Yonder comes news. A wager they have met.
Here comes news. I'll wager they've encountered each other.
News is on the way. I bet the two armies have already met.
news coming they've met im sure of it
My horse to yours, no.
I'll bet my horse against yours they haven't.
No way. I'm betting my horse against yours on that.
no im betting my horse they havent met
’Tis done.
Done.
You're on.
bet accepted
Agreed.
Agreed.
Good.
agreed
They lie in view but have not spoke as yet.
They can see each other but haven't yet engaged.
They're in sight but nothing's started yet.
they can see each other no fighting yet
So the good horse is mine.
Then the horse is mine.
Well, looks like I just won the horse.
horse is mine i won the bet
I’ll buy him of you.
I'll buy him from you.
I'll just buy the horse off you instead.
ill buy it from you no problem
No, I’ll nor sell nor give him. Lend you him I will
For half a hundred years.—Summon the town.
No, I won't sell or give him. I'll only lend him to you for fifty years.
Not a chance. Not selling, not giving. I'll loan him to you for fifty years.
nope no sale ill loan him for fifty years joke
How far off lie these armies?
How far away do the armies lie?
How far off are they?
how far away
Within this mile and half.
Within a mile and a half.
About a mile and a half.
mile and half
Then shall we hear their ’larum, and they ours.
Now, Mars, I prithee, make us quick in work,
That we with smoking swords may march from hence
To help our fielded friends!—Come, blow thy blast.
Then we'll hear their attack signal and they'll hear ours. Now, Mars, I pray you, make us quick in our work, so that we can march from this place with our swords still smoking to help our soldiers in the field. Come, blow the trumpet!
Then we'll hear them sound the alarm and they'll hear us too. Mars, god of war, make us fast — get us moving so quick we've got blood still hot on our blades when we charge out to help Cominius. Sound it. Now.
hear them sound the alarm they hear us mars make us fast bloodied swords charge to help our men
The image of Martius running into the closing gates of Corioles is the visual emblem of everything this play is about. It is, depending on your perspective, either the bravest act in the play or the most self-defeating. Roman military culture celebrated exactly this kind of individual heroism — the soldier who fights beyond the call of his rank, who proves himself through singular achievement. But Shakespeare frames it with the soldiers who don't follow, who shrug and say 'to the pot, I warrant him,' who survive because they stayed back. Lartius's eulogy comes while Martius is presumed dead, which makes it function like a funeral oration — and then Martius comes back out of the gates, still fighting, and Lartius has to improvise. The scene refuses to let us fully admire the heroism without noticing the costs: the Romans were driven back to their trenches before Martius's fury rescued them, and his entry into Corioles alone is, militarily, borderline insane. The play keeps making the same move: give us the heroism, then give us the price tag.
No, nor a man that fears you less than he:
That’s lesser than a little.
No — nor is there a man here who fears you any more than he does, which is not very much at all.
No, he's not. And nobody here fears you more than he does — which is basically not at all.
no and nobody fears you not even a little
The Elizabethan stage had a unique advantage for this scene: the 'tiring house' facade at the back of the stage had a central opening — large doors that could represent the city gates. When Martius runs through those doors and they close behind him, the audience literally experiences the space he entered. The soldiers on stage look at the closed doors. Lartius delivers his elegy to a door. And then the door opens and Martius emerges, fighting. For the original Globe audience this would have been electrifying — the impossible made architectural. Modern productions struggle to replicate it without film trickery. The Elizabethan stage solved the problem through simplicity: the gates are just the doors. The drama is in what happens when they close.
O, they are at it!
They're attacking!
They're at it!
theyre fighting its starting
Their noise be our instruction.—Ladders, ho!
That's our instruction. Bring the ladders! Now!
That's our signal to move. Get the scaling ladders here!
thats our signal get ladders attack now
They fear us not but issue forth their city.—
Now put your shields before your hearts, and fight
With hearts more proof than shields.—Advance, brave Titus.
They do disdain us much beyond our thoughts,
Which makes me sweat with wrath.—Come on, my fellows!
He that retires, I’ll take him for a Volsce,
And he shall feel mine edge.
They're not just coming out — they're coming out confident. They scorn us far more than we expected, which makes me burn with rage. Come on, my men! Any man who falls back, I'll treat as a traitor and cut him down myself.
They're pouring out and they're cocky about it. They're showing us way more contempt than I figured, and that's making me mad. Forward! Any of you who retreat, I'll see you as a Volsce and take you down myself.
they're cocky scorn us im burning with rage come on retreats die by my hand
All the contagion of the south light on you,
You shames of Rome! You herd of—Boils and plagues
Plaster you o’er, that you may be abhorred
Farther than seen, and one infect another
Against the wind a mile! You souls of geese,
That bear the shapes of men, how have you run
From slaves that apes would beat! Pluto and hell!
All hurt behind. Backs red, and faces pale
With flight and agued fear! Mend, and charge home,
Or, by the fires of heaven, I’ll leave the foe
And make my wars on you. Look to’t. Come on!
If you’ll stand fast we’ll beat them to their wives,
As they us to our trenches. Follow’s!
