Thy wife and children's blood. For myself, son,
I purpose not to wait on fortune, till

1

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.

Nay, go not from us thus.
If it were so, that our request did tend

To save the Romans, thereby to destroy

[Rising.

The Volces whom you serve, you might condemn us, As poisonous of your honor. No; our suit

Is, that you reconcile them; while the Volces

May say, This mercy we have showed; the Romans, This we received; and each in either side

Give the all-hail to thee, and cry, Be blessed

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 dogged with curses;
Whose chronicle thus writ,-The man was noble,
But with his last attempt he wiped it out;
Destroyed his country; and his name remains
To the ensuing age, abhorred. 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
Showed thy dear mother any courtesy ;

1

When she, (poor hen!) fond of no second brood,
Has clucked 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 Volcian to his mother;
His wife is in Corioli; and his child,

2

Like him, by chance.-Yet give us our despatch;
I am hushed 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 ope, The gods look down, and this unnatural scene 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,

1 “Keeps me in a state of ignominy, talking to no purpose.”
2 i. e. does argue for us and our petition.

Most dangerously you have with him prevailed,
If not most 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, say, would you have heard
A mother less? or granted less, Aufidius?

Auf. I was moved withal.

Cor.

I dare be sworn, you were. 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,
I'll not to Rome, I'll back with you; and pray you
Stand to me in this cause.-O mother! wife!

Auf. I am glad thou hast set thy mercy and thy honor
At difference in thee; out of that I'll work
Myself a former fortune.1

Cor.

[Aside. [The Ladies make signs to CORIOLANUS. Ay, by and by;

[TO VOLUMNIA, VIRGILIA, &c.

2

But we will drink together; and you shall bear
A better witness back than words, which we,
On like conditions, will have countersealed.
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 peace.

3

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV. Rome. A public Place.

Enter MENENIUS and SICINIUS.

Men. See you yond' coign o' the Capitol; yond' corner-stone?

1 "I will take advantage of this concession to restore myself to my former credit and power."

2 Farmer has suggested that we should, perhaps, read think. Shakspeare has, however, introduced drinking as a mark of confederation in King Henry IV. Part ii. The text, therefore, may be allowed to stand, though at the expense of female delicacy.

3 Plutarch informs us that a temple dedicated to the Fortune of the Ladies was built, on this occasion, by order of the senate.

Sic. Why, whåt of that?

Men. If it be possible for you to displace it with your little finger, there is some hope the ladies of Rome, especially his mother, may prevail with him. But I say, there is no hope in't; our throats are sentenced, and stay1 upon execution.

Sic. Is't possible that so short a time can alter the condition of a man?

Men. There is differency between a grub and a butterfly; yet your butterfly was a grub. This Marcius is grown from man to dragon; he has wings: he's more than a creeping thing.

Sic. He loved his mother dearly.

2

Men. So did he me; and he no more remembers his mother now, than an eight-year-old horse. The tartness of his face sours ripe grapes. When he walks, he moves like an engine, and the ground shrinks before his treading. He is able to pierce a corselet with his eye; talks like a knell, and his hum is a battery. He sits in his state, as a thing made 3 for Alexander. What he bids be done, is finished 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 tiger; that shall our poor city find; and all this is 'long of you.

Sic. The gods be good unto us!

unto us.

Men. No, in such a case the gods will not be good When we banished him, we respected not them; and, he returning to break our necks, they respect not us.

Enter a Messenger.

Mess. Sir, if you'd save your life, fly to your house ; The plebeians have got your fellow tribune,

1 i. e. stay but for it. 2 Sub-intelligetur-remembers his dam.
3 That is, as one made to resemble Alexander.

And hale him up and down; all swearing, if
The Roman ladies bring not comfort home,
They'll give him death by inches.

Sic.

Enter another Messenger.

What's the news?

Mess. Good news, good news.-The ladies have

prevailed.

The Volces are dislodged, and Marcius gone:

A merrier day did never yet greet Rome,
No, not the expulsion of the Tarquins.

Friend,

Sic. Art thou certain this is true? Is it most certain ? Mess. As certain as I know the sun is fire. Where have you lurked, that you make doubt of it? Ne'er through an arch so hurried the blown tide,1 As the recomforted through the gates. Why, hark you; [Trumpets and hautboys sounded, and drums beaten, all together. Shouting also within. The trumpets, sackbuts, psalteries, and fifes, Tabors, and cymbals, and the shouting Romans,

Make the sun dance. Hark you! [Shouting again.

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 prayed well to-day ; This morning, for ten thousand of your throats

I'd not have given a doit. Hark, how they joy!

[Shouting and music. Sic. First, the gods bless you for your tidings; next, Accept my thankfulness.

Mess.

Sir, we have all

They are near the city?

Great cause to give great thanks.
Sic.

Mess. Almost at point to enter.

1 "As through an arch the violent, roaring tide
Outruns the eye that doth behold his haste."

Rape of Lucrece.