The Country, our dear nurse; or else thy person,
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 fireet; or else
Triumphantly tread on thy Country's ruin,
And bear the palm, for having bravely thed
Thy wife and children's blood. For myself, fon,
I purpose not to wait on Fortune, 'till

Thefe wars determine: if I can't perfuade thee
Rather to fhew a noble grace to both parts,
Than feek the end of one; thou shalt no fooner
March to affault thy Country, than to tread
(Trust to't, thou shalt not) on thy mother's womb,
That brought thee to this world.

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.
Cor. Not of a woman's tenderness to be,
Requires, nor child, nor woman's face, to see :
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 poifonous of your Honour. No; our fuit

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,
And yet to charge thy fulphur with a bolt,

That fhould but rive an oak. Why doft not speak?
Think it thou it honourable for a noble man
Still to remember wrongs? Daughter, fpeak you:
He cares not for your weeping. Speak thou, Boy;
Perhaps, thy childifhnefs will move him more

Than can our reasons. There's no man in the world:
More bound to's mother, yet here he lets me prate
Like one i'th' Stocks. Thou'ft never in thy life
Shew'd thy dear mother any courtesy;

When fhe, (poor hen) fond of no fecond brood,
Has cluck'd thee to the wars, and fafely home,
Loaden with honour. Say, my Requeft's unjuft,
And fpurn me back: but, if it be not so,
Thou art not honeft, 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's 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 ftrength
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 difpatch::
I'm hufht, until our City be a-fire;

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,
Moft dang'rously you have with him prevail'd,
If not most 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 ftead, fay, would you have heard.
A mother lefs? or granted lefs, Aufidius?
Auf. I too was mov'd.

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
Myself a former fortune.

[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:
A merrier day did never yet greet Rome,

No, not th' Expulfion of the Tarquins.

Sic. Friend,

Art certain, this is true? is it most certain ?
Mef. As certain, as I know the Sun is fire:
Where have you lurk'd, that you make doubt of it?
Ne'er through an Arch fo hurried the blown tide,
As the recomforted through th' gates. Why, hark
you? [Trumpets, Hautboys, Drums beat, all together.
The trumpets, fackbuts, pfalteries and fifes,
Tabors and cymbals, and the fhouting Romans
Make the Sun dance. Hark you!
[A fhout within.

Men. This is good news:

I will go meet the Ladies. This Volumnia
Is worth of Confuls, Senators, Patricians,
A City full; of Tribunes, fuch as you,
A Sea and Land full. You've pray'd well to day:
This morning, for ten thoufand of your throats
I'd not have given a doit. Hark, how they joy:
[Sound ftill, with the fhouts.
Sic. First, the Gods blefs you for your tidings: next,
Accept my thankfulness.

Mes.