The Country, our dear nurse; or else thy person, Our wish, which fide fhou'd win. For either thou With manacles along our fireet; or else Thefe wars determine: if I can't perfuade thee Virg. Ay, and mine too,' 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. Vol. Nay, go not from us thus: If it were fo, that our requeft did tend The Volfcians whom you ferve, you might condemn us, 6 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 fhalt thereby reap, is fuch a Name, Whofe repetition will be dogg'd with Curses : E 6 Whofe Whofe Chronicle thus writ, 'The man was nobleBut with his laft attempt he wip'd it out, Destroy'd his Country, and his name remains To the enfuing age, abhorr'd.' Speak to me, fon :. Thou haft affected the firft ftrains of honour, To imitate the graces of the Gods ; To tear with thunder the wide cheeks o' th' air, That fhould but rive an oak. Why doft not speak? Than can our reasons. There's no man in the world: When fhe, (poor hen) fond of no fecond brood, Like him by chance; yet give us our difpatch:: And then, I'll speak a little.. Cor. Cor. O 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 scene Oh, my mother, mother! oh!. They laugh at. You've won a happy victory to Rome: But for your fon, believe it, oh, believe it, Cor. I dare be sworn, you were; And, Sir, it is no little thing to make Mine eyes to fweat 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 set thy mercy and thy ho nour. At difference in thee; out of That I'll work [Afide. Cor. Ay, by and by; but we will drink together: And you fhall bear [To Vol. 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. *Cor. [Exeunt: Come, enter with us: Ladies, you deferve, &c.] This Speech beginning at, Ladies, you deferve--which is abfurdly given to Coriolanus, belongs to Aufidius. SCENE. The Forum, in ROME. Enter Menenius and Sicinius. Men. SEE you yond coin o'th' Capitol, yond cor ner-flone? Sic. Why, what of that? 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 fay, there is no hope in't; our throats are fentenc'd, and ftay upon execution. Sic. Is't poffible, that so short a time can alter the condition of a man? Men. There is difference between a grub and a but. terfly, 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 lov'd his mother dearly. Men. So did he me: and he no more remembers his mother now, than an eight years old horfe. The tartness of his face fours ripe grapes. When he walks, he moves like an engine, and the ground fhrinks before his treading. He is able to pierce a corflet with his eye: talks like a knell, and his hum is a battery. He fits in his State as a thing made for Alexander. What he bids be done, is finish'd 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 fhall bring from him; there is no more mercy in him, than there is milk in a male tyger; that fhall our poor City find; and all this is long of you. Sic. The Gods be good unto us! Men. unto us. Men. No, in fuch a cafe the Gods will not be good When we banifh'd him, we refpected not them: and, he returning to break our necks, they respect not us. Enter a Meffenger. Mef. Sir, if you'd fave your life, fly to your house; The Plebeians have got your fellow-tribune, And hale him up and down; All fwearing, if The Roman Ladies bring not comfort home, They'll give him death by inches. Enter another Meffenger. Sic. What's the news? [vail'd Mef. Good news, good news, the Ladies have pre The Volfcians are diflodg'd, and Marcius gone: No, not th' Expulfion of the Tarquins. Sic. Friend, Art certain, this is true? is it most certain ? Men. This is good news: I will go meet the Ladies. This Volumnia Mes. |