Which can make Gods forfworn? I melt, and am not
Of ftronger earth than others: my mother bows,
As if Olympus to a mole-hill fhould
In fupplication nod; and my young boy
Hath an aspect of interceffion, which
I Great Nature cries, Deny not.
Let the Volfcians
Plough Rome, and harrow Italy; I'll never
Be fuch a gofling to obey inftinct: but stand
As if a man were author of himfelf,
And knew no other kin.
Vir. My Lord and husband!
Cor. These eyes are not the fame I wore in Rome.
Vir. The forrow that delivers us thus chang'd,
Makes you think fo.
Cor. Like a dull actor now,
I have forgot my part, and I am out,
Even to a full difgrace. Beft of my flesh,
Forgive my tyranny, but do not fay,
For that, Forgive our Romans.-O, a kiss
Long as my exile, fweet as my revenge!
Now by the jealous Queen of heav'n, that kifs
I carried from thee, dear; and my true lip
Hath virgin'd it e'er fince.You Gods! I prate,
And the most noble mother of the world
Leave unfaluted: fink, my knee, i' th' earth; [Kneels.
Of thy deep duty more impreffion fhew
Than that of common fons.
Vol. O ftand up bleft!
Whilft with no fofter cushion than the flint
I kneel before thee, and unproperly
Shew duty as mistaken all the while,
Between the child and parent.
Cor. What is this?
Your knees to me? to your corrected fon?
Then let the pebbles on the hungry beach
Fillop the stars: then, let the mutinous winds
Strike the proud cedars 'gainst the fiery sun :
Murd'ring impoffibility, to make
What cannot be, flight work.
Vol. Thou art my warrior,
I help 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 froft from purest snow,
And hangs on Dian's temple: dear Valeria -
Vol. This is a poor epitome of yours,
[Sherving young Martius
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'ft prove
To fhame invulnerable, and stick i'th' wars
Like a great fea-mark, ftanding every flaw,
And faving thofe that eye thee!
Vel. Your knee, firrah.
Cor. That's my brave boy.
Vol. Even he, your wife, this lady, and my felf, Are fuitors to you.
Cor. I befeech you, peace:
Or if you'd afk, 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 reasons.
Vol. Oh, no more: no more:
You've faid you will not grant us any thing:
For we have nothing else to afk, 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 speak, our raiment
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 shake 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 most 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 lose
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 shed
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 perfwade 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 shalt 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 tenderness 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 poifoners 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 bleft
For making up this peace! Thou know'ft, great fon,
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 bis laft attempt be 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 first ftrains of honour,
To imitate the graces of the Gods;
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 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 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,
And fpurn me back: but if it be not fo,
Thou art not honest, 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 hufat until our city be afire,
And then I'll speak a little.
Gor, Mother, mother! [Holds ber by the bands, filent,
What have you done? behold, the heav'ns do ope
The Gods look down, and this unnatural scene
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 dang'rously you have with him prevail'd,
If not moft 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 stead, say, would you have heard
A mother lefs? cr 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 sweat compaffion. But, good Sir,
What peace you'll make, advife 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'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 fhall bear
A better witness back than words, which we
On like conditions will have counterfeal'd.
Come, enter with us.
Auf. Ladies, you deferve
To have a temple built you; all the swords
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