See you yond coign o’ the Capitol, yond cornerstone?
Do you see that corner stone of the Capitol, that cornerstone?
See that corner of the Capitol building? That stone corner there?
see that corner of the capitol? the stone one?
Why, what of that?
Why, what does that matter?
So what? What's the point?
so what? why does it matter?
If it be possible for you to displace it with your little finger, there
is some hope the ladies of Rome, especially his mother, may prevail
with him. But I say there is no hope in’t. Our throats are sentenced
and stay upon execution.
If it were possible for you to move it with your little finger, there would be some hope that the ladies of Rome, especially his mother, could persuade him. But I say there is no hope in it. Our lives are sentenced and waiting for execution.
If you could move that stone with your pinky, maybe the women of Rome—especially his mom—could actually get through to him. But honestly, there's no hope. We're done for.
if u could move that stone maybe the ladies could convince him but there's no hope we're done
Is’t possible that so short a time can alter the condition of a man?
Is it possible that such a short time can change a man so completely?
Can someone really change that much in such a short time?
man transforms that fast? insane
There is differency between a grub and a butterfly, yet your butterfly
was a grub. This Martius is grown from man to dragon. He has wings;
he’s more than a creeping thing.
There is a difference between a caterpillar and a butterfly, yet your butterfly was once a caterpillar. This Martius has grown from man to dragon. He has wings; he is more than a crawling creature.
There's a difference between a caterpillar and a butterfly, but one was the other. Martius has turned from a man into a dragon. He's got wings—he's way beyond just a creeping thing now.
like a caterpillar becomes a butterfly martius went from man to dragon he's got wings he's way beyond crawling
He loved his mother dearly.
He loved his mother deeply.
He really loved his mother.
he loved his mom like a lot
Menenius's description of the transformed Coriolanus in 5-4 is one of the play's set pieces, and it lands differently because of what we know: Menenius was just sent away from the Volscian camp with a single word — 'Away!' He came back humiliated. Now he's describing the man who humiliated him with this extraordinary, reluctant poetry. 'Grown from man to dragon' — the chrysalis image (grub to butterfly) applied to something terrifying. The description that follows is all grandeur: machine, artillery, knell, Alexander, god-minus-mortality. Menenius is eulogizing someone who still breathes. The bitterness is there in the edges — 'he no more remembers his mother now than an eight-year-old horse' — but the dominant note is awed sorrow. He is describing a creature he can no longer reach. The male tiger line lands hardest because it comes from someone who loved that tiger. You don't develop that specific a metaphor about someone you've already written off.
So did he me; and he no more remembers his mother now than an
eight-year-old horse. The tartness of his face sours ripe grapes. When
he walks, he moves like an engine, and the ground shrinks before his
treading. He is able to pierce a corslet with his eye, talks like a
knell, and his hum is a battery. He sits in his state as a thing made
for Alexander. What he bids be done is finished with his bidding. He
wants nothing of a god but eternity and a heaven to throne in.
So did he love me; and he remembers his mother now no more than an eight-year-old horse does. The bitterness of his expression spoils ripe grapes. When he walks, he moves like a machine, and the ground shrinks beneath his steps. He can pierce armor with his glance, speaks with the sound of a funeral bell, and his voice is like a cannon. He sits in his position as if made for Alexander. Whatever he commands is done instantly at his word. He wants nothing of a god except for eternity and heaven to rule.
Same with me—he doesn't remember his mother any more than an eight-year-old horse would. His face is so bitter it could sour ripe grapes. He walks like some kind of machine, and the ground literally shrinks away from him. He can pierce armor just by looking at it, talks like a funeral bell, and his voice sounds like artillery. He sits there like he was made for Alexander himself. Whatever he says to do gets done, just like that. All he needs to become a god is to live forever and have heaven to rule over.
he loved me like he loved his mom but he doesn't remember her now worse than a horse his face could sour grapes he walks like a machine ground shrinks from him pierces armor with his eyes talks like a funeral bell voice like artillery he's basically a god just needs eternity and heaven
Yes, mercy, if you report him truly.
