“For the dearth [escassez],
The gods, not the patricians, make it, and
Your knees to them, not arms, must help.”
There was a time when all the body’s members
Rebell’d against the belly, thus accused it:
That only like a gulf it did remain
I’ the midst o’ the body, idle and unactive,
Still cupboarding the viand, never bearing
Like labour with the rest, where the other instruments
Did see and hear, devise, instruct, walk, feel,
And, mutually participate, did minister
Unto the appetite and affection common
Of the whole body. The belly answer’d–
Well, sir, what answer made the belly?
Sir, I shall tell you. With a kind of smile,
Which ne’er came from the lungs, but even thus–
For, look you, I may make the belly smile
As well as speak–it tauntingly replied
To the discontented members, the mutinous parts
That envied his receipt; even so most fitly
As you malign our senators for that
They are not such as you.
Your belly’s answer? What!
The kingly-crowned head, the vigilant eye,
The counsellor heart, the arm our soldier,
Our steed the leg, the tongue our trumpeter.
With other muniments and petty helps
In this our fabric, if that they–
‘Fore me, this fellow speaks! What then? what then?
Should by the cormorant belly be restrain’d,
Who is the sink o’ the body,–
Well, what then?
The former agents, if they did complain,
What could the belly answer?
I will tell you
If you’ll bestow a small–of what you have little–
Patience awhile, you’ll hear the belly’s answer.
Ye’re long about it.
Note me this, good friend;
Your most grave belly was deliberate,
Not rash like his accusers, and thus answer’d:
<True is it, my incorporate friends,> quoth he,
<That I receive the general food at first,
Which you do live upon; and fit it is,
Because I am the store-house and the shop
Of the whole body: but, if you do remember,
I send it through the rivers of your blood,
Even to the court, the heart, to the seat o’ the brain;
And, through the cranks and offices of man,
The strongest nerves and small inferior veins
From me receive that natural competency
Whereby they live: and though that all at once,
You, my good friends,>–this says the belly, mark me,–”
The present wars devour him: he is grown
Too proud to be so valiant.”
had I a dozen sons, each in my love
alike and none less dear than thine and my good
Marcius, I had rather had eleven die nobly for their
country than one voluptuously surfeit out of action.”
the breasts of Hecuba,
When she did suckle Hector, look’d not lovelier
Than Hector’s forehead when it spit forth blood
At Grecian sword, contemning.”
(…) 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”
(…) Thou wast a soldier
Even to Cato’s wish, not fierce and terrible
Only in strokes; but, with thy grim looks and
The thunder-like percussion of thy sounds,
Thou madst thine enemies shake, as if the world
Were feverous and did tremble.”
If any think brave death outweighs bad life
And that his country’s dearer than himself;
Let him alone, or so many so minded,
Wave thus, to express his disposition,
And follow Marcius.
They all shout and wave their swords, take him up in their arms, and cast up their caps”
“Not Afric owns a serpent I abhor
More than thy fame and envy. Fix thy foot.”
“CAIUS MARCIUS CORIOLANUS! Bear
The addition nobly ever!
Flourish. Trumpets sound, and drums”
Marcius, his name?
By Jupiter! forgot.
I am weary; yea, my memory is tired.
Have we no wine here?”
“Five times, Marcius,
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 the 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.”
Nature teaches beasts to know their friends.
Pray you, who does the wolf love?
Ay, to devour him; as the hungry plebeians would the noble Marcius.
He’s a lamb indeed, that baes like a bear.”
I know you can do very little alone; for your helps are many, or else your actions would grow wondrous single: your abilities are too infant-like for doing much alone. You talk of pride: O that you could turn your eyes toward the napes of your necks, and make but an interior survey of your good selves! O that you could!”
“one that converses more with the buttock of the night than with the forehead of the morning”
Ora, ora, Menênio, você é bastante conhecido por ser, como senador do Capitólio, um excelso histrião e bufão na mesa de jantar!”
He had, before this last expedition, twenty-five wounds upon him.
Now it’s twenty-seven: every gash was an enemy’s grave.
A shout and flourish
Hark! the trumpets.
These are the ushers of Marcius: before him he
carries noise, and behind him he leaves tears:
Death, that dark spirit, in ‘s nervy arm doth lie;
Which, being advanced, declines, and then men die.”
Nay, my good soldier, up;
My gentle Marcius, worthy Caius, and
By deed-achieving honour newly named,–
What is it?–Coriolanus must I call thee?–”
You are sent for to the Capitol. ‘Tis thought
That Marcius shall be consul:
I have seen the dumb men throng to see him and
The blind to bear him speak: matrons flung gloves,
Ladies and maids their scarfs and handkerchers,
Upon him as he pass’d: the nobles bended,
As to Jove’s statue, and the commons made
A shower and thunder with their caps and shouts:
I never saw the like.”
