Sivut kuvina

Cor. I beseech you, Peace :
Or if you'd ask, remember this before;
The thing I have forsworn to grant, may never
Be held by you denial. Do not bid me
Dismiss my Soldiers, or Capitulate
Again with Rome's Mechanicks. Tell me not
W herein I seem unnatural : Defire not t' allay
My Rages and Revenges, with your colder Reasons.

Vol. Oh, 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 Volscies, 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 thy felf, How more unfortunate than living Women Are we come hither; since that thy sight, which Mould Make our Hearts 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 Courtry'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 Vi&ory, 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 eminent Calamity, tho' we had Our wil, which fide shou'd 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 Childrens Blood : For my self, Son,

I purpose not to wait on Fortune, 'till
These Wars determine : If I cannot perswade thee
Rather to thew a noble grace to both parts,
Than feek the end of one; thou shalt no sooner
March to assault thy Country, than to tread
(Trust to't, thou shall 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 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 no Child, nor Woman's Face to see :
I have fate too long.

Vol. Nay, go not from us thus :
If it were so, that our Request did tend
To save the Romans, thereby to destroy
The Volscies, whom you serve, you might condemn us,
As poylonous of your Honour. No, our fuit
Is that you reconcile them : While the Volscies
May fay, this Mercy we have shew'd; the Romans
This we receiv’d, and each in either side
Give the All-hail to thee, and cry, be blest
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 wip'd it out,
Destroy'd his Country, and his Name remains
To th' ensuing age, abhorr’d. Speak to me Son :
Thou hast affe&ed the five strains 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'st 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


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Thin can our Reasons. There is no Man in the World
More bound to's Mother, yer here he lets me prate
Like one i'th' Stocks. Thou hast never in thy Life,
Shew'd thy dear Mother any Curtefie,
When The (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 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 Sir-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's,
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 haft to deny't. Come, let us go :
This Fellow had a Volscian to his Mother;
His Wife is in Coriolus, and his Child
Like him by chance; yet give us out Dispatch :
I am husht until our City be afire, and then I'll speak a little,

[Holds her by the Hand, filenz.
Cor. O Mother, Mother!
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 prevaild,
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 stead, would you have heard
A Mother lefs : 'Or granted less, Aufidius ?

Auf. I was mov'd withal.

Cor. I dare be sworn you were ;
And, Sir, it is no little thing to make
Mine Eyes to sweat Compaslion. But, good Sir,


And you

What Peace you'll make, advise me : For my part,
I'll nor to Rome, I'll back with you, and pray you
Stand to me in this Cause. O Mother! Wife!

Anf. I am glad thou hast set thy Mercy, and thy Honour
A difference in thee; out of that I'll work [ Aside.
My self a former Fortune.
Cor. Ay, by and by; but we will drink together;
Thall bear

[To Vol. Virg, &c.
A better witness back than words, which we
On like Conditions, will have counter-Sealid.
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 Peacc.

[Exeunt, SCENE III. Rome.

Enter Menenius and Sicinius. Men. See you yond Coin o'ch'Capitol, yond Corner Scones -Sic. Why, what of that?

Men. If ic be poslible for you to displace it with your little Finger, there is some hope the Ladies of Rome, espe, cially his Mother, may prevail with him. But I say, there is nó hope in't, our Throats are sentenc'd, and stay upon Execution,

Sic. Is't possible that so 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 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 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 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 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 refpe& not us.

Enter a Messenger. Mes. Sir, if you'd save your Life flye to your House, The Plebeians have got your Fellow-Tribune, And hale him up and down, all swearing, if The Roman Ladies bring not Comfort home, They'll give him Death by Inches.

Enter another Messenger. Sic. What's the News ?

Mes. Good News, good News, the Ladies have prevail’d, The Volscians are dislodg'd, and Martius gone: A merrier Day did never yet greet Rome, No, not th’ Expulsion of the Tarquins.

Sic. Friend, art thou certain this is true? Is't 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, Hantboys, Drums beat, all together. The Trumpets, Sackbuts, Psalteries and Fifes, Tabors and Cymbals, and the shouting Romans Make the Sun dance. Hark you.

[Afbout 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 have pray'd well to Day: This Morning, for ten thousand of your Throats, I'd not have given a doit. Hark how they joy.

[Sound still with the Shouts. Sic. First, the Gods bless you for your Tidings : Next, accept my Thankfulness.

Mes. Sir, we have all great cause to give great thanks. Sic. They are near the City?


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