Yes, there would be mercy if you describe him accurately.
Well, yeah, if that's actually true, then there'd be some mercy.
sure if you're telling the truth
I paint him in the character. Mark what mercy his mother shall bring
from him. There is no more mercy in him than there is milk in a male
tiger. That shall our poor city find, and all this is long of you.
I describe him accurately. Notice what mercy his mother will manage to get from him. There is no more mercy in him than there is milk in a male tiger. That is what our poor city will find, and all of this is because of you.
That's exactly how he is. Watch—his mother won't squeeze any mercy out of him. There's about as much compassion in him as milk in a male tiger. That's what our city will discover, and you all are responsible for it.
i'm describing him right watch what his mom can get from him no mercy at all male tigers don't have milk that's our city and it's your fault
The gods be good unto us.
May the gods be kind to us.
God help us.
gods pls help us
No, in such a case the gods will not be good unto us. When we banished
him, we respected not them; and he returning to break our necks, they
respect not us.
No, in such circumstances the gods will not be kind to us. When we banished him, we did not respect them; and with him returning to break our necks, they do not respect us.
No, the gods won't help us now. We didn't respect them when we banished him, so now that he's coming back to kill us, they're not going to respect us either.
nah the gods won't help we didn't respect them when we banished him now he's coming to kill us and they don't respect us
Sir, if you’d save your life, fly to your house.
The plebeians have got your fellow tribune
And hale him up and down, all swearing if
The Roman ladies bring not comfort home,
They’ll give him death by inches.
Sir, if you want to save your life, flee to your house. The common people have captured your fellow tribune and are dragging him around, all swearing that if the Roman ladies do not bring good news home, they will kill him slowly.
Sir, if you want to live, get to your house now. The mob has got your fellow tribune and they're beating him around, and they all swear that if the ladies don't bring good news, they're going to torture him to death.
run to your house the mob has your tribune they're dragging him if the ladies don't bring news they'll torture him to death
Shakespeare rarely lets political operators off the hook. Brutus and Sicinius spent three acts manipulating the plebeians against Coriolanus — working the crowd, timing their moves, exploiting popular emotion for their own ends. Now the scene opens with Menenius grimly certain Rome is doomed, and within moments a messenger arrives to announce that the plebeians have Brutus and are going to 'give him death by inches' unless the ladies succeed. The instrument of their political ambition has become the instrument of their punishment. This is not coincidence — it's Shakespeare's moral architecture. The tribunes didn't just harm Coriolanus: they established a precedent that mob emotion rules Rome. That emotion has now turned. Sicinius survives (we see him here still), but the scene makes clear how close the line was. The relief that comes with 'Good news, good news!' saves the tribunes as much as it saves Rome.
What’s the news?
What’s the news?
What’s the news?
what’s the news?
Good news, good news! The ladies have prevailed.
The Volscians are dislodged and Martius gone.
A merrier day did never yet greet Rome,
No, not th’ expulsion of the Tarquins.
Good news, good news! The ladies have succeeded. The Volscians have been driven out and Martius is gone. A happier day has never come to Rome, not even the expulsion of the Tarquins.
Great news! The ladies did it! The Volscians are out and Martius is gone. Rome's never been happier—not even when we threw out the Tarquins.
good news! the ladies won! the volscians are gone martius is gone romes happiest day ever
Friend,
Art thou certain this is true? Is’t most certain?
Friend, are you certain this is true? Is it absolutely certain?
Is this for real? Are you absolutely sure about this?
r u sure? for real for real?
As certain as I know the sun is fire.
Where have you lurked that you make doubt of it?
Ne’er through an arch so hurried the blown tide
As the recomforted through th’ gates. Why, hark you!
As certain as I know the sun is fire. Where have you been hiding that you doubt it? The tide has never rushed through an arch as quickly as the relieved people rushed through the gates. Listen!
