Shakespeare's First Folio Part 477

Of thy deepe duty, more impression shew Then that of common Sonnes

Volum. Oh stand vp blest!

Whil'st with no softer Cushion then the Flint I kneele before thee, and vnproperly Shew duty as mistaken, all this while, Betweene the Childe, and Parent

Corio. What's this? your knees to me?

To your Corrected Sonne?

Then let the Pibbles on the hungry beach Fillop the Starres: Then, let the mutinous windes Strike the proud Cedars 'gainst the fiery Sun: Murd'ring Impossibility, to make What cannot be, slight worke

Volum. Thou art my Warriour, I hope to frame thee Do you know this Lady?

Corio. The n.o.ble Sister of Publicola; The Moone of Rome: Chaste as the Isicle That's curdied by the Frost, from purest Snow, And hangs on Dians Temple: Deere Valeria

Volum. This is a poore Epitome of yours, Which by th' interpretation of full time, May shew like all your selfe

Corio. The G.o.d of Souldiers: With the consent of supreame Ioue, informe Thy thoughts with n.o.blenesse, that thou mayst proue To shame vnvulnerable, and sticke i'th Warres Like a great Sea-marke standing euery flaw, And sauing those that eye thee

Volum. Your knee, Sirrah

Corio. That's my braue Boy

Volum. Euen he, your wife, this Ladie, and my selfe, Are Sutors to you

Corio. I beseech you peace: Or if you'ld aske, remember this before; The thing I haue forsworne to graunt, may neuer Be held by you denials. Do not bid me Dismisse my Soldiers, or capitulate Againe, with Romes Mechanickes. Tell me not Wherein I seeme vnnaturall: Desire not t' allay My Rages and Reuenges, with your colder reasons

Volum. Oh no more, no more: You haue said you will not grant vs any thing: For we haue nothing else to aske, but that Which you deny already: yet we will aske, That if you faile in our request, the blame May hang vpon your hardnesse, therefore heare vs

Corio. Auffidius, and you Volces marke, for wee'l Heare nought from Rome in priuate. Your request?

Volum. Should we be silent & not speak, our Raiment And state of Bodies would bewray what life We haue led since thy Exile. Thinke with thy selfe, How more vnfortunate then all liuing women Are we come hither; since that thy sight, which should Make our eies flow with ioy, harts dance with comforts, Constraines them weepe, and shake with feare & sorow, Making the Mother, wife, and Childe to see, The Sonne, the Husband, and the Father tearing His Countries Bowels out; and to poore we Thine enmities most capitall: Thou barr'st vs Our prayers to the G.o.ds, which is a comfort That all but we enioy. For how can we?

Alas! how can we, for our Country pray?

Whereto we are bound, together with thy victory: Whereto we are bound: Alacke, or we must loose The Countrie our deere Nurse, or else thy person Our comfort in the Country. We must finde An euident Calamity, though we had Our wish, which side should win. For either thou Must as a Forraine Recreant be led With Manacles through our streets, or else Triumphantly treade on thy Countries ruine, And beare the Palme, for hauing brauely shed Thy Wife and Childrens blood: For my selfe, Sonne, I purpose not to waite on Fortune, till These warres determine: If I cannot perswade thee, Rather to shew a n.o.ble grace to both parts, Then seeke the end of one; thou shalt no sooner March to a.s.sault thy Country, then to treade (Trust too't, thou shalt not) on thy Mothers wombe That brought thee to this world

Virg. I, and mine, that brought you forth this boy, To keepe your name liuing to time

Boy. A shall not tread on me: Ile run away Till I am bigger, but then Ile fight

Corio. Not of a womans tendernesse to be, Requires nor Childe, nor womans face to see: I haue sate too long

Volum. Nay, go not from vs thus: If it were so, that our request did tend To saue the Romanes, thereby to destroy The Volces whom you serue, you might condemne vs As poysonous of your Honour. No, our suite Is that you reconcile them: While the Volces May say, this mercy we haue shew'd: the Romanes, This we receiu'd, and each in either side Giue the All-haile to thee, and cry be Blest For making vp this peace. Thou know'st (great Sonne) The end of Warres vncertaine: but this certaine, That if thou conquer Rome, the benefit Which thou shalt thereby reape, is such a name Whose repet.i.tion will be dogg'd with Curses: Whose Chronicle thus writ, The man was n.o.ble, But with his last Attempt, he wip'd it out: Destroy'd his Country, and his name remaines To th' insuing Age, abhorr'd. Speake to me Son: Thou hast affected the fiue straines of Honor, To imitate the graces of the G.o.ds.

To teare with Thunder the wide Cheekes a'th' Ayre, And yet to change thy Sulphure with a Boult That should but riue an Oake. Why do'st not speake?

