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That brought you forth this Boy, to keep your name Living to time.

Boy. He fhall 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 fo, that our requeft did tend
To fave the Romans, thereby to destroy

The Volfcians whom you ferve, you might condemn us,
As poyfonous of your Honour. No; our fuit

Is, that you reconcile them: while the Volfcians

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May fay, This mercy we have fhew'd; the Romans,
This we receiv'd; and each in either fide
Give the all-hail to thee, and cry,
"Be bleft
For making up this Peace! Thou know'ft, great fon,
The End of War's uncertain; but this certain,
That if thou conquer Rome, the benefit,

Which thou fhalt thereby reap, is fuch a Name,
Whofe repetition will be dogg'd with Curses:
Whofe Chronicle thus writ, the man was noble
But with his laft attempt he wip'd it out,
Destroy'd his Country, and his name remains
To the enfuing age, abhorr'd.' Speak to me, fon:
Thou haft affected the first ftrains 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'ft 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 reftor'd the true Word. Vid. the 11th Note on this Play.

Perhaps,

Perhaps, thy childishness will move him more
Than can our reafons. There's no man in the world
More bound to's mother, yet here he lets me prate
Like one i'th' Stocks. Thou'ft never in thy life
Shew'd thy dear mother any courtefie ;

When the, (poor hen) fond of no fecond brood,
Has cluck'd thee to the wars, and fafely home,
Loaden with honour. Say, my Requeft's unjust,
And spurn me back: but, if it be not fo,

To a

mother's part belongs.

Thou art not honeft, and the Gods will plague thee,
That thou reftrain'ft from me the duty, which
He turns away :
Down, Ladies; let us fhame him with our knees.
To's fir-name Coriolanus 'longs more pride,
Than pity to our prayers. Down; and end;
This is the laft. 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 up hands for fellowship,
Does reafon our petition with more strength
Than thou haft to deny't. Come, let us go :
This fellow had a Volfcian to his mother: (29)
His wife is in Corioli, and this child

Like him by chance; yet give us our dispatch:
I'm hufht, until our City be afire;

And then I'll fpeak a little.

Cor. O mother, mother!

[Holds her by the hands, filent.

(29) This Fellow had a Volfcian 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 perfwaded, restores the true Reading. Volumnia would hint, that Coriolanus by his ftern Behaviour had loft all Family-Regards, and did not remember that he had any Child. I am not his Mother, (fays fhe) his Wife is in Corioli, and this Child, whom We bring with us, (young Marcius) is not his Child, but only bears his Refemblance by chance.

What

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 fon, believe it, oh, believe it,
Moft 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 ftead, fay, would you have heard
A mother lefs? or granted lefs, Aufidius?
Auf. I too was mov'd.

Cor: I dare be fworn, you were;
And, Sir, it is no little thing to make

Mine eyes to fweat Compaffion. 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 caufe. O mother! wife!

Auf. I'm glad, thou'ft fet thy mercy and thy ho

nour

At difference in thee; out of That I'll work ·
My felf a former fortune.

[Afide. Cor. Ay, by and by; but we will drink together; And you fhall bear [To Vol. Virg. &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."

[Exeunt.

SCENE

Men.

SCENE, the Forum, in ROM E.

Enter Menenius and Sicinius.

EE you yond coin o'th' Capitol, yond cornerftone?

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Sic. Why, what of that?

Men. If it be poffible for you to difplace it with your little finger, there is fome hope the Ladies of Rome, especially his mother, may prevail with him. But, Í fay, there is no hope in't; our throats are fentenc'd, and ftay upon execution.

Sic. Is't poffible, that fo fhort 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 horfe. The tartnefs of his face fours ripe grapes. When he walks, he moves like an engine, and the ground fhrinks before his treading. He is able to pierce a corflet with his eye: talks like a knell, and his hum is a battery. He fits 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 fhall 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!
VOL. VI.

U

Men.

Men. No, in fuch a cafe the Gods will not be good unto us. When we banish'd him, we refpected not them: and, he returning to break our necks, they respect not us.

Enter a Meffenger.

Mef. Sir, if you'd fave 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 Messenger.

Sic. What's the news?

Mej. Good news, good news, the Ladies have pre
vail'd,

The Volfcians are diflodg'd, and Marcius gone:
A merrier day did never yet greet Rome,
No, not th' Expulfion of the Tarquins.

Sic. Friend,

Art certain, this is true? is it most certain ?
Mef. As certain, as I know the Sun is fire:
Where have you 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

you;

[Trumpets, Hautboys, Drums beat, all together. The trumpets, fackbuts, pfalteries and fifes,

Tabors and cymbals, and the fhouting Romans
Make the Sun dance. Hark you!

Men. This is good news :

[A fhout within.

I will go meet the Ladies. This Volumnia
Is worth of Confuls, Senators, Patricians,
A City full; of Tribunes, fuch as you,

A Sea and Land full. You've pray'd well to day :
This morning, for ten thousand of your throats

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