Faith, there had been many great men that have flattered the people, who ne’er loved them; and there be many that they have loved, they know not wherefore: so that, if they love they know not why, they hate upon no better a ground: therefore, for Coriolanus neither to care whether they love or hate him manifests the true knowledge he has in their disposition; and out of his noble carelessness lets them plainly see’t.
(…) he seeks their hate with greater devotion than can render it him; and leaves nothing undone that may fully discover him their opposite. Now, to seem to affect the malice and displeasure of the people is as bad as that which he dislikes, to flatter them for their love.”
“he covets less
Than misery itself would give; rewards
His deeds with doing them, and is content
To spend the time to end it.”
“Ingratitude is monstrous, and for the multitude to be ingrateful, were to make a monster of the multitude: of the which we being members, should bring ourselves to be monstrous members.”
visissytudes da democrashia:
“We have been called so of many; not that our heads are some brown, some black, some auburn, some bald, but that our wits are so diversely coloured: and truly I think if all our wits were to issue out of one skull, they would fly east, west, north, south, and their consent of one direct way should be at once to all the points o’ the compass.”
Lá vem ele desfilando com a toga da humildade…
O preço do presente do mendigo eu não digo
A ESCULTURA DE PERSEU
Minhas feridas falam por mim.
Se cicatrizes fossem serpentes
Eu seria a Górgona, mas com mais cabeças, até os pés.
“Melhor morrer, melhor agonizar,
do que conseguir o que tanto queríamos…”
Mas sabe, é de costume seguir os costumes…
Eu sou um coitado sem as vantagens do coitado
É como se tivessem praticado o coito
E eu na pior posição possível
Decididamente acharam que eu era uma espécie
Ralo da Fonte
God save the Consul
Go say “V.D.” Cone Sul
Mean man or mean men? Methinks it’s a mean beam machine…
No,’tis his kind of speech: he did not mock us.
Not one amongst us, save yourself, but says
He used us scornfully: he should have show’d us
His marks of merit, wounds received for’s country.”
WHONCE UPON A TAME LAND
Lend me a hand and contest my remarks:
Would you wound my waves of wuthering whores?
Who wore that woody garment?
Who were them?
Brutos sabe boas maneiras
Come espinafre de boca fechada.
Também se amacome quieto.
E de barrigacheia.
O cão que é espancado ao latir
É criado para latir
Inclusive ao ser espancado
Vouchsafe thy voice
There ain’t be nothing outrageous
Travel must ‘em
to reach your domains!
Only their voices are
Eating daily grass
Oh, your Grace
I am too ice hotter than you.
Rate your hate: for whom would you not
take your hat?
Ate your 8 (s)corns
And be not a bait
Be keen as a kin’
A fault in the asfault
A QUE DUTOS EU VOO
How youngly he began to serve his country,
How long continued, and what stock he springs of,
The noble house o’ the Marcians, from whence came
That Ancus Marcius, Numa’s daughter’s son,
Who, after great Hostilius, here was king;
Of the same house Publius and Quintus were,
That our beat water brought by conduits hither;
And (Censorinus,) nobly named so,
Twice being (by the people chosen) censor,
Was his great ancestor.”
PAÍS CONFUSO DE MALICE
Duas coisas são certas
Still the steel plays a sound
in the harps and the harpsichord
Oh no too soon!
To the Terpsic[h]ore
Herps and hemp is
on the shore
Will you be willingly weening and whining to the windmill
of the Wheel?
For whom the rebels capitulate
and claims the Capitol?
REVOLUÇÃO A ESTIBORDO
Orquestrar um mo(n)tim
Deve ser mais difícil que desbaratar
I saw the sire
and it (she!) was awkward!
Mountains will move
Before you decide
Come on, coma profound!
Se vira nos 47’ do segundo tempo, faustop gordão!
Whoever gave that counsel, to give forth
The corn o’ the storehouse gratis, as ‘twas used
Sometime in Greece,–
Well, well, no more of that.
Though there the people had more absolute power,
I say, they nourish’d disobedience, fed
The ruin of the state.
Why, shall the people give
One that speaks thus their voice?
