you might condemn us,
r. No, our fuit
While the Volfcies
e fhew'd; the Romans
in either fide
and cry, be bleft
Thou know'ft, Great Son,
n; but this certain,
e, the benefit
reap, is fuch a Name,
Cogg'd with Curfes:
wit, The Man was Noble
t, he wip'd it out,
and his Name remains
orr'd. Speak to me Son:
ive ftrains of Honour,
the wide Cheeks o'th' Air, y Sulphur with a Bolt, In Oak. Why doft not speak? "ourable for a Noble Man ongs? Daughter, speak you: r weeping. Speak thou, Boy, ncfs, will move him more
Cor. I beseech you, Peace:
Or if you'd ask, remember this before;
The thing I have forfworn to grant, may never
Be held by you denial. Do not bid me
Difmifs my Soldiers, or Capitulate
Again with Rome's Mechanicks. Tell me not
Wherein I feem unnatural: Defire not tallay
My Rages and Revenges, with your colder Reafons.
Vol. Oh, no more: No more :
You have faid you will not grant us any thing:
For we have nothing elfe 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 hardnefs; therefore hear us.
Cor. Aufidius, and you Volfcies, mark; for we'll
Hear nought from Rome in private. Your Requeft?
Vol. Should we be filent and not speak, our Raiment
And ftate of Bodies would bewray what Life
We have led fince thy Exile. Think with thy felf,
How more unfortunate than living Women
Are we come hither; fince that thy fight, which should
Make our Hearts flow with Joy, Hearts dance with Comforts,
Conftrains them weep, and thake with Fear and Sorrow,
Making the Mother, Wife, and Child to fee,
The Son, the Husband, and the Father tearing
His Courtry's Bowels out: And to poor we,
Thine Enmity's moft Capital: Thou barr'ft 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 muft lofe
The Country, our dear Nurfe, or else thy Perfon
Our comfort in the Country. We must find
An eminent Calamity, tho' we had
Our wifh, which fide fhou'd win. For either thou
Muft, as a Forcign Recreant be led
With Manacles through our Streets, or elfe
Triumphantly tread on thy Country's Ruin,
And bear the Palm, for having bravely shed
Thy Wife and Childrens Blood: For my felf, Son,
I purpose not to wait on Fortune, 'till
Thefe Wars determine: If I cannot perfwade thee
Rather to fhew a noble grace to both parts,
Than feek the end of one; thou shalt no fooner
March to affault thy Country, than to tread
(Truft to't, thou fhall not) on thy Mother's Womb
That brought thee to this World.
Virg. Ay, and mine too, thatbrought you forth this Boy,
To keep your Name living to Time.
Boy. A fhall 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 no Child, nor Woman's Face to fee: I have fate 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 Volfcies, whom you ferve, you might condemn us,
As poyfonous of your Honour. No, our fuit
Is that you reconcile them: While the Volfcies
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 Son,
The end of War's uncertain; but this certain,
That if thou conquer Rome, the benefit
Which thou shalt thereby reap, is fuch a Name,
Whose repetition will be dogg'd with Curfes:
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 th' enfuing Age, abhorr'd. Speak to me Son:
Thou haft affected the five ftrains of Honour,
To imitate the Graces of the Gods.
To tear with Thunder the wide Cheeks o'th' Air,
And yet to change thy Sulphur with a Bolt,
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,
Perhaps thy Childishness, will move him more
Than can our Reasons. There is no Man in the World
More bound to's Mother, yet here he lets me prate
Like one i'th' Stocks. Thou haft never in thy Life,
Shew'd thy dear Mother any Curtefie,
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 fpurn me back: But if it be not fo,
Thou art not Honeft, and the Gods will plague thee
That thou reftrain'ft from me the Duty, which
To a Mother's part belongs. He turns away;
Down Ladies; let us fhame him with our Knees.
To his Sir-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's,
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;
His Wife is in Coriolus, and his Child
Like him by chance; yet give us out Difpatch:
I am hufht until our City be afire, and then I'll fpeak a little, Holds her by the Hand, filent.
What have you done? Behold, the Heavens do ope,
The Gods look down, and this unnatural Scene
They laugh at. Oh, my Mother, Mother: Oh!
You have won a happy Victory to Rome.
But for your Son, believe it, Oh believe it,
Most dangerously you have with him prevail'd,
If not moft Mortal to him. But let it come:
Aufidius, though I cannot make true Wars,
I'll frame convenient Peace. Now, good Aufidius,
Were you in my ftead, would you have heard
A Mother lefs? Or granted lefs, Anfidius?
Auf. I was mov'd withal.
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 am glad thou haft fet thy Mercy, and thy Honour
A difference in thee; out of that I'll work [Afide.
My felf a former Fortune.
Cor. Ay, by and by; but we will drink together;
And you fhall bear
[To Vol. Virg, &c.
A better witnefs back than words, which we
On like Conditions, will have counter-feal'd.
Come, enter with us: Ladies, you deferve
To have a Temple built you: All the Swords
In Italy, and her Confederate Arms
Could not have made this Peace.
Enter Menenius and Sicinius.
Men. See you yond Coin o'th' Capitol, yond Corner Stone? 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, efpecially his Mother, may prevail with him. But I 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 Martius 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 tartness 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,
|