Vir.

(Trust to't, thou shalt not,) on thy mother's That brought thee to this world. [womb, Ay, and on mine, That brought you forth this boy, to keep your Living to time. [name Boy.

He shall not tread on me; I'll run away, till I am bigger, but then I'll Cor. Not of a woman's tenderness to be, [fight. Requires nor child nor woman's face to see. I have sat too long. [Rising. Fol. Nay, go not from us thus. If it were so, that our request did tend To save the Romans, thereby to destroy The Volces whom you serve, you might condemn us,

As poisonous of your honour: No; our suit Is, that you reconcile them: while the Volces May say, This mercy we have show'd; the Romans,

This we received; and each in either side Give the all-hail to thee, and cry, Be bless'd, 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 wiped it out; Destroy'd his country; and his name re. [me, son: Speak to

mains

To the ensuing age, abhorr'd.
Thou hast affected the fine strains of honour,
To imitate the graces of the gods;
To tear with thunder the wide cheeks o'theair,
And yet to charge thy sulphur with a bolt
That should but rive an oak. Why dost not

speak?

you:

the world

Think'st thou it honourable for a noble man Still to remember wrongs?-Daughter, speak [boy: He cares not for your weeping-Speak thou, Perhaps, thy childishness will move him more Than can our reasons. There is no man in [me prate More bound to his mother; yet here he lets Like one i' the stocks. Thou hast never in thy Show'd thy dear mother any courtesy: [life When she (poor hen!) fond of no second brood, Has cluck'd thee to the wars, and safely home, Loaden with honour. Say, my request's unAnd spurn me back: But, if it be not so, [just, 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 neighbours.-Nay, behold

us:

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
Like him by chance:-Yet give us onr des-
I am hush'd until our city be afire,
And then I'll speak a little.
Cor.

[patch:

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,
Most dangerously you have with him prevail'd,
If not most mortal to him. But, let it come
Aufidius, though I cannot make true wars,
I'll frame convenient peace. Now, good Au-
[heard
Were you in my stead, say, would you have
A mother less? or granted less, Aufidius?
Auf. I was moved withal.
Cor.

fidius,

I dare be sworn you were: And, sir, it is no little thing, to make [sir, Mine eyes to sweat compassion. But, good What peace you'll make, advise me: For my part, [you, I'll not to Rome, I'll back with you; and pray Stand to me in this cause. O mother! wife ! Auf. I am glad thou hast set thy mercy and

thy honour

At difference in thee: out of that I'll work Myself a former fortune.

[Aside.

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

[TO VOLUMNIA, VIRGILIA, &c. But we will drink together: and you shall bear A better witness back than words, which we, On like conditions, will have counter-seal'd 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. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. Rome. A Public Place. Enter MENENIUS and SICINIUS.

Men. See you yond' coignt o'the Capitol: yond' corner stone?

Sic. Why, what 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 stay ‡ 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. Men. So did he me and he no more re

He waged me with his countenance*, as if
I had been mercenary.

1 Con.
So he did, my lord:
The army marvell'd at it. And, in the last,
When he had carried Rome; and that we
For no less spoil than glory,- [look'd
Auf.

There was it:

For which my sinews shall be stretch'd upon him.

At a few drops of women's rheumt, which are As cheap as lies, he sold the blood and labour Of our great action: Therefore shall he die, And I'll renew me in his fall. But, hark!

[Drums and Trumpets sound, with great shouts of the People.

1 Con. Your native town you enter'd like a post,

And had no welcomes home; but he returns, Splitting the air with noise.

2 Con. And patient tools, Whose children he hath slain, their base throats With giving him glory. [tear, Therefore, at your vantage, Ere he express himself, or move the people With what he would say, let him feel your

3 Con.

sword, Which we will second. When he lies along, After your way his tale pronounced shall bury His reasons with his body. Auf. Here come the Lords.

Say no more;

Enter the Lords of the City. Lords. You are most welcome home. Auf. I have not deserved it. But, worthy lords, have you with heed perused What I have written to you?

Lords.

1 Lord.

We have.

And grieve to hear it. What faults he made betore the last, I think, Might have found easy fines: but there to end, Where he was to begin; and give away The benefit of our levies, answering us With our own charge; making a treaty where There was a yielding; this admits no excuse. Auf. He approaches, you shall hear him. Enter CORIOLANUS, with Drums and Colours; a Crowd of Citizens with him. Cor. Hail, lords! I am returned your soldier: No more infected with my country's love, Than when I parted hence, but still subsisting Under your great command. You are to know, That prosperously I have attempted, and

With bloody passage, led your wars, even to The gates of Rome. Our spoils we have brought

home

But tell the traitor, in the highest degree.
He hath abused your powers.
Cor. Traitor!-How now?

