William Shakespeare (1564–1616)

Coriolanus.—Hear’st thou, Mars!

Aufidius.—Name not the god, thou boy of tears—
Cor.—Ha!

Auf.—No more.

Cor.—Measureless liar, thou hast made my heart

Too great for what contains it. Boy! O slave!—

Pardon me, lords, ’tis the first time that ever

I was forced to scold. Your judgments, my grave lords,

Must give this cur the lie: and his own notion

(Who wears my stripes impressed on him; that must bear

My beating to his grave) shall join to thrust

The lie unto him.

Cut me to pieces, Volsces; men and lads,

Stain all your edges on me.—Boy! False hound!

If you have writ your annals true, ’tis there,

That like an eagle in a dove-cote, I

Fluttered your Volsces in Corioli:

Alone I did it.—Boy!