I’ll give my reasons,
More worthier than their voices. They know the corn
Was not our recompense, resting well assured
That ne’er did service for’t: being press’d to the war,
Even when the navel of the state was touch’d,
They would not thread the gates. This kind of service
Did not deserve corn gratis. Being i’ the war
Their mutinies and revolts, wherein they show’d
Most valour, spoke not for them: the accusation
Which they have often made against the senate,
All cause unborn, could never be the motive
Of our so frank donation. Well, what then?
How shall this bisson multitude digest
The senate’s courtesy? Let deeds express
What’s like to be their words: <we did request it;
We are the greater poll, and in true fear
They gave us our demands.> Thus we debase
The nature of our seats and make the rabble
Call our cares fears; which will in time
Break ope’ the locks o’ the senate and bring in
The crows to peck the eagles.
Enough, with over-measure.
No, take more:
What may be sworn by, both divine and human,
Seal what I end withal! This double worship,
Where one part does disdain with cause, the other
Insult without all reason, where gentry, title, wisdom,
Cannot conclude but by the yea and no
Of general ignorance,–it must omit
Real necessities, and give way the while
To unstable slightness: purpose so barr’d,
Nothing is done to purpose. Therefore, beseech you,–
You that will be less fearful than discreet,
That love the fundamental part of state
More than you doubt the change on’t, that prefer
A noble life before a long, and wish
To jump a body with a dangerous physic
That’s sure of death without it, at once pluck out
The multitudinous tongue; let them not lick
The sweet which is their poison: your dishonour
Mangles true judgment and bereaves the state
Of that integrity which should become’t,
Not having the power to do the good it would,
For the in which doth control’t.
Has said enough.
Has spoken like a traitor, and shall answer
As traitors do.
Thou wretch, despite o’erwhelm thee!
What should the people do with these bald tribunes?
On whom depending, their obedience fails
To the greater bench: in a rebellion,
When what’s not meet, but what must be, was law,
Then were they chosen: in a better hour,
Let what is meet be said it must be meet,
And throw their power i’ the dust.
This a consul? no.”
Quem quer que seja que teve a idéia de distribuir grãos dos depósitos de graça aos pobres, como era às vezes de usança na Grécia,–
Já não há mais disso!
–muito embora naqueles tempos os plebeus tivessem mais poder, esse poder não lhes saía melhor do que o poder de um Estado em ruínas, como terminam todos os alimentados pela discórdia.
E quê, então? Devia o povo ceder sua soberania a pelintras que gastam assim a saliva?
Eu estou do lado da razão, o que vale muito mais que discursos vazios. O povo sabe muito bem que jamais receberia comida à boca, por ser uma multidão de ingratos! Instados a defender o Estado na guerra, até se o umbigo de Roma fosse corrompido, eles nem por isso atravessariam armados os portões da cidade! Essa conduta não merece pão! Isso quando não iam à guerra, só para se amotinar e revoltar, o que não lhes concede, idem, muito valor! Antes de acusarem o senado, sem qualquer prerrogativa, deviam se arranjar um bom advogado! Como acabaria esse gado ingrato, esse cão infiel, digerindo nossa cortesia?! Eles pensam não estar em falta quando dizem: “Exigimi-lo; nós somos a razão de ser da aristocracia, então ela terá de ceder!” É assim que a degradação enfim invade o Capitólio e que viramos reféns da ralé! Nossa temperança se torna medo; cedo desmorona o púlpito, e a Águia de Zeus acaba devorada às bicadelas por corvos desprezíveis – o mais inverossímil contra-senso!
Vamos, Coriolano, já chega.
Não só já chega como já passou muito da conta!
Não, ouçam mais estas razões: que os homens e que o Olimpo testemunhem este perjúrio: onde uns menosprezam justificadamente, e outros insultam gratuitamente, onde nobreza, honra, sabedoria, já não podem prosperar senão segundo o Sim e o Não de uma massa ignara;– o que é importante já se perdeu, só restou a mais inconstante vileza: sociedade despropositada, significa que nada mais faz sentido! Prostrem-se, pois!– Vocês, que antes agem temerariamente que com discrição, que amam em primeiro lugar o topo, sem se perguntar o que se deve fazer para lá chegar, virtuosamente!– Vocês, sequiosos da boa-vida mas não da vida longa, sedentos pela incontinência, isentos de saúde e auto-controle, vocês jogam o corpo fora; assim como vocês fazem com a seiva do governo, drenando-a, façam de uma vez com que acabe o falatório! Arranquem fora suas línguas! Não permitam que esse órgão tão sensível, com donos tão torpes, prove do doce que é na verdade puro veneno: sua degenerescência desfigura o juízo e deprava o Estado! Toda a unidade esfarelaria nas mãos de quem não tem o poder de fazer o bem!
