Imatges de pÓgina

turn thy Solempness out o' door, and go along with us.

Vir. No: at a word, Madam ; indeed, I must not. I wish you much mirth. Val. Well, then farewel.


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SCENE changes to the Walls of Corioli. Enter Marcius, Titus Lartius, with Captains and Sol

diers : To them a Messenger. Mar.

Onder comes news: a wager, they have met.

Lart. My horse to yours, no.
Mar. 'Tis done.
Lart. Agreed.
Mar. Say, has our General met the enemy?
Mes. They lye in view; but have not spoke as yet.
Lirt. So, the good horse is mine.
Mar. I'll buy him of you.
Lart. No, I'll not sell, nor give him : lend him

you, I will,
For half an hundred years : Summon the Town.

Mar. How far off lye these armies?
Mer. Within a mile and half.

Mar. Then shall we hear their larum, and they ours. Now, Mars, I prythee, make us quick in work ; That we with smoaking swords may march from hence, To help our fielded Friends! Come, blow thy blast. They found a Parley. Enter two Senators with others

on the Walls. Tullus Aufidius, is he within your Walls ?

i Sen. No, nor a man that fears you less than he, That's lefser than a little: hark, our Drums

[Drum afar off. Are bringing forth our Youth: we'll break our Walls, Rather than they shall pound us up; our Gates, Which

yet seem shut, we have but pinn'd with rushes; They'll open of themselves. Hark you, far off

[Alarum far off


There is Aufidius. Lift, what work he makes
Amongst your cloven army.

Mar. Oh, they are at it!
Lart. Their noise be our instruction. Ladders, ho!

Enter the Volfcians.
Mar. They fear us not, but issue forth their City.
Now put your shields before your hearts, and fight
With hearts more proof than Thields. Advance, brave

They do disdain us much beyond our thoughts ;
Which makes me sweat with wrath. Come on, my,


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He that retires, I'll take him for å Volscian,
And he shall feel mine edge.
[Alarum; the Romans beat back to their Trenches.

Re-enter Marcius.
Mar. (5) All the Contagion of the South light on

You shames of Rome, you! -- herds of boils and plagues
Plaister you o'er, that you may be abhorr'd
Farther than feen, and one infect another
Against the wind a mile! - you souls of geese,
That bear the shapes of men, how have you run
From Slaves, that apes would beat? Plutó and Hell !
All hurt behind, backs red, and faces pale,
With flight, and agued fear! mend, and charge home,
Or by the fires of Heaven, I'll leave the Foe,
And make my wars on you: look to't, come on;
(5) All the Contagion of the South light on You,

Tou Shames of Rome; you Herds; of Boils and Plagues

Plaifter you o'er, &c.] Thus miserably did the old Editors give us this Passage mangled, by bad Pointing; and Mr. Pope would not indulge his privato Sense, by any Alteration to make it intelligible. The meanest Judges of English must be aware, that no Member of any Sentence can begin with a Genitive Case, and a preceding Nominative be wanting to govern That and the Verb. Where, therefore, is the Nominative to,

of Boils and Plagues plaifter you o'er? Or what Sense or Syntax is there in the Passage, as it here stands ? I reform’d the Pointing in the Appendix to my Shakespeare Reffor’d, and Mr. Pope has vouchsafed to embrace my Correction in his last Edition,

If you'll stand fast, we'll beat them to their wives,
As they us to our trenches followed.
Another alarum, and Marcius follows them to the gates.
So, now the gates are ope: now prove good seconds ;
'Tis for the followers, fortune widens them ;
Not for the fliers : mark me, and do the like.

[He enters the gates, and is fout in. : 1 Sol. Fool-hardinels, not I. 2 Sol. Nor I. i Sok. See, they have shut him in. [Alarum continues. All. To th' pot, I warrant him.

Enter Titus Lartius. Lart. What is become of Marcius? All. Slain, Sir, doubtless.

I Sol. Following the fiers at the very heels,
With them he enters; who, upon the sudden,
Clapt to their gates; he is himself alone,
To answer all the City.