As sure as the sun is fire. Where have you been that you're doubting this? People have never moved through gates as fast as everyone just rushed through them when they heard the news. Listen!
as sure as the sun is fire people rushed thru gates faster than any tide listen to them
The trumpets, sackbuts, psalteries, and fifes,
Tabors and cymbals, and the shouting Romans
Make the sun dance. Hark you!
The trumpets, trombones, harps, and flutes, Drums and cymbals, and the cheering Romans Make the sun dance. Listen!
Trumpets blaring, trombones, stringed instruments, little flutes, drums, cymbals—the Romans are all cheering so loud the sun itself is dancing. Listen to that!
trumpets trombones harps flutes drums cymbals romes cheering makes the sun dance
Scene 5-4 is built around a single theatrical effect: the maximum compression of despair before release. Shakespeare front-loads the scene with Menenius's most hopeless poetry — the cornerstone that cannot be moved, the dragon with wings, the male tiger without milk, the gods who won't protect those who disrespected them. He holds this for twelve speeches. Then: a stage direction, a breathless messenger with bad news (Brutus is being mobbed), a pause, another messenger with the reversal ('Good news, good news!'). The structure is a coiled spring. The longer Menenius maintains his convinced despair, the more explosive the release when it finally comes. Notice that Menenius himself barely pauses — he pivots from 'no hope' to 'I will go meet the ladies' in the same breath, and uses the pivot to deliver one final insult to the tribunes. The character reveals himself in the speed of the turn.
This is good news.
I will go meet the ladies. This Volumnia
Is worth of consuls, senators, patricians
A city full; of tribunes such as you
A sea and land full. You have prayed well today.
This morning for ten thousand of your throats
I’d not have given a doit. Hark, how they joy!
This is good news. I will go meet the ladies. This Volumnia is worth a whole city of consuls, senators, and patricians; of tribunes like you, she is worth filling a sea and land. You have prayed well today. This morning I would not have given a coin for ten thousand of your lives. Listen to how joyful they are!
That's great news. I'm going to meet the ladies. This Volumnia is worth more than an entire city of consuls and senators. You tribunes like yourself? She's worth whole oceans full of you. You prayed really well today. This morning, I wouldn't have paid a penny for any of your lives. Listen to how happy everyone is!
great news im going to meet the ladies voluimnia is worth a whole city of leaders tribunes? worth oceans u prayed well this morning i wouldn't have paid a penny for u listen how happy they are
First, the gods bless you for your tidings; next, accept my
thankfulness.
First, may the gods bless you for your news; next, accept my gratitude.
First, thank you for bringing us this news; I'm really grateful.
thx for the news im really grateful
Sir, we have all great cause to give great thanks.
Sir, we all have ample grounds for deep gratitude.
Sir, we all have plenty of reasons to be grateful.
we all have reasons to be grateful
They are near the city?
Have they drawn close to the city?
Are they close to the city?
almost at the gates?
Almost at point to enter.
Almost ready to enter.
Just about to come in.
almost here
We’ll meet them, and help the joy.
We will meet them and share in the celebration.
Let's go meet them and join the party.
lets meet them and celebrate
The Reckoning
This is the relief valve. Shakespeare has held the audience under enormous tension since Coriolanus marched on Rome. Now we get the news we've been waiting for — and we get it as pure theatre: a scene that moves from Menenius's despairing poetry about dragons to a second messenger practically bouncing through the door with 'Good news, good news!' The architecture is deliberate. The dread has to peak before the release.
If this happened today…
The crisis communications team is waiting in the conference room at midnight. The CEO is telling the board 'there's nothing we can do — this is over.' Then two phone calls come in thirty seconds apart: first, the CFO is getting mobbed by shareholders outside the building; second, the outside counsel calls: 'The settlement went through.' The CEO who was eulogizing the company is suddenly demanding champagne.