Ele já disse o bastante.
E falou como um traidor, e agora deve responder como os traidores respondem!
Celerados! Passam da medida no despeito! O que faz o populacho confiando nesses dois tribunos da plebe de cabeça oca? Se o povo só se contenta ao se revoltar, como pode ter arautos, arlequins, que assim como eles são incapazes de obedecer qualquer princípio? Na desordem, em que o mais necessário, mas o mais ausente, é a lei, foram esses dois eleitos: em boa hora, façamos o Direito prevalecer e arremessemo-los na lama do olvido!
É um traidor descarado!
Não, por Zeus, que isto é um cônsul!
Confúcio passa pela confusão, mas sereno não!
“Valentia é conhecida como tolice, quando é dirigida de peito aberto ao maior número!”
Or let us stand to our authority,
Or let us lose it. We do here pronounce,
Upon the part o’ the people, in whose power
We were elected theirs, Marcius is worthy
Of present death.
Therefore lay hold of him;
Bear him to the rock Tarpeian, and from thence
Into destruction cast him.
Aediles, seize him!
Yield, Marcius, yield!
Hear me one word;
Beseech you, tribunes, hear me but a word.
[To BRUTUS] Be that you seem, truly your
And temperately proceed to what you would
Thus violently redress.
Sir, those cold ways,
That seem like prudent helps, are very poisonous
Where the disease is violent. Lay hands upon him,
And bear him to the rock.
No, I’ll die here.
Drawing his sword
There’s some among you have beheld me fighting:
Come, try upon yourselves what you have seen me.
Down with that sword! Tribunes, withdraw awhile.
Lay hands upon him.
Help Marcius, help,
You that be noble; help him, young and old!
Down with him, down with him!
In this mutiny, the Tribunes, the Aediles, and the People, are beat in
Go, get you to your house; be gone, away!
All will be naught else.
Get you gone.
We have as many friends as enemies.
Sham it be put to that?
The gods forbid!
I prithee, noble friend, home to thy house;
Leave us to cure this cause.
For ‘tis a sore upon us,
You cannot tent yourself: be gone, beseech you.
Come, sir, along with us.
I would they were barbarians–as they are,
Though in Rome litter’d–not Romans–as they are not,
Though calved i’ the porch o’ the Capitol–
Put not your worthy rage into your tongue;
One time will owe another.
On fair ground
I could beat forty of them.
I could myself
Take up a brace o’ the best of them; yea, the two tribunes:
But now ‘tis odds beyond arithmetic;
[As chances estão contra nós, não vê?!]
And manhood is call’d foolery, when it stands
Against a falling fabric. Will you hence,
Before the tag return? whose rage doth rend
Like interrupted waters and o’erbear
What they are used to bear.
Pray you, be gone:
I’ll try whether my old wit be in request
With those that have but little: this must be patch’d
With cloth of any colour.
Nay, come away.
Exeunt CORIOLANUS, COMINIUS, and others”
“Seu coração é sua boca; o que forjam seus pulmões, é forçoso sua língua ventilar!”
“O verdadeiro indignado esquece já ter ouvido aquele nome — o da Morte”
“A víbora, deixada ser o que é, despovoaria a cidade e seria no lugar dos homens.”
“Aquele que sabe o valor de um homem sabe também as suas falhas.”
“Somos ingratos com o pé gangrenado, e esquecemos por quantas sendas ele já nos levou…”
“Proceed by process”
Consider this: he has been bred i’ the wars
Since he could draw a sword, and is ill school’d
In bolted language; meal and bran together
He throws without distinction. Give me leave,
I’ll go to him, and undertake to bring him
Where he shall answer, by a lawful form,
In peace, to his utmost peril.”
Ele não é Zeus, mas bem sabe a língua do Trovão!
You might have been enough the man you are,
With striving less to be so; lesser had been
The thwartings of your dispositions, if
You had not show’d them how ye were disposed
Ere they lack’d power to cross you.”
Pray, be counsell’d:
I have a heart as little apt as yours,
But yet a brain that leads my use of anger
To better vantage.
You are too absolute;
Though therein you can never be too noble,
But when extremities speak. I have heard you say,
Honour and policy, like unsever’d friends,
I’ the war do grow together: grant that, and tell me,
In peace what each of them by the other lose,
That they combine not there.
Because that now it lies you on to speak
To the people; not by your own instruction,
Nor by the matter which your heart prompts you,
But with such words that are but rooted in
Your tongue, though but bastards and syllables
Of no allowance to your bosom’s truth.
Now, this no more dishonours you at all
Than to take in a town with gentle words,
Which else would put you to your fortune and
The hazard of much blood.
