Filip the stars; then let the mutinous winds Strike the proud cedars 'gainst the fiery sun; Murd'ring impossibility, to make What cannot be, slight work.
Vol. Thou art my warrior;
I holp to frame thee. Do you know this lady? Cor. The noble sister of Publicola, The moon of Rome; chaste as the icicle, That's curded by the frost from purest snow, And hangs on Dian's temple. - Dear Valeria! Vol. This is a poor epitome of yours, Which by the interpretation of full time May show like all yourself.
Cor. The god of soldiers,
With the consent of supreme Jove, inform Thythoughtswith nobleness; that thou may'st prove To shame unvulnerable, and stick i'the wars Like a great sea-mark, standing every flaw, And saving those that eye thee!
Vol. Your knee, sirrah.
Cor. That's my brave boy.
Vol. 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 As poisonous of your honour: no; our suit [us, Is, that you reconcile them: while the Volces
Vol. Even he, your wife, this lady, and myself, May say, 'this mercy we have show'd;' the Romans,
Are suitors to you.
Cor. I beseech you, peace:
Or, if you'd ask, remember this before;
The things, I have forsworn to grant, may never Be held by you denials. Do not bid me Dismiss my soldiers, or capitulate
Again with Rome's mechanics :-tell me not Wherein I seem unnatural:-desire not To allay my rages and revenges, with Your colder reasons.
Vol. O, no more, no more!
You have said, you will not grant us any thing; For we have nothing else to ask, but that Which you deny already. Yet we will ask; That, if you fail in our request, the blame May hang upon your hardness: therefore, hear us. Cor. Aufidius, and you, Volces, mark; for we'll Hear nought from Rome in private.--Your request? Vol. Should we be silent and not speak, our rai- And state of bodies, would bewray what life [ment, We have led since thy exile. Think with thyself, How more unfortunate than all living women Are we come hither: since that thy sight, which should [comforts, Make our eyes flow with joy, hearts dance with Constrains them weep, and shake with fear and sor Making the mother, wife, and child, to see [row; The son, the husband, and the father, tearing His country's bowels out. And to poor we, Thine enmity's most capital: thou barr'st us Our prayers to the gods, which is a comfort That all but we enjoy: for how can we, Alas! how can we, for our country pray, Whereto we are bound; together with thy victory, Whereto we are bound? Alack! or we must lose The country, our dear nurse; or else thy person, Our comfort in the country. We must find An evident calamity, though we had
'This we receiv'd;' 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 remains To the ensuing age, abhorr'd.' Speak to me, son: Thou hast affected the fine strains of honour, To imitate the graces of the gods;
To tear with thunder the wide cheeks o'the air, And yet to charge the sulphur with a bolt That should but rive an oak. Why dost not speak? Think'st thou it honourable 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 [prate,
More bound to his mother; yet here he lets me Like one i'the stocks. Thou hast never in thy life Show'd thy dear mother any courtesy; 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 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; and end;- This is the last ;-so we will home to Rome, [us:- And die among our neighbours.-Nay, behold This boy, that cannot tell what he would have,
Our wish, which side should win: for either thou But kneels, and holds up hands for fellowship, Must, as a foreign recreant, be led
With manacles thorough our streets, or else Triumphantly tread on thy country's ruín ; And bear the palm, for having bravely shed Thy wife and children's blood. For myself, son,
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 our despatch.—
I am hush'd 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, 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 Aufidius, Were you in my stead, say, would you have heard A mother less? or granted less, Aufidius?
Auf. I was mov'd 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
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.
SCENE IV. ROME. A PUBLIC PLACE. Enter Menenius and Sicinius.
male tiger; that shall our poor city find: and all this is 'long of you.
Sic. The gods be good unto us!
Men. No, in such a case the gods will not be good unto us. When we banished him, we respected not them; and, he returning to break our necks, they respect not us.
Mess. Sir, if you'd save your life, fly to your The plebeians have got your fellow-tribune, [house: And hale him up and down; all swearing, if The Roman ladies bring not comfort home, They'll give him death by inches. Enter another Messenger.
Sic. What's the news? [prevail'd Mess. Good news, good news;-the ladies hav The Volces are dislodg'd, and Marcius gone: A merrier day did never yet greet Rome, No, not the expulsion of the Tarquins. Sic. Friend,
Art thou certain this is true? is it most certain? Mess. 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 so hurried the blown tide, As the recomforted through the gates. Why, hark
[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,
[exeunt. A city full; of tribunes, such as you,
A sea and land full: you have pray'd well to-day; This morning, for ten thousand of your throats Hark, how they joy! [shouting and music.
Men. See you yond' coign o'the Capitol: yond' I'd not have given a doit. 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 sentenc'd, and stay upon execution.
Sic. Is't possible, that so short a time can alter the condition of 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 creep thing.
