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That brought you forth this Boy, to keep your name
Living to time.
Boy. He shall not tread on me :
I'll run away till I'm bigger, but then I'll fight.
Cor. Not of a woman's tenderness to be,
Requires, nor child, nor woman's face, to fee :
I've fat too long.
Vol. Nay, go not from us thus:
If it were so, that our request did tend
To fave the Romans, thereby to deftroy
The Volscians whom you serve, you might condemn us,
As poysonous of your Honour. No ; our suit
Is, that you reconcile them: while the Volscians
May say, “This mercy we have fhew'd ; the Romans,
• This we receiv'd ; and each in either side
Give the all-hail to thee, and cry, “ Be bleft
For making up this Peace ! Thou know'st, great fon,
The End of War's uncertain ; but this certain,
That 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, o the man was noble
• But with his last attempt he wip'd it out,
Destroy'd his Country, and his name remains
« To the ensuing age, abhorr'd.' Speak to me, son:
Thou haft affected the first strains of honour,
To imitate the graces of the Gods ;
To tear with thunder the wide cheeks o'th' air,
And yet to charge thy fulphur with a bolt, (28)
That should but rive an oak. Why doft not speak?
Think'st thou it honourable for a noble man
Still to remember wrongs? Daughter, speak you :
He cares not for your weeping. Speak thou, Boy ;
(28) And yet to change thy Sulphur with a Bolt,
That should but rive an Oake.]
All the printed copies concur in this Reading, but I have
certainly restor'd the true Word. Vid. the 11th Note on this
Perhaps, thy childishness will move him more
Than can our reasons. There's no man in the world
More bound to's mother, yet here he lets me prate
Like one i'th' Stocks. Thou'st never in thy life
Shew'd thy dear mother any courtesie ;
When she, (poor hen} fond of no second brood,
Has cluck'd thee to the wars, and safely home,
Loaden with honour. Say, my Request's unjust,
And spurn me back : but, if it be not so,
Thou art not honest, and the Gods will plague thee,
That thou reftrain'st from me the duty, which
To a mother's part belongs.
He turns away :
Down, Ladies ; let us shame him with our knees.
To's fir-name Coriolanus ’longs more pride,
Than pity to our prayers.
Down; and end ;
This is the last. So we will home to Rome,
And die among our neighbours : nay, behold us.
This Boy, that cannot tell what he would have,
But kneels, and holds
hands for fellowship,
Does reason our petition with more strength
Than thou hast to deny't. Come, let us go :
This fellow had a Volscian to his mother : (29)
His wife is in Corioli, and this child
Like him by chance ; yet give us our dispatch:
I'm husht, until our City be afire ;
And then I'll speak a little.
Cor. O mother, mother!
[Holds ber by the hands, filent.
(29) This Fellow bad a Volscian to his Mother;
His Wife is in Corioli ; and his Child
Like him by Chance ; ] But tho' his wife was in Corioli, might not his Child, nevertheless, be like him? The minute Alteration I have made, I am perswaded, restores the true Reading. Volumnia would hint, that Coriolanus by his stern Behaviour had lost all Family-Regards, and did not remember that he had any Child. I am not his Mother, (says The) his wife is in Corioli, and this Child, whom We bring with us, (young Marsius) is not his Child, but only bears his Resemblance by chance.
What have you
done? behold the heav'ns do ope,
The Gods look down, and this unnatural scene
They laugh at. Oh, my mother, mother! oh!
You've won a happy victory to Rome :
But for your son, believe it, oh, believe it,
Most dang'rously you have with him prevail'd,
If not moft mortal to him. Let it come:
Aufidius, though I cannot make true wars,
I'll frame convenient peace. Now, good Aufidius,
Were you in my stead, say, would you have heard
A mother less? or granted less, Aufidius?
Auf. I too was mov'd.
Cór: I dare be sworn, you were ;
And, Sir, it is no little thing to make
Mine eyes to sweat Compassion. But, good Sir,
What peace you'll make, advise me: for my part,
I'll not to Rome, I'll back with you, and pray you
Stand to me in this cause. O mother ! wife!
Auf. I'm glad, thou'st set thy mercy and thy ho
At difference in thee; out of That I'll work ·
My self á former fortune.
[ Afide. Cor: Ay, by, and by; but we will drink together ; And you shall bear
[To Vol. Virg. 8°C
A better witness back than words, which we,
On like conditions, will have counter-seal'd.
Come, enter with us : Ladies, you deserve
To have a Temple built you : all the swords
In Italy, and her confederate arms,
Could not have made this Peace.
S CE N E, the Forum, in Rome.
Enter Menenius and Sicinius.
Men. EE you ' .
tone ? Sic. Why, what of that ?
Men. 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 fay, there is no hope in't ; our throats are sentenc'd, and stay upon execution.
Sic. Is't possible, that fo short a time can alter the condition of a man?
Men. There is difference between a grub and a butterfly, yet your butterfly was a grub; this Marcius is grown from man to dragon: he has wings, he's more than a creeping thing.
Sic. He lov'd his mother dearly.
Men. So did he me; and he no more remembers his mother now, than an eight years old horse. The tartness of his face fours 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 finish'd with his bidding. He wants nothing of a God, but Eternity, and a heaven to throne in.
Sic. Yes, mercy, if you report him truly.
Men. 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 tyger ; that shall our poor City find; and all this is long of you.
Sic. The Gods be good unto us!
Men. No, in such a case the Gods will not be good unto us.
When we banish'd him, we respected not them : and, he returning to break our necks, they refpect not us.
Enter a Mefengeri
Mef. 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 fwearing, if
The Roman Ladies bring not comfort home,
They'll give him death by inches.
Enter another Mefrenger.
Sic. What's the news?
Me).. Good news, good news, the Ladies have pre.
The Volfcians are dislodg'd, and Marcius gone :
A merrier day did never yet greet Rome,
No, not th' Éxpulfion of the Tarquins.
Art certain, this is true? is it most certain ?
Mef. As certain, as I know the Sun is fire :
lurk'd, that you make doubt of it!
Ne'er through an Arch fo hurried the blown tide,
As the recomforted through th'gates. Why, hark
[Trumpets, Hautboys, Drums beat, all together.
The trumpets, fackbuts, pfalteries and fifes,
Tabors and cymbals, and the shouting Romans
Make the Sun dance. Hark you !
[ 4 hout within
Men. 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've pray'd well to day :
This morning, for ten thousand of your throats