Action is eloquence, and the eyes of the ignorant
More learned than the ears–waving thy head,
Which often, thus, correcting thy stout heart,
Now humble as the ripest mulberry
That will not hold the handling: or say to them,
Thou art their soldier, and being bred in broils
Hast not the soft way which, thou dost confess,
Were fit for thee to use as they to claim,
In asking their good loves, but thou wilt frame
Thyself, forsooth, hereafter theirs, so far
As thou hast power and person.”
Go, and be ruled: although I know thou hadst rather
Follow thine enemy in a fiery gulf
Than flatter him in a bower.”
“To the market-place!
You have put me now to such a part which never
I shall discharge to the life.”
I prithee now, sweet son, as thou hast said
My praises made thee first a soldier, so,
To have my praise for this, perform a part
Thou hast not done before.”
“Away, my disposition, and possess me
Some harlot’s spirit! my throat of war be turn’d,
Which quired with my drum, into a pipe
Small as an eunuch, or the virgin voice
That babies lulls asleep! the smiles of knaves
Tent in my cheeks, and schoolboys’ tears take up
The glasses of my sight! a beggar’s tongue
Make motion through my lips, and my arm’d knees,
Who bow’d but in my stirrup, bend like his
That hath received an alms! I will not do’t,
Lest I surcease to honour mine own truth
And by my body’s action teach my mind
A most inherent baseness.”
“let thy mother rather feel thy pride than fear thy dangerous stoutness, for I mock at death with as big heart as thou. Do as thou list thy valiantness was mine, thou suck’dst it from me, but owe thy pride thyself.”
The word is <mildly>. Pray you, let us go:
Let them accuse me by invention, I
Will answer in mine honour.
Ay, but mildly.
Well, mildly be it then. Mildly!
“BRUTUS MARIANNUS CAROLINGIUS
Put him to choler straight: he hath been used
Ever to conquer, and to have his worth
Of contradiction: being once chafed, he cannot
Be rein’d again to temperance; then he speaks
What’s in his heart; and that is there which looks
With us to break his neck.”
“The fires i’ the lowest hell fold-in the people!
Call me their traitor! Thou injurious tribune!
Within thine eyes sat 20.000 deaths,
In thy hand clutch’d as many millions, in
Thy lying tongue both numbers, I would say
<Thou liest> unto thee with a voice as free
As I do pray the gods.”
And in the power of us the tribunes, we,
Even from this instant, banish him our city,
In peril of precipitation
From off the rock Tarpeian never more
To enter our Rome gates: i’ the people’s name,
I say it shall be so.
It shall be so, it shall be so; let him away:
He’s banish’d, and it shall be so.”
“Despising, for you, the city, thus I turn my back: there is a world elsewhere.”
“Our enemy is banish’d! he is gone! Hoo! hoo!
Shouting, and throwing up their caps”
What, what, what!
I shall be loved when I am lack’d. Nay, mother.
Resume that spirit, when you were wont to say,
If you had been the wife of Hercules,
Six of his labours you’ld have done, and saved
Your husband so much sweat. Cominius,
Droop not; adieu. Farewell, my wife, my mother:
I’ll do well yet. Thou old and true Menenius,
Thy tears are salter than a younger man’s,
And venomous to thine eyes. My sometime general,
I have seen thee stem, and thou hast oft beheld
Heart-hardening spectacles; tell these sad women
‘Tis fond to wail inevitable strokes,
As ‘tis to laugh at ‘em. My mother, you wot well
My hazards still have been your solace: and
Believe’t not lightly–though I go alone,
Like to a lonely dragon, that his fen [pântano, covil insalubre]
Makes fear’d and talk’d of more than seen–your son
Will or exceed the common or be caught
With cautelous baits and practise.”
“While I remain above the ground, you shall
Hear from me still, and never of me aught
But what is like me formerly.”
Are you mankind?
Ay, fool; is that a shame? Note but this fool.
Was not a man my father? Hadst thou foxship
To banish him that struck more blows for Rome
Than thou hast spoken words?
O blessed heavens!
More noble blows than ever thou wise words;
And for Rome’s good. I’ll tell thee what; yet go:
Nay, but thou shalt stay too: I would my son
Were in Arabia, and thy tribe before him,
His good sword in his hand.
He’ld make an end of thy posterity.
Bastards and all.
Good man, the wounds that he does bear for Rome!
Come, come, peace.
I would he had continued to his country
As he began, and not unknit himself
The noble knot he made.
I would he had.
