A goodly city is this Antium. City,
’Tis I that made thy widows. Many an heir
Of these fair edifices ’fore my wars
Have I heard groan and drop. Then know me not,
Lest that thy wives with spits and boys with stones
In puny battle slay me.
This is a beautiful city, Antium. I'm the one who made your wives into widows. I've heard many heirs of these fine buildings groan and die from my wars. So don't recognize me, or else your wives might kill me with cooking spits and your boys with stones in petty combat.
Antium is such a beautiful city. But I'm the one who turned your wives into widows. I've listened to the heirs of these gorgeous buildings cry out and die because of my wars. So pretend you don't know me—otherwise, your wives might stab me with spits and your kids might stone me to death.
antium's beautiful i made your wives into widows i heard your heirs die in my wars don't recognize me or they'll kill me
Save you, sir.
Hello, sir.
Hey there.
hey
One of the strangest textual features of this scene is that Coriolanus's great meditation on fortune — 'O world, thy slippery turns!' — appears in the First Folio as stage directions rather than a speech. Editors disagree about whether this is an authorial choice or a scribal error. In practice, modern productions almost universally treat it as a soliloquy delivered aloud. And it is extraordinary: in a play where Coriolanus almost never reflects philosophically, this speech is him genuinely thinking — watching himself from the outside, marveling at the absurdity of what he's doing. Friends become enemies over nothing. Enemies become friends over nothing. 'My birthplace hate I, and my love's upon this enemy town.' He is philosophically prepared for what he's about to do. It's the reverse of tragic — a man who has intellectualized his own catastrophe.
And you.
And you.
And you.
and you.
Direct me, if it be your will,
Where great Aufidius lies. Is he in Antium?
If you're willing, tell me where great Aufidius is. Is he in Antium?
Can you tell me where Aufidius is? Is he here in Antium?
where's aufidius? he in antium?
He is, and feasts the nobles of the state
At his house this night.
Yes, he is. He's hosting a feast with the state's nobles at his house tonight.
Yeah, he's here. He's throwing a dinner party with all the nobility tonight at his place.
yeah he's here feasting with nobles tonight
Which is his house, beseech you?
Which one is his house, if you please?
Which one is his house?
his house?
The 'slippery turns' speech taps into one of the most central Renaissance anxieties: the arbitrariness of fortune's wheel. The goddess Fortuna was depicted spinning a wheel that raised men to glory and plunged them to ruin — randomly, without moral logic. Coriolanus's observation that 'friends now fast sworn... shall within this hour break out to bitterest enmity' and vice versa is philosophically sharp: he's not grieving, he's categorizing. He has identified that loyalty and enmity are functions of circumstance, not character. This is a disturbing thing for an audience to watch — because it's true, and because the speaker is about to demonstrate it by going from Rome's greatest general to her greatest enemy, in roughly two scenes.
This here before you.
It's this one right in front of you.
It's right there in front of you.
right there
Thank you, sir. Farewell.
Thank you, sir. Goodbye.
Thanks. Take care.
thanks bye
O world, thy slippery turns! Friends now fast sworn,
Whose double bosoms seems to wear one heart,
Whose hours, whose bed, whose meal and exercise
Are still together, who twin, as ’twere, in love
Unseparable, shall within this hour,
On a dissension of a doit, break out
To bitterest enmity; so fellest foes,
Whose passions and whose plots have broke their sleep
To take the one the other, by some chance,
Some trick not worth an egg, shall grow dear friends
And interjoin their issues. So with me:
My birthplace hate I, and my love’s upon
This enemy town. I’ll enter. If he slay me,
He does fair justice; if he give me way,
I’ll do his country service.
Oh, how the world turns unpredictably! Friends bound by sacred oaths, Who share one heart between them, Whose hours, bed, meals, and exercise Are inseparable, like twins in love, Cannot be parted—yet within an hour, Over some trivial disagreement, they break Into bitter hatred; and likewise, fierce enemies, Whose passions and schemes have cost them sleep As they plot against each other, through some chance, Some trick not worth a moment's thought, become devoted friends And join their futures together. So it is with me: I hate my birthplace Rome, and my loyalty now rests on This enemy city. I'll go in. If Aufidius kills me, He acts justly; if he lets me live, I'll serve his country with all my strength.
Man, the world is so unpredictable. Friends who swear they'll be inseparable, who do everything together, who are like twins in how close they are—they can turn into bitter enemies in an hour over something ridiculous. And the flip side is true too: enemies who've been losing sleep plotting against each other can randomly become best friends. That's happening to me right now. I used to love Rome with everything I had, but now? I'm all in on Antium. If Aufidius kills me, that's fair. If he spares me, I'll give everything to help his country.
the world flips so fast friends become enemies over nothing enemies become friends by chance that's me now—i hate rome i'm loyal to antium if he kills me, whatever
The Reckoning
The pivot of the entire play. Coriolanus, who banished Rome, now arrives at Antium carrying what he described as his hatred for his city and his love for this enemy town. The speech he delivers (encoded in the scene's 'stage directions') is one of the most remarkable psychological moments in Shakespeare — a man talking himself into the most radical act imaginable, with perfect cold logic. The audience watches a hero become something else entirely.
If this happened today…
A retired American general, fired under political pressure, shows up at a military base in a rival country wearing civilian clothes. He waits by the gate. He thinks about how strange it is that allies become enemies and enemies become allies — sometimes over almost nothing. He decides: if they execute him, fine. If they use him, even better. He asks a local passerby where the commanding general lives. He rings the doorbell.