Sic. He loved his mother dearly. Men. So did he me: and he no more remembers his mother now, than an eight-year old horse. The tartness of his face sour ripe grapes. When he walks, he moves like an engine, and the ground shrinks before his treading. He is able to pierce a corslet with his eye; talks like a knell, and his hum is a battery. He sits in his state, as a thing made 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
Sic. First, the gods bless you for your tidings: Accept my thankfulness.
Mess. Sir, we have all Great cause to give great thanks. Sic. They are near the city? Mess. Almost at point to enter. Sic. We will meet them, And help the joy.
Enter the Ladies, accompanied by Senators, Patri- cians, and people. They pass over the stage. 1 Sen. Behold our patroness, the life of Rome: Call all your tribes together, praise the gods, And make triumphant fires; strew flowers before Unshout the noise that banish'd Marcius: [them: Repeal him with the welcome of his mother Cry,-welcome, ladies, welcome! All. Welcome, ladies! Welcome!
[a flourish with drums and trumpets; exeunt.
SCENE V. ANTIUM. A PUBLIC PLACE.
Enter Tullus Aufidius, with Attendants. Auf. Go, tell the lords of the city, I am here: Deliver them this paper: having read it, Bid them repair to the market-place; where L Even in theirs and in the commons' ears, Will vouch the truth of it. Him I accuse, The city ports by this hath enter'd, and
Intends to appear before the people, hoping To purge himself with words: despatch.
Enter three or four Conspirators of Aufidius' faction. Most welcome!
1 Con. How is it with our general? Auf. Even so,
As with a man by his own alms empoison'd, And with his charity slain.
2 Con. Most noble sir,
If you do hold the same intent, wherein You wish'd us parties, we'll deliver you Of your great danger.
Auf. Sir, I cannot tell;
We must proceed, as we do find the people.
3 Con. The people will remain uncertain, whilst 'Twixt you there's difference; but the fall of either Makes the survivor heir of all.
And my pretext to strike at him admits
A good construction. I rais'd him, and I pawn'd Mine honour for his truth: who being so heighten'd, He water'd his new plants with dews of flattery, Seducing so my friends: and, to this end, He bow'd his nature, never known before But to be rough, unswayable, and free. 3 Con. Sir, his stoutness,
When he did stand for consul, which he lost By lack of stooping,-
Auf. That I would have spoke of: Being banish'd for't, he came unto my hearth; Presented to my knife his throat: I took him; Made him joint servant with me; gave him way In all his own desires; nay, let him choose Out of my files, his projects to accomplish, My best and freshest men; serv'd his designments In mine own person; holp to reap the fame, Which he did end all his; and took some pride To do myself this wrong; till, at the last, I seem'd his follower, not partner; and He wag'd me with his countenance, as if
I had been mercenary.
1 Con. So he did, my lord:
The army marvell'd at it.
When he had carried Rome; and that we look'd For no less spoil, than glory,
For which my sinews shall be stretch'd upon him. At a few drops of women's rheum, 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 fools,
Whose children he hath slain, their base throats With giving him glory.
3 Con. Therefore, at your vantage, Ere he express himself, or move the people With what he would say, let him feel your sword, Which we will second. When he lies along, After your way his tale pronounc'd shall bury His reasons with his body.
Auf. Say no more;
Here come the lords.
Enter the Lords of the city.
Lords. You are most welcome home.
Auf. I have not deserv'd it;
But, worthy lords, have you with heed perus'd What I have written to you?
Lords. We have.
1 Lord. And grieve to hear it.
What faults he made before 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 return'd 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,
Do more than counterpoise, a full third part, The charges of the action. We have made peace, With no less honour to the Antiates,
Than shame to the Romans: and we here deliver, Subscrib'd by the consuls and patricians, Together with the seal o'the senate, what We have compounded on.
Auf. Read it not, noble lords;
But tell the traitor, in the highest degree He hath abus'd your powers.
Cor. Traitor!-how now?— Auf. Ay, traitor, Marcius. Cor. Marcius!
Auf. Ay, Marcius, Caius Marcius; dost not think I'll grace thee with that robbery, thy stol'n name, Coriolanus in Corioli?
You, lords and heads of the state, perfidiously He has botray'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 whin'd and roar'd away your victory; That pages blush'd at him, and men of heart Look'd wondering at each other.
Cor. Hear'st thou, Mars?
Auf. Name not the god, thou boy of tears,- Cor. Ha!
Cor. Measureless liar, thou hast made my heart Too great for what contains it. Boy! O slave!— Pardon me, lords, 'tis the first time that ever I was forc'd to scold. Your jħdgements, my grave lords,
Must give this cur the lie: and his own notion (Who wears my stripes impress'd on him; that
My beating to his grave;) shall join to thrust The lie unto him.