<I would he had>! ‘Twas you incensed the rabble:
Cats, that can judge as fitly of his worth
As I can of those mysteries which heaven
Will not have earth to know.
Pray, let us go.
Now, pray, sir, get you gone:
You have done a brave deed. Ere you go, hear this:–
As far as doth the Capitol exceed
The meanest house in Rome, so far my son–
This lady’s husband here, this, do you see–
Whom you have banish’d, does exceed you all.
Well, well, we’ll leave you.
Why stay we to be baited
With one that wants her wits?
Take my prayers with you.
I would the gods had nothing else to do
But to confirm my curses! Could I meet ‘em
But once a-day, it would unclog my heart
Of what lies heavy to’t.”
Está lúcida você?
É, covarde… Que vergonha! Olhem para este tolo!
Não foi um homem lúcido meu pai? Tem instintos de raposa
Alguém que, como você, tem a coragem de banir aquele que
Distribuiu mais golpes contra os bárbaros
Do que você jamais distribuiu palavras!
Muito mais estocadas do que palavras sábias suas;
e para a sorte de Roma. Direi mais, antes que se vá:
Não vá tão depressa, fique: quisera meu filho
Estivera na Arábia, e sua legião diante dele,
Sua espada em sua destra mão.
Sim, e depois?
Ele extinguiria sua posteridade.
Bastardos e o restolho.
Homem de valor, todas as cicatrizes que ele adquiriu por Roma!
Ei, ei, calma!
Eu gostaria que ele seguisse em sua cidade
Como começou, e não desatasse deliberadamente
O nobre laço que ele atara.
Eu também gostaria.
<Eu também gostaria…>! Você, o inflamador das massas:
Gatunos, que podem avaliar alguém da estatura de meu filho
Tão bem quant’eu poss’avaliar dos mistérios qu’os Céus
Proíbem aos mortais desvelar.
Ora, com licença!
Senhor, pode ir embora:
Saiba que fez algo bem corajoso!
Antes de ir, porém, ouça isto:–
Enquanto o Capitólio exceder
Em valor a menor das casas romanas,
Enquanto isso, meu filho—
O marido desta que está’o meu lado, olhe bem—
meu filho que você baniu, ele excederá vocês todos!
Pois muito bem, hora de ir-me.
E para quê permanecer aqui,
Para ser ofendido
Por quem carece de juízo?
Vão com Hades, cachorros!
Saem os tribunos da plebe.
Bem desejara que em primeiro lugar os deuses
Confirmaram duma vez minhas imprecações!
Pudera eu vê-los uma vez por dia que fosse,
Descarregaria todo o peso qu’ora oprime
“A raiva é a minha janta. Digiro-me a mim mesma e me devoro no processo. Morro, portanto, de fome ao comer. Hera de se esperar a vingança contra o homem caluniador!”
You had more beard when I last saw you; but your favour is well approved by your tongue. What’s the news in Rome? I have a note from the Volscian state, to find you out there: you have well saved me a day’s journey.”
The day serves well for them now. I have heard it said, the fittest time to corrupt a man’s wife is when she’s fallen out with her husband. Your noble
Tullus Aufidius will appear well in these wars, his great opposer, Coriolanus, being now in no request of his country.”
“O dia é propício. Dizem que a hora mais indicada para corromper a esposa é quando ela acaba de botar o marido para fora de casa. Seu nobre Túlio Aufídio aparecerá para cortejar a cidadela e seu maior opositor, o dono da casa, Coriolano, não será encontrado.”
“O world, thy slippery turns! Friends now fast sworn,
Whose double bosoms seem to wear one heart,
Whose house, 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 birth-place 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.”
– Ei, você quer briga com o meu patrão?
– É, melhor do que querer algo com sua mulher, palerma!
(…) thou hast beat me out
Twelve several times, and I have nightly since
Dreamt of encounters ‘twixt thyself and me;
We have been down together in my sleep,
Unbuckling helms, fisting each other’s throat,
And waked half dead with nothing. Worthy Marcius,
Had we no quarrel else to Rome, but that
Thou art thence banish’d, we would muster all
From twelve to seventy, and pouring war
Into the bowels of ungrateful Rome,
Like a bold flood o’er-bear. O, come, go in,
And take our friendly senators by the hands;
Who now are here, taking their leaves of me,
Who am prepared against your territories,
Though not for Rome itself.
You bless me, gods!”
