2 G. 'Tis a spell, you see, of much power: You know the way home again.

1 G. Do you hear how we are shent for keeping your greatness back?

2 G. What cause, do you think, I have to swoon?

Men. I neither care for the world, nor your general: for such things as you, I can scarce think there's any, you are so slight. He that hath a will to die by himself', fears it not from another. Let your general do his worst. For you, be that you are, long; and your misery increase with your age! I say to you, as I was said to, Away!

1 G. A noble fellow, I warrant him. 2 G. The worthy fellow is our general: rock, the oak not to be wind-shaken.

[Exit.

He is the [Exeunt.

SCENE III.

The Tent of Coriolanus.

Enter CORIOLANUS, AUFIDIUS, and Others.

Cor. We will before the walls of Rome to-morrow
Set down our host.-My partner in this action,
You must report to the Volcian lords, how plainly
I have borne this business®.

Auf.

Only their ends

You have respected; stopp'd your ears against
The general suit of Rome; never admitted

A private whisper, no, not with such friends
That thought them sure of you.

6

how we are shent —] i. e. shamed, disgraced, made ashamed of ourselves. Mr. Malone says, rebuked, reprimanded. Cole, in his Latin Dict. 1679, renders to shend, increpo. It is so used by many of our old writers.

I have borne this business.] That is, how openly, how remotely from artifice or concealment.

Cor.

This last old man,

Whom with a crack'd heart I have sent to Rome,
Loved me above the measure of a father;
Nay, godded me, indeed. Their latest refuge
Was to send him: for whose old love, I have
(Though I show'd sourly to him,) once more offer'd
The first conditions, which they did refuse,
And cannot now accept, to grace him only,
That thought he could do more; a very little
I have yielded too: Fresh embassies, and suits,
Nor from the state, nor private friends, hereafter
Will I lend ear to.-Ha! what shout is this?

Shall I be tempted to infringe my vow
In the same time 'tis made? I will not.-

[Shout within.

Enter, in Mourning Habits, VIRGILIA, VOLUMNIA, leading young MARCIUS, VALERIA, and Attendants.

My wife comes foremost; then the honour'd mould.
Wherein this trunk was fram'd, and in her hand
The grand-child to her blood. But, out, affection!
All bond and privilege of nature, break!
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 aspéct of intercession, which

Great nature cries, Deny not.-Let the Volces
Plough Rome, and harrow Italy; I'll never
Be such a gosling to obey instínct; but stand,
As if a man were author of himself,

And knew no other kin.

Vir.

My lord and husband!

Cor. These eyes are not the same I wore in Rome.

Vir. The sorrow, that delivers us thus chang'd, Makes you think so.

Cor.

Like a dull actor now,
I have forgot my part, and I am out,
Even to a full disgrace. Best of my flesh,
Forgive my tyranny; but do not say,
For that, Forgive our Romans.—O, a kiss
Long as my exile, sweet as my revenge!
Now by the jealous queen of heaven ', that kiss
I carried from thee, dear; and my true lip
Hath virgin'd it e'er since.-You gods! I prate,
And the most noble mother of the world

Leave unsaluted: Sink, my knee, i'the earth; [Kneels.
Of thy deep duty more impression show

Than that of common sons.

Vol.
O, stand up bless'd!
Whilst, with no softer cushion than the flint,

I kneel before thee; and unproperly
Show duty, as mistaken all the while
Between the child and parent.

[Kneels.

What is this?

Cor.
Your knees to me? to your corrected son?
Then let the pebbles on the hungry beach'
Fillip the stars; then let the mutinous winds
Strike the proud cedars 'gainst the fiery sun;
Murd'ring impossibility, to make

What cannot be, slight work.

Vol.

Thou art my warrior; I holp to frame thee. Do you know this lady?

9 The sorrow, that delivers us thus chang'd,

Makes you think so.] Virgilia makes a voluntary misinterpretation of her husband's words. He says, These eyes are not the same, meaning that he saw things with other eyes, or other dispositions. She lays hold on the word eyes, to turn his attention on their present appearance. JOHNSON.

1 Now by the jealous queen of heaven,] That is, by Juno.

2

on the hungry beach-] The hungry beach is the sterile unprolifick beach.

Cor. The noble sister of Publicola,

The moon of Rome; chaste as the icicle,

That's curded by the frost from purest snow,
And hangs on Dian's temple: Dear Valeria!
Vol. This is a poor epitome of yours,

Which by the interpretation of full time
May show like all yourself.

Cor.

The god of soldiers,

With the consent of supreme Jove, inform

Thy thoughts with nobleness; that thou may'st prove

To shame unvulnerable, and stick i'the wars

Like a great sea-mark, standing every flaw3,

And saving those that eye thee!

Vol.

Cor. That's my brave boy.

Your knee, sirrah.

Vol. Even he, your wife, this lady, and myself, Are suitors to you.

Cor.

I beseech you, peace:

Or, if you'd ask, remember this before;

The things, I have forsworn to grant, may never
Be held by you denials. Do not bid me

Dismiss my soldiers, or capitulate

Again with Rome's mechanicks :-Tell me not
Wherein I seem unnatural: Desire not

To allay my rages and revenges, with

Your colder reasons.

Vol.

O, no more, no more!
You have said, you will not grant us any thing;
For we have nothing else to ask, but that
Which you deny already: Yet we will ask;
That, if you fail in our request, the blame
May hang upon your hardness: therefore hear us.

"curdied"-MALONE.

3 Like a great sea-mark, standing every flaw,] That is, every gust, every storm.

That, if you fail in our request,] That is, if you fail to grant us our request; if you are found failing or deficient in love to

Cor. Aufidius, and you Volces, mark; for we'll Hear nought from Rome in private.-Your request?

Vol. Should we be silent and not speak, our raiment, And state of bodies would bewray what life We have led since thy exíle. Think with thyself, How more unfortunate than all living women

Are we come hither: since that thy sight, which should Make our eyes flow with joy, hearts dance with com

forts,

Constrains them weep, and shake with fear and sorrow;
Making the mother, wife, and child, to see
The son, the husband, and the father, tearing
His country's bowels out. And to poor we,
Thine enmity's most capital: thou barr'st us
Our prayers to the gods, which is a comfort
That all but we enjoy: For how can we,
Alas! how can we for our country pray,
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 through 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

your country, and affection to your friends, when our request shall

have been made to you, the blame, &c.

5 These wars determine :] i. e. conclude, end.

VOL. VI.

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