1 Lord. Peace, both, and hear me speak. Cor. Cut me to pieces, Volces; men and lads, Stain all your edges on me.-Boy! False hound! If you have writ your annals true, 'tis there, That, like an eagle in a dove-cote, I Flutter'd your Volces in Corioli: Alone I did it.-Boy!
Will you be put in mind of his blind fortune, Which was your shame, by this unholy braggart, 'Fore your own eyes and ears?
[several speak 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 judicious hearing.—Stand, Aufidius,
And trouble not the peace.
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, and kill Coriolanus, who falls, and Aufidius stands on him. Lords. Hold, hold, hold, hold.
Auf. My noble masters, hear me speak. 1 Lord. O Tullus,
Provok'd by him, you cannot,) the great danger Which this man's life did owe you, you'll rejoice That he is thus cut off. Please it your honours To call me to your senate, I'll deliver Myself your loyal servant, or endure Your heaviest censure.
1 Lord. Bear from hence his body
And mourn you for him: let him be regarded As the most noble corse, that ever herald Did follow to his urn.
2 Lord. His own impatience
Takes from Aufidius a great part of blame. Let's make the best of it.
Auf. My rage is gone,
And I am struck with sorrow. Help, three o'the chiefest soldiers; I'll be one.-- Beat thou the drum, that it speak mournfully: Trail your steel pikes.-Though in this city he Hath widow'd and unchilded many a one, Which to this hour bewail the injury, Yet he shall have a noble memory.— Assist. [exeunt, bearing the body of Coriolanu, í a dead march sounded.
SCENE,-partly at Venice, and partly at Belmont, the seat of Portia, on the Continent.
SCENE I. VENICE. A STREET.
Enter Antonio, Salarino, and Salanio. Ant. In sooth, I know not why I am so sad; It wearies me; you say, it wearies you; But how I caught it, found it, or came by it, What stuff 'tis made of, whereof it is born, I am to learn;
And such a want-wit sadness makes of me, That I have much ado to know myself.
Salar. Your mind is tossing on the ocean; There, where your argosies with portly sail,-- Like signiors and rich burghers of the flood, Or, as it were, the pageants of the sea,- Do overpeer the petty traffickers, That curt'sy to them, do them reverence, As they fly by them with their woven wings. Salan. Believe me, sir, had I such venture forth, The better part of my affections would
Be with my hopes abroad. I should be still Plucking the grass, to know where sits the wind; Peering in maps, for ports, and piers, and roads; And every object that might make me fear Misfortune to my ventures, out of doubt, Would make me sad.
Salar. My wind, cooling my broth, Would blow me to an ague, when I thought What harm a wind too great might do at sea. I should not see the sandy hour-glass run, But I should think of shallows and of flats; And see my wealthy Andrew dock'd in sand, Vailing her high-top lower than her ribs, To kiss her burial. Should I go to church, And see the holy edifice of stone,
And not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks? Which, touching but my gentle vessel's side, Would scatter all her spices on the stream; Enrobe the roaring waters with my silks; And, in a word, but even now worth this, And now worth nothing? Shall I have the thought To think on this; and shall I lack the thought, That such a thing, bechanc'd, would make me sad?
But, tell not me; I know, Antonio Is sad to think upon his merchandise.
Ant. Believe me, no: I thank my fortune for it, My ventures are not in one bottom trusted, Nor to one place; nor is my whole estate Upon the fortune of this present year. Therefore, my merchandise makes me not sad. Salan. Why then you are in love. Ant. Fie, fie!
Salan. Not in love neither? Then let's say, you Because you are not merry; and 'twere as easy For you to laugh, and leap, and say, you are merry, Because you are not sad. Now,by two-headed Janus. Nature hath fram'd strange fellows in her time: Some, that will evermore peep through their eyes, And laugh, like parrots, at a bag-piper; And other of such vinegar aspéct, That they'll not show their teeth in way of smile, Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable.
Enter Bassanio, Lorenzo, and Gratiano. Salan. Here comes Bassanio, your most noble kinsman,
Gratiano, and Lorenzo: fare you well; We leave you now with better company.
Salar. I would have staid till I had made you If worthier friends had not prevented me. [merry, Ant. Your worth is very dear in my regard.
I take it, your own business calls on you, And you embrace the occasion to depart. Salar. Good morrow, my good lords. Bass. Good signiors both, when shall we laugh?- Say, when?
You grow exceeding strange: must it be so? Salar. We'll make our leisures to attend on yours. [exeunt Salarino and Salanio. Lor. My lord Bassanio, since you have found AnWe two will leave you: but, at dinner time, [touio, pray you, have in mind where we must meet. Bass. I will not fail you.
Gra. You look not well, signior Antonio; You have too much respect upon the world.
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