Lart. Oh, noble fellow!
Who, sensible, out-does his senseless sword, (6)
And when it bows, stands up: thou art left, Marcius
A carbuncle intire, as big as thou art,
Were not so rich a jewel. Thou waft a soldier (7)



(6) Who fenfibly outdares bis fenfeless Sword,

And when it bows, ftands up.] The fine and easy Emendation of this Passage, which I have inserted in the Text, is owing to the ingenious Dr. Thirlby. (7) Thou wast a Soldier

Even to Calvus' Wijh ;] T. Lartius is here summing up his Friend's Character, as a Warrior that was terrible in his Strokes, in the Tone of his Voice, and the Grimness of his Countenance. But who was this Calvus, that wish'd these three Characteristicks in a Soldier? I'm afraid, Greek and Roman History will be at a Lofs to account for such a Man an i such Circumftances join'd to signalize him. I formerly amended the Passage, and prov'd that the Poet must have wrote,

Even to Cato's Wish; The Error probably arose from the Similitude in the Manuscript of to to lv: and so this unknown Wight Calvus sprung up. I come now to the Authorities for my Emendation. Plutarch, in the Life of Co


Even to Cato's wish, not fierce and terrible
Only in stroaks, but with thy grim looks, and
The thunder-like percussion of thy founds,
Thou mad'ft thine enemies shake, as if the world
Were feaverous, and did tremble.

Enter Marcius bleeding, asaulted by the Enemy.
i Sol. Look, Sir.

Lart. O, 'tis Marcius.
Let's fetch him off, or make remain alike.

[They fight, and all enter the City. Enter certain Romans with Spoils. i Rom. This will I carry to Rome. 2 Rom. And I this. 3 Rom. A murrain on't, I took this for silver.

[Alarum continues still afar off. Enter Marcius and Titus Lartius, with a Trumpet. Mar. See here these Movers, that do prize their ho

nours At a crack'd drachm: cushions, leaden spoons, Irons of a doit, doublets that hangmen would Bury with those that wore them, these base flaves, riolanus, speaking of this Hero, says; He was a Man (that which Cato requir'd in a Warrior) not only dreadful to meet with in the Field, by reason of his Hand and Stroke; but insupportable to an Enemy, for the very

Tone and Accent of his Voice; and the fole Terror of his Aspect. This again is confirm’d by the Historian, in the Life of Marcus CẠTo the Censor. In Engagements (says He;) he would use to strike luftily, with a fierce Countenance fare upon his Enemies, and with a harsh threatning Voice' accost them. Nor was he out in his Opinion, whilf he taught, that such rugged kind of Behaviour fometimes does strike the Enemy more than the Sword it self. Mr. Pope owns, I have clearly prov'd this Point: but he seems inclin'd to think, the Blunder should rather have continued, than I should have discover'd the Author guilty of such a terrible Anachronism. But is Mr. Pope conscious of no other Anachronism committed by our Poet in this Play ? Menenius in one Passage talks of Alexander the Great; tho' that Prince was not born till 130 Years after Coriolanus's Death; nay, and in another He mentions Galen, whose Birth was above 420 Years later than That of Alexander. And there are certain other Anachronisms, that lie blended together, which I shall have Occasion to inform Mr. Pope of, before I have done with the ad Act of this Tragedy.


C 3


Ere yet the fight be done, pack up ; down with them;
And hark, what noise the General makes!-to him ;--
There is the man of my soul's hate, Aufidius,
Piercing our Romans: then, valiant Titus, take
Convenient numbers to make good the City;
Whilft I, with those that have the spirit, will haste
To help Cominius.

Lart. Worthy Sir, thou bleed'st;
Thy exercise hath been too violent
For a second course of fight.

Mar. Sir, praise me not :
My work hath yet not warm'd me. Fare you

well :
The blood, I drop, is rather physical
Than dangerous to me.
T' Aufidius thus I will appear, and fight.

Lart. Now the fair Goddess Fortune
Fall deep in love with thee, and her great charms
Misguide thy opposers swords! bold gentleman!
Prosperity be thy page!

Mar. Thy friend no less,
Than those the placeth highest! fo, farewel.

Lart. Thou worthiest Marcius,
Go found thy trumpet in the market-place,
Call thither all the officers o'th' town,
Where they shall know our mind. Away. [Exeunt.

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SCENE changes to the Roman Camp.


. Cominius retreating, with Soldiers.
Reathe you, my friends; well fought; we are



come off

Like Romans, neither foolish in our Stands,
Nor cowardly in retire : Believe me, Sirs,
We shall be charg'd again. Whiles we have struck,
By interims and conveying gufts, we have heard
The Charges of our friends. The Roman Gods
Lead their successes, as we with our own;
That both our Powers, with smiling fronts encountring,
May give you thankful sacrifice! Thy news?


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