand it back if we make a good deal.
delivered back good condition
’Twill be delivered back on good condition.
Conditions? I wish I were a Roman — then I could be what I want to be. But being a Volsce, I can't negotiate for something when the other side holds all the power. Five times, Martius, I have fought you. You've beaten me every time, and if we fought again as often as we eat, you'd keep winning. By the gods, if we ever meet face to face again, either I will own him or he will own me. My rivalry with him has lost its honour — I thought I'd defeat him in fair combat, but now I'll find another way — through cunning or rage, however I can get him.
Conditions? I'd be Roman if I could. Being Volsce, I can't bargain when they've got all the cards. I've fought Martius five times. He beat me every time. If we fought forever, he'd never lose. When I see him again, one of us dies — me or him. My pride in fighting him fairly is gone. I'm done with honour. I'll use tricks, rage, anything to destroy him.
wish roman volsce beaten five times aufidius always wins if meet again mine his or his mine emulation honour gone will use craft rage get him
Condition?
I would I were a Roman, for I cannot,
Being a Volsce, be that I am. Condition?
What good condition can a treaty find
I’ th’ part that is at mercy? Five times, Martius,
I have fought with thee; so often hast thou beat me
And wouldst do so, I think, should we encounter
As often as we eat. By th’ elements,
If e’er again I meet him beard to beard,
He’s mine or I am his. Mine emulation
Hath not that honour in’t it had; for where
I thought to crush him in an equal force,
True sword to sword, I’ll potch at him some way,
Or wrath or craft may get him.
He's the devil.
He's not human.
hes devil
He’s the devil.
Bolder than a devil, though not as clever. My own courage is poisoned by only one thing: the shame of losing to him. For him, all my restraint will disappear. Neither sleep nor sacred temples, neither sickness nor prayer nor sacrifice, neither the customs that should protect the defenceless — nothing will stop my hatred of Martius. Wherever I find him — even in his own home, under his brother's protection — I will wash my fierce hands in his heart. Go to the city and find out how it's held and who will be hostages for Rome.
Bolder, not smarter. My whole strength is poisoned by one thing: losing to him. When I get him, all rules disappear. Holy places don't matter. Sick, naked, praying — none of it stops me. Even in his home, with his family watching, I'll rip his heart out. Go find out how they're holding Corioles and who they want as hostages.
bolder devil not subtle courage poisoned loss to him no sleep sanctuary no sick naked prayer no customs wash hands his heart go find terms
Bolder, though not so subtle. My valour’s poisoned
With only suff’ring stain by him; for him
Shall fly out of itself. Nor sleep nor sanctuary,
Being naked, sick, nor fane nor Capitol,
The prayers of priests nor times of sacrifice,
Embarquements all of fury, shall lift up
Their rotten privilege and custom ’gainst
My hate to Martius. Where I find him, were it
At home, upon my brother’s guard, even there,
Against the hospitable canon, would I
Wash my fierce hand in’s heart. Go you to th’ city;
Learn how ’tis held and what they are that must
Be hostages for Rome.
Will you not come?
You're not coming with me?
you not go
Will not you go?
I'm waiting at the cypress grove. It's south of the city mills. Bring me word there about how things are going, so I can adjust my speed to match the situation.
I'm waiting at the cypress grove — south of the mills. Send word there about what's happening, so I know how fast to move.
cypress grove south city mills bring word pace journey
I am attended at the cypress grove. I pray you—
’Tis south the city mills,—bring me word thither
How the world goes, that to the pace of it
I may spur on my journey.
I will, sir.
Yes, sir.
yes sir
I shall, sir.
Everyone exits.
They leave.
exit
The Reckoning
This short scene shows the other side of the victory: Aufidius swearing an oath that will drive the entire second half of the play. He can't beat Martius in fair fighting, so he'll use deception. The moment he realizes this, his character crystallizes. He's no longer just Martius's rival — he's become his nemesis, and he's willing to abandon honour to win.
If this happened today…
The athlete who can't beat his rival on the track decides to destroy him through social media.