May all the plague of the south lands fall on you, you shame of Rome! You pack of cattle! May boils and disease plaster you all over so you're hated farther than anyone can see, and your infection spreads to the next man like a wind that carries it a mile! You have the shape of men but the souls of cowards. How did you run from slaves that even apes would beat? Damn it all! Your wounds are all in your backs, your faces pale with flight and fear! Reform and charge home! Or, I swear by all the gods in heaven, I'll turn from the enemy and make my war on you! Look to it! Come on, now! If you stand firm, we'll beat them back to their own houses as easily as they pushed us into the trenches. Forward!
Let every plague from southern swamps fall on you, you disgrace to Rome! You're nothing but cattle! May boils and disease cover you head to foot so you stink worse than anything anyone's ever seen, and the infection spreads like the wind can carry it for miles! You look like men but you've got the guts of geese. How do you run from enemies so weak that apes would beat them? For God's sake! All your wounds are in your backs, your faces white from running in fear! Get your nerve back and attack! Or I swear on every god there is, I'll stop fighting the Volsces and start fighting you! You hear me? Come on! If you plant yourselves and hold, we'll drive them back to their homes faster than they just sent us here. Move!
plague on you shame of rome souls of geese white with fear chargeback or die im serious ill fight you myself
When Martius disappears into Corioles, the soldiers watching from the trenches say 'Foolhardiness, not I' and 'Nor I.' They're right — and they're cowards. These are men who watched their commander run into the closing gates of an enemy city and chose not to follow. Later, when Martius emerges bloody and assaulted by the enemy, Lartius finally orders a rescue mission. But those first few moments of soldiers standing still, arguing about who wasn't foolish enough to follow, are the scene's quiet moral centre. The play returns, again and again, to this gap between Martius's extraordinary individual courage and the ordinary human reluctance that surrounds it. His contempt for the common soldiers — 'you souls of geese' — is cruel, yes. But the play shows us what he sees. The question is whether the contempt is deserved. Shakespeare won't answer that for you.
Foolhardiness, not I.
That's foolhardiness, not me. I won't follow that.
That's reckless. I'm not doing it.
thats foolish im not doing that im staying alive
Nor I.
Nor I.
Me neither.
same im out
See, they have shut him in.
Look — they've closed the gates on him.
See? They shut the gates. He's trapped in there.
gates closed hes inside alone
To th’ pot, I warrant him.
He's done for, I guarantee it.
He's dead. I'd bet on it.
hes dead im sure of it to the pot warranted
What is become of Martius?
What's become of Martius?
What happened to Martius?
where is martius
Slain, sir, doubtless.
Killed, sir — without a doubt.
Dead for sure, sir.
dead no doubt
Following the fliers at the very heels,
With them he enters, who upon the sudden
Clapped to their gates. He is himself alone,
To answer all the city.
He was right behind the fleeing men, charging through with them. But when the gates suddenly slammed shut, he was alone inside to face the whole city by himself.
He was right on the heels of the guys running into the city. Then bam — the gates slam shut. Now he's in there alone against the whole enemy.
chasing fleeing soldiers gates slam hes alone whole city against him
O noble fellow,
Who sensibly outdares his senseless sword,
And when it bows, stand’st up! Thou art left, Martius.
A carbuncle entire, as big as thou art,
Were not so rich a jewel. Thou wast a soldier
Even to Cato’s wish, not fierce and terrible
Only in strokes, but with thy grim looks and
The thunderlike percussion of thy sounds
Thou mad’st thine enemies shake, as if the world
Were feverous and did tremble.
Noble soldier! He dared beyond what his own sword could dare. And when his sword would bend and fall, he would stand back up. You're isolated now, Martius. A carbuncle as big as you are wouldn't be as valuable a jewel. You were a true soldier — not just fierce in combat but terrifying through your very appearance and the thunder of your voice. Your enemies shook as if the whole world had a fever and couldn't stop trembling.
What a soldier! He was braver than his own weapon. His sword couldn't keep up with his guts. You're alone in there now, Martius. A ruby the size of you wouldn't be worth more than you are. You were the real thing — not just brutal in a fight but scary just to look at. The way you moved, the way you sounded — your enemies felt like the earth was shaking under them.
noble man braver than his sword trapped alone valued jewel true soldier scared them world trembled
Look, sir.
Look, sir!
There! Look!
look there
O, ’tis Martius!
Let’s fetch him off or make remain alike.
It's him! Martius! We must pull him out or die trying beside him!
It's him! Martius! We've got to get him out — or die in the attempt!
martius get him out die trying
The Reckoning
This is the scene that makes the play's central paradox physical: Coriolanus is literally abandoned by the men whose cause he fights for. The soldiers who refused to follow him into the gates are the same common people he despises, and their cowardice 'proves' his disdain. But what they call foolhardiness, he calls the only honourable choice. The audience is left holding both views at once.
If this happened today…
A lead mountaineer on an expedition pushes ahead when the team stalls at a dangerous ridge. He rounds the corner and the storm closes behind him. The rest of the team, watching from base camp, assume he's dead. Some are relieved. Back at camp, the expedition leader tries to get someone to go in after him. Nobody moves. That's 1-4: the individual hero who makes his team look like cowards by comparison — and then suffers for it alone.