Coriolanus Before His Troops

Not to be known of senators,
Or ediles, spreading out their hands
To Rome’s observant mob; to wars
We struggle, nor in foreign lands.

I will be known for what I am,
Not as a purchase to be made
With other’s words. Nor friend, nor sham.
I will be blasted ere I am decayed.
To yoke with others? Oxen swayed
Beneath a common plough? I spurn
That life in death. What I have made
Is mine: my honor I will earn.

Then burn decrepit Rome, and fall:
My home, which I loved least of all.

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