“Let me have war, say I; it exceeds peace as far as day does night; it’s spritely, waking, audible, and full of vent. Peace is a very apoplexy, lethargy; mulled, deaf, sleepy, insensible; a getter of more bastard children than war’s a destroyer of men.” “A guerra é preferível; ela excele a paz como o dia excele a noite; é espirituosa, revigorante, sonora, promissora como o orvalho e a brisa refrescante da manhã. A paz é uma grande apoplexia e letargia; ensimesmada, surda, sonolenta, insensível; é mais capaz de gerar infantes bastardos que a guerra de destruir o homem. Se a guerra é um estupro, a paz é uma convenção de cornos. Sem falar que na paz é quando e onde o ódio entre os homens floresce! Porque quando não se precisa do outro, o outro é o inferno e o mal. Se eu fosse rico e guerras fossem um bem à venda, eu compraria todas! A arquitetura da destruição é a mais bela das artes. Não devemos tentar interromper o curso natural da natureza. Esta é a verdadeira harmonia do reino animal!”
“Onde há paz, há comércio e concórdia! Quem discorda, pegue seu banquinho e suas trouxas… No triunfo do pacifismo, não há lugar para o amor-próprio! Não há tiranos no comando. A cidade dourada, abençoada pelos deuses, diz adeus aos canhões e às espadas! Eh, e quem ousa falar em guerra deve ser chicoteado! Eh, deixem os belicosos se matarem! Nenhum estuprador de donzelas em nossos portões! Sacrifícios nos templos, e não nas ruas. A verdade é que disparate tal é tão antinatural e improfícuo quanto caçar-se borboletas! Só o fruto delicado é doce. Lobos não consomem ovelhas nestes quadrantes! Concedo que é contra nossa vontade que enfraquecemos os fortes. Eles seriam bons trabalhadores. Mas temos de aceitar viver na mediocridade benfazeja. Nada como esquentar os pés na lareira, ler um livro na poltrona, ao lado da patroa, do cachorro e das crianças. Ah, e quantos quitutes para beliscar! Bem que ter fome é avidez guerreira, e longe de mim este cálice! Além do mais, sendo prósperos e diplomáticos, não há nenhum negócio que não consigamos fazer, para o bem de todos! Ninguém aqui é bombeiro, para lutar com fogo contra fogo!”
“When, Caius, Rome is thine, thou art poorest of all; then shortly art thou mine.”
Wife, mother, child, I know not. My affairs
Are servanted to others: though I owe
My revenge properly, my remission lies
In Volscian breasts. That we have been familiar,
Ingrate forgetfulness shall poison, rather
Than pity note how much. Therefore, be gone.
Mine ears against your suits are stronger than
Your gates against my force. Yet, for I loved thee,
Take this along; I writ it for thy sake
Gives a letter
And would have rent it. Another word, Menenius,
I will not hear thee speak. This man, Aufidius,
Was my beloved in Rome: yet thou behold’st!
You keep a constant temper.”
Aquele que desejaria se suicidar não receia sua morte por outrem. Portanto, não há quem possa pará-lo além das próprias leis da Física. Sejamos o que somos, enquanto durar o mundo; crescendo, com a idade, a miséria, ou, com a miséria, a idade. Como me disseram um dia, digo a vocês: Adeus, que Deus tenha piedade de nós!
“Let it be virtuous to be obstinate.
What is that curt’sy worth? or those doves’ eyes,
Which can make gods forsworn? I melt, and am not
Of stronger earth than others. My mother bows;
As if Olympus to a molehill should
In supplication nod: and my young boy
Hath an aspect of intercession, which
Great nature cries <Deny not>. Let the Volsces
Plough Rome and harrow Italy: I’ll never
Be such a gosling to obey instinct, but stand,
As if a man were author of himself
And knew no other kin.”
“Que ser obstinado seja o cume da virtude.
Do que valem essas súplicas? Os olhos de vítima imolada,
que fariam até os deuses recuarem? Eu derreto por dentro,
e não sou de chama superior a Prometeu. Minha mãe se ajoelha;
Como se o Olimpo reunido tivesse direito de venerar um inseto!
Se rende em súplicas, traz no colo meu caçula
A modos de interceder favoravelmente,
porque meu calcanhar berra: <Aquiles!>;
é contra a Mãe-Natureza e os instintos dizer <Não!>
a toda essa cena. E quer saber?
Que os volscos deitem Roma, minha excomungadora, e a Itália abaixo:
nunca irei ser um homem-gazela, obedecer à lei natural
e escutar o sangue que borbulha em minhas veias;
prefiro resistir, fazendo a abstração:
a de um homem que é autor de si mesmo
E não podia agir diferente. Não tenho família, não tenho pátria.”
