Vol. Thou art my warrior,
I holp to frame thee. Do you know this lady?
Cor. The noble fifter of Poplicola:
The moon of Rome, chafte as the icicle
That's curdled by the frost from pureft fnow,
And hangs on Dian's temple: dear Valeria
Vol. This is a poor epitome of yours,
Which by th' interpretation of full time
May fhew like all your felf.
Cor. The God of foldiers,
With the confent of fupream Jove, inform
Thy thoughts with noblenefs, that thou may'st prove
To fhame unvulnerable, and stick i' th' wars
Like a great fea-mark, ftanding every flaw,
Vol. Your knee, firrah.
Cor. That's my brave boy.
Vel. Even he, your wife, this lady, and my felf,
Are fuitors to you.
Cor. I befeech 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 foldiers, or capitulate
Again with Rome's mechanicks. Tell me not
Wherein I feem unnatural: defire not
T'allay my rages and revenges, with
Your colder reafons.
Vol. Oh, no more: no more :
You've faid 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 we fail in our requeft, the blame
May hang upon your hardness; therefore hear us.
Cor. Aufidius, and you Volfcians, mark; for we'll
Hear nought from Rome in private.--Your request?
Vol. Should we be filent and not fpeak, our raiment
M 4
And state of bodies would bewray what life
We've led fince thy exile. Think with thy felf,
How more unfort'nate than all living women
Are we come hither; fince thy fight, which fhould
Make our eyes flow with joy, hearts dance with comforts,
Conftrains them weep, and fhake with fear and forrow;
Making the mother, wife, and child to fee,
The fon, the husband, and the father tearing
His country's bowels out: and to poor 'us
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're bound, together with thy victory,
Whereto we're bound? Alack, or we must lofe
The country, our dear nurfe; or elfe thy perfon,
Our comfort in the country. We must find
An eminent calamity, tho' we had
Our wish, which fide fhou'd win. For either thou
Muft, as a foreign recreant, be led
With manacles along our streets, or elfe
Triumphantly tread on thy country's ruin,
And bear the palm for having bravely fhed
Thy wife and children's blood. For my felf, fon,
I purpose not to wait on fortune, 'till
Thefe wars determine: if I can't perfuade thee
Rather to fhew a noble grace to both parts,
Than feek the end of one; thou fhalt not fooner
March to affault thy country, than to tread
(Truft to't, thou fhalt not) on thy mother's womb,
That brought thee to this world.
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 tendernels 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 poyfoners of your honour. No; our fuit
Is that you reconcile them: while the Volfcians
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 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 fuch a name,
Whofe repetition will be dogg'd with curfes:
Whofe chronicle thus writ, The man was noble
But with his last attempt he wip'd it out,
Deftroy'd his country, and his name remains
To th' enfuing age, abborr'd. Speak to me, fon:
Thou haft affected the firft ftrains of honour,
To imitate the graces of the Gods;
3/Who tear with thunder the wide cheeks o' th' air,
And yet do 'charge'their fulphur with a bolt,
That 'fhall but rive an oak. Why dost 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
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' ftocks. 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 request's unjust,
5 change... old edit. Theob. emend.
And spurn 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 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 :
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. Mother! mother!
[Holds her by the hands, filent. What have you done? behold, the heav'ns do ope, The Gods look down, and this unnatural fcene 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 dangerously you have with him prevail'd, If not most 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
3 his... old edit. Theob. emend.
Stand to me in this caufe. O mother! wife!
Auf. I'm glad thou'ft fet thy mercy and thy honour
At difference in thee; out of that I'll work
My felf 'my' former fortune.
But we will drink together; and you shall bear
[To Volumnia, Virg. &c.
A better witness back than words, which we
On like conditions will have counter-feal'd.
Come, enter with us.
Auf. Ladies, you deserve
To have a temple built you: all the fwords
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
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 lay there is no hope in't, our throats are sentenc'd, and stay 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
This fpeech to Car. in former edit.
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