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.
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 exile. 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 comforts,

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 thorough our streets, or else
Triumphantly tread upon thy country's ruin;
And bear the palm, for having bravely shed
Thy wife and children's blood. For myself, son,
[ 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.
Vir.
Ay, and on mine,
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 am bigger, but then I'll fight. Cor. Not of a woman's tenderness to be, Requires nor child nor woman's face to see. I have sat too long. Vol.

• Gust, storm.

[Rising. Nay, go not from us thus. 1 Betray

If it were so, thai our request did tend
To save the Romans, thereby to destroy
The Volces whom you serve, you might condenin us
As poisonous of your honor: No; our suit
Is, that you reconcile them: while the Volces,
May say, This mercy we have show'd; the homans
This we receiv'd; and each in either side
Give the all-hail to thee, and cry, Be bless'd
For making up this peace! Thou know'st, great son,
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,-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. Speak to me, son.
Thou hast affected the fine strains of honor,
To imitate the graces of the gods;

To tear with thunder the wide cheeks o' the air,
And yet to charge thy sulphur with a bolt
That should but rive an oak. Why dost not speak!
Think'st thou it honorable for a noble man
Still to remember wrongs?-Daughter, speak you
He cares not for your weeping.-Speak thou, boy:
Perhaps thy childishness will move him more
Than can our reasons.-There is no man in the
world

More bound to his mother; yet here he lets me prate
Like one i' the stocks. Thou hast never in thy life
Show'd thy dear mother any courtesy;
When she, (poor hen!) fond of no second brood,
Has cluck'd thee to the wars, and safely home,
Loaden with honor. 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 restrain'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 his surname Coriolanus 'longs more pride,
Than pity to our prayers. Down; an end:
This is the last;-So we will home to Rome
And die among our neighbors.-Nay, behold us
This boy, that cannot tell what he would have,
But kneels, and holds up 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;
His wife is in Corioli, and his child
Like him by chance:--Yet give us our despatch
I am hush'd until our city be afire,
And then I'll speak a little.
Cor.

O mother, mother!
[Holding VOLUMNIA by the hands, silent
What have you done? Behold, the heavens do ops
The gods look down, and this unnatural sceno
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 prevai'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 Aufdius
Were you in my stead, say, would you have heard
A mother less? or granted less, Aufidius?
Auf. I was mov'd withal.

་

Cor.

I dare be sworn, you wele 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

Auf.
I know it;
And my pretext to strike at him admits

A good construction. I rais'd him, and I pawn'd
Mine honor 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.
3 Con. Sir, his stoutness,

When he did stand for consul, which he lost
By lack of stooping,

Auf. That I would have spoke of:
Being banish'd for't, he came unto my hearth
Presented to my knife his throat: I took him;
Made him joint servant with me; gave him way
In all his own desires nay, let him choose
Out of my files, his projects to accomplish,
My best and freshest men; serv'd his designments
In mine own person; holp to reap the fame,
Which he did end all his; and took some pride
To do myself this wrong: till, at the last,
I seem'd his follower, not partner; and
He waged me with his countenance,' as if
I had been mercenary.

1 Con So he did, my lord: The army marvell'd at it. And, in the last, When he had carried Rome; and that we look'd For no less spoil than glory,Auf.

8

There was it; For which my sinews shall be stretch'd upon him. At a few drops of women's rheum which are As cheap as hes, he sold the blood and labor Of our great action; Therefore shall he die, And I'll renew me in his fall. But, hark!

[Drums and Trumpets sound, with great Shouts of the People.

1 Con. Your native town you enter'd like a post, And had no welcomes home; but he returns, Splitting the air with noise.

2 Con. And patient fools, Whose children he hath slain, their base throats tear, With giving him glory.

3 Con. Therefore, at your 'vantage, 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. Auf.

Here come the lords.

Say no more;

Crowd of Citizens with him.
Cor. 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 honor 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.

Auf.

Read it not, noble lords But tell the traitor, in the highest degree He hath abus'd your powers.

Cor. Traitor!-How now?

I'll grace thee with that robbery, thy stol'n name
Coriolanus in Corioli ?-

You lords and heads of the state, perfidiously
He has betray'd your business, and given up,
For certain drops of salt, your city Rome,
(I say, your city,) to his wife and mother:
Breaking his oath and resolution, like
A twist of rotten silk; never admitting
Counsel o' the war; but at his nurse's tears
He whin'd and roar'd away your victory;
That pages blush'd at him, and men of heart
Look'd wondering each at other.

Peace, both, and hear me speak Cor. Cut me to pieces, Volces; 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 Flutter'd your Volces in Corioli: Alone I did it.-Boy!

Auf.

Why, noble lords, Will you be put in mind of his blind fortune, Which was your shame, by this unholy braggart, 'Fore your own eyes and ears?

Con. Let him die for't. [Several speak at once Cit. [Speaking promiscuousy.] Tear him t pieces, do it presently. He killed my son;-my daughter;-He killed my cousin Marcus;-Ho killed my father.

2 Lord. Peace, ho;-no outrage :-peace. The man is noble, and his fame folds in This orb o' the earth. His last offence to us

Which this man's life did owe you, you'll rejoice
That he is thus cut off. Please it your honors
To call me to your senate, I'll deliver
Myself your royal servant, or endure
Your heaviest censure.

1 Lord.
And mourn you for him: let him be regarded
As the most noble corse that ever herald
Did follow to his urn.
2 Lord.
His own impatience
Takes from Aufidius a great part of blame.
Let's make the best of it.

Bear from hence his body,

Auf. 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.Assist. [Exeunt, bearing the body of CORIOLANUS A dead March wounded.

SCENE I.-Rome. A Street.

2 Cit. Truly, sir, all that I live by is, with the awl I meddle with no tradesman's matters, nor women's

zens.

home;

Is this a holiday? What! know you not,
Being mechanical, you ought not walk,
Jpon a laboring day, without the sign

Of your profession?-Speak, what trade art thou? 1 Cit. Why, sir, a carpenter.

Mar. Where is thy leather apron and thy rule? What dost thou with thy best apparel on ?— You, sir; what trade are you?

2 Cit. Truly, sir, in respect of a fine workman, I am but, as you would say, a cobbler.

Mar. But what trade art thou? Answer me directly.

2 C. A trade, sir, that, I hope, I may use with a safe conscience; which is, indeed, sir, a mender of bad soles.

Mar. What trade, thou knave? thou naughty knave, what trade?

2 Cit. Nay, I beseech you, sir, be not out with ine yet, if you be out, sir, I can mend you. Mar. What meanest thou by that? Mend me, thou saucy fellow!

2 Cit. Why, sir, cobble you.
Flav. 'l'hou art a cobbler, art thou?

Flav. But wherefore art not ir. thy shop to-day? Why dost thou lead these men abo:it the streets?

2 Cit. Truly, sir, to wear out their shoes, to get myself into more work. But, indeed, sir, we make holiday, to see Cæsar, and to rejoice in his triumph. Mar. Wherefore rejoice? What conquest brings

he home?

What tributaries follow him to Rome,

To grace in captive bonds his chariot wheels? You blocks, you stones, you worse than senselesa things!

O, you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome,
Knew you not Pompey? Many a time and oft,
Have you climb'd up to walls and battlements,
To towers and windows, yea, to chimney-tops,
Your infants in your arms, and there have sat
The live-long day, with patient expectation,
To see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome
And when you saw his chariot but appear
Have you not made an universal shout,
That Tyber trembled underneath her banks,
To hear the replication of your sounds,
Made in her concave shores?
And do you now put on your best attire ?