VITÓRIA DE PIRRO
Sou um títere da política
Um ator sem sentimentos no palco
Na verdade mesmo como ator
Sou um perfeito incompetente
O ator sente alguma coisa, dúvida, hesitação,
incorpora um personagem. Eu esqueci o texto,
começo agora do zero e a nada nem ninguém
devo minhas ações. Isso é ser deus!
É amargo, diferente do que pensam:
mas melhor do que desobedecer seu destino!
Sou tirano, mas não sou romano!
Sou a vitória, e a vitória é uma coisa bárbara!
Preferia botar a cabeça no chão, no subsolo,
Como perfeito avestruz,
Mas já que à realidade seu olhar me seduz,
Mulher te digo,
O beijo de despedida que te dei antes do exílio
foi o Beijo da Morte, da largada de minha corrida
contra o tempo para me vingar, e núpcias
de sangue que comparo à Lua de Mel
“Whereto we are bound, together with thy victory,
Whereto we are bound? alack, or we must lose
The country, our dear nurse, or else thy person,
Our comfort in the country. We must find
An evident calamity, though we had
Our wish, which side should win: for either thou
Must, as a foreign recreant, be led
With manacles thorough our streets, or else
triumphantly tread on thy country’s ruin,
And bear the palm for having bravely shed
Thy wife and children’s blood. For myself, son,
I purpose not to wait on fortune till
These wars determine: if I cannot persuade thee
Rather to show a noble grace to both parts
Than seek the end of one, thou shalt no sooner
March to assault thy country than to tread–
Trust to’t, thou shalt not–on thy mother’s womb,
That brought thee to this world.”
Dance no seu berço, meu filho,
Meu túmulo, minha buceta!
“if thou conquer Rome, the benefit
Which thou shalt thereby reap is such a name,
Whose repetition will be dogg’d with curses;
Whose chronicle thus writ: <The man was noble,
But with his last attempt he wiped it out;
Destroy’d his country, and his name remains
To the ensuing age abhorr’d.>”
O mother, mother!
What have you done? Behold, the heavens do ope,
The gods look down, and this unnatural scene
They laugh at. O my mother, mother! O!
You have won a happy victory to Rome;
But, for your son,–believe it, O, believe it,
Most dangerously you have with him prevail’d,
If not most mortal to him. But, let it come.
Aufidius, though I cannot make true wars,
I’ll frame convenient peace. Now, good Aufidius,
Were you in my stead, would you have heard
A mother less? or granted less, Aufidius?”
“This Marcius is grown from man to dragon: he has wings; he’s more than a creeping thing.”
Esta é uma centopéia alada e temo que não tenhamos magos para combatê-la.
“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.”
“there is no more mercy in him than there is milk in a male tiger”
The gods be good unto 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.”
“A merrier day did never yet greet Rome,
No, not the expulsion of the Tarquins.”
“This Volumnia is worth of consuls, senators, patricians, a city full; of tribunes, such as you, a sea and land full.”
“I raised him, and I pawn’d
Mine honour for his truth: who being so heighten’d,
He water’d his new plants with dews of flattery,
Seducing so my friends; and, to this end,
He bow’d his nature, never known before
But to be rough, unswayable and free.
(…) till, at the last,
I seem’d his follower, not partner, and
He waged me with his countenance, as if
I had been mercenary.
At a few drops of women’s rheum [coriza], which are
As cheap as lies, he sold the blood and labour
Of our great action: therefore shall he die,
And I’ll renew me in his fall.”
And patient fools,
Whose children he hath slain, their base throats tear
With giving him glory.”
Ere he express himself, or move the people
With what he would say, let him feel your sword,
Which we will second. When he lies along,
After your way his tale pronounced shall bury
His reasons with his body.”
“Hail, lords! I am return’d your soldier,
No more infected with my country’s love
Than when I parted hence, but still subsisting
Under your great command. You are to know
That prosperously I have attempted and
With bloody passage led your wars even to
The gates of Rome. Our spoils we have brought home
Do more than counterpoise a full third part
The charges of the action. We have made peace
With no less honour to the Antiates
Than shame to the Romans: and we here deliver,
Subscribed by the consuls and patricians,
Together with the seal o’ the senate, what
We have compounded on.”
“The Conspirators draw, and kill CORIOLANUS: AUFIDIUS stands on his body”
“My rage is gone;
And I am struck with sorrow. Take him up.
Help, three o’ the chiefest soldiers; I’ll be one.
Beat thou the drum, that it speak mournfully:
Trail your steel pikes. Though in this city he
Hath widow’d and unchilded many a one,
Which to this hour bewail the injury,
Yet he shall have a noble memory.”
“A dead march sounded”