Auf. Cor.

Ay, traitor, Marcius.

Marcius! Auf. Ay, Marcius, Caius Marcius: Dost thou think [name

I'll grace thee with that robbery, thy stol'n
Coriolanus in Corioli?-

You lords and heads of the state, perfidiously
He has betray'd your business, and given up,
For certain drops of salt), your city Rome
(I say, your city,) to his wife and mother:
Breaking his oath and resolution, like
A twist of rotten silk; never admitting
Counsel o'the war; but at his nurse's tears
He whined and roared away your victory;
That pages blush'd at hiı, and men of heart
Look'd wondering each at other.
Cor.

Hear'st thou, Mars?

Auf. Name not the god, thou boy of tears, Cor. Ha!

Auf. No more? Cor. Measureless liar, thou hast made my heart

Too great for what contains it. Boy! 0 slave!

Con. Let him die for't.

[Several speak at once. Cit. [Speaking promiscuously.] Tear him to pieces, do it presently. He killed my son; -my daughter; -He killed my cousin Marcus;-He killed my father.

2 Lord. Peace, ho; -no outrage; -peace. The man is noble, and his fame folds in This orb o'the earth **. His last offence to us Shall have judicioustt hearing.-Stand, AufiAnd trouble not the peace. [dius, Cor.

O, that I had him,
With six Aufidiuses, or more, his tribe,
To use my lawful sword!
Auf.
Insolent villain!

Con. Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill him.
[AUFIDIUS and the Conspirators draw,

good looks. People of Antium.

+ Tears.

Drops of tears. it Judicia

SCENE I. Rome. A Street. Enter FLAVIUS, MARULLUS, and a Rabble of Citizens.

Fla. Hence; home, you idle creatures, get
you home;

Is this a holiday? What! know you not,
Being mechanical, you ought not walk,
Upon a labouring day, without the sign
Of your profession?-Speak, what trade art
1 Cit. Why, sir, a carpenter.
Mar. Where is thy leather apron and thy rule?
What dost thou with thy best apparel on?-
You, sir; what trade are you?

[thou?

2 Cit. Truly, sir, in respect of a fine workI am but, as you would say, a cobbler. [man, Mar. But what trade art thou? Answer me directly.

2 Cit. A trade, sir, that, I hope, I may use with a safe conscience; which is, indeed, sir, a mender of bad soals.

Mar. What trade, thou knave; thou naughty knave, what trade?

2 Cit. Nay, I beseech you, sir, be not out with me: yet, if you be out, sir, I can mend you.

Mar. What meanest thou by that? me, thou saucy fellow?

2 Cit. Why, sir, cobble you.

Mend

Flav. Thou art a cobbler, art thou? 2 Cit. Truly, sir, all that I live by is, with the awl: I meddle with no tradesman's matters, nor women's matters, but with awl. I am, indeed, sir, a surgeon to old shoes; when they are in great danger, I recover them. As proper men as ever trod upon neats' leather, have gone upon my handy-work.

Flav. But wherefore art not in thy shop to-day? Why dost thou lead these men about the streets?

2 Cit. Truly, sir, to wear out their shoes, to get myself into more work. But, indeed, sir, we make holiday, to see Cæsar, and to rejoice in his triumph.

Mar. Wherefore rejoice? What conquest brings he home?

What tributaries follow him to Rome,
To grace in captive bonds his chariot wheels?
You blocks, you stones, you worse than sense-
less things!

O, you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome,
Knew you not Pompey? Many a time and

oft

Have you climb'd up to walls and battlements,
To towers and windows, yea, to chimney-
tops,
[sat
Your infants in your arms, and there have
The live-long day, with patient expectation,
To see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome:
And when you saw his chariot but appear,
Have you not made an universal shout,
That Tyber trembled underneath her banks,
To hear the replication of your sounds,
Made in her concave shores?

And do you now put on your best attire?
And do you now cull out a holiday?

And do you now strew flowers in his way,
That comes in triumph over Pompey's blood?
Be gone;

Run to your houses, fall upon your knees,
Pray to the gods to intermit the plague
That needs must light on this ingratitude. [fault,
Flav. Go, go, good countrymen, and, for this
Assemble all the poor men of your sort *;