Think'st thou it Honourable for a n.o.bleman Still to remember wrongs? Daughter, speake you: He cares not for your weeping. Speake thou Boy, Perhaps thy childishnesse will moue him more Then can our Reasons. There's no man in the world More bound to's Mother, yet heere he let's me prate Like one i'th' Stockes. Thou hast neuer in thy life, Shew'd thy deere Mother any curtesie, When she (poor Hen) fond of no second brood, Ha's clock'd thee to the Warres: and safelie home Loden with Honor. Say my Request's vniust, And spurne me backe: But, if it be not so Thou art not honest, and the G.o.ds will plague thee That thou restrain'st from me the Duty, which To a Mothers part belongs. He turnes away: Down Ladies: let vs shame him with him with our knees To his sur-name Coriola.n.u.s longs more pride Then pitty to our Prayers. Downe: an end, This is the last. So, we will home to Rome, And dye among our Neighbours: Nay, behold's, This Boy that cannot tell what he would haue, But kneeles, and holds vp hands for fellowship, Doe's reason our Pet.i.tion with more strength Then thou hast to deny't. Come, let vs go: This Fellow had a Volcean to his Mother: His Wife is in Corioles, and his Childe Like him by chance: yet giue vs our dispatch: I am husht vntill our City be afire, & then Ile speak a litle

Holds her by the hand silent.

Corio. O Mother, Mother!

What haue you done? Behold, the Heauens do ope, The G.o.ds looke downe, and this vnnaturall Scene They laugh at. Oh my Mother, Mother: Oh!

You haue wonne a happy Victory to Rome.

But for your Sonne, beleeue it: Oh beleeue it, Most dangerously you haue with him preuail'd, If not most mortall to him. But let it come: Auffidius, though I cannot make true Warres, Ile frame conuenient peace. Now good Auffidius, Were you in my steed, would you haue heard A Mother lesse? or granted lesse Auffidius?

Auf. I was mou'd withall

Corio. I dare be sworne you were: And sir, it is no little thing to make Mine eyes to sweat compa.s.sion. But (good sir) What peace you'l make, aduise me: For my part, Ile not to Rome, Ile backe with you, and pray you Stand to me in this cause. Oh Mother! Wife!

Auf. I am glad thou hast set thy mercy, & thy Honor At difference in thee: Out of that Ile worke My selfe a former Fortune

Corio. I by and by; But we will drinke together: And you shall beare A better witnesse backe then words, which we On like conditions, will haue Counter-seal'd.

Come enter with vs: Ladies you deserue To haue a Temple built you: All the Swords In Italy, and her Confederate Armes Could not haue made this peace.

Exeunt.

Enter Menenius and Sicinius.

Mene. See you yon'd Coin a'th Capitol, yon'd corner stone?

Sicin. Why what of that?

Mene. 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 preuaile with him. But I say, there is no hope in't, our throats are sentenc'd, and stay vppon execution

Sicin. Is't possible, that so short a time can alter the condition of a man

Mene. There is differency between a Grub & a b.u.t.terfly, yet your b.u.t.terfly was a Grub: this Martius, is growne from Man to Dragon: He has wings, hee's more then a creeping thing

Sicin. He lou'd his Mother deerely

Mene. So did he mee: and he no more remembers his Mother now, then an eight yeare old horse. The tartnesse of his face, sowres ripe Grapes. When he walks, he moues like an Engine, and the ground shrinkes before his Treading.

He is able to pierce a Corslet with his eye: Talkes like a knell, and his hum is a Battery. He sits in his State, as a thing made for Alexander. What he bids bee done, is finisht with his bidding. He wants nothing of a G.o.d but Eternity, and a Heauen to Throne in

Sicin. Yes, mercy, if you report him truly

Mene. I paint him in the Character. Mark what mercy his Mother shall bring from him: There is no more mercy in him, then there is milke in a male-Tyger, that shall our poore City finde: and all this is long of you

Sicin. The G.o.ds be good vnto vs

Mene. No, in such a case the G.o.ds will not bee good vnto vs. When we banish'd him, we respected not them: and he returning to breake our necks, they respect not vs.

Enter a Messenger.

Mes. Sir, if you'ld saue your life, flye to your House, The Plebeians haue got your Fellow Tribune, And hale him vp and downe; all swearing, if The Romane Ladies bring not comfort home They'l giue him death by Inches.

Enter another Messenger.

Sicin. What's the Newes?

Mess. Good Newes, good newes, the Ladies haue preuayl'd.

The Volcians are dislodg'd, and Martius gone: A merrier day did neuer yet greet Rome, No, not th' expulsion of the Tarquins

Sicin. Friend, art thou certaine this is true?

Is't most certaine

Mes. As certaine as I know the Sun is fire: Where haue you lurk'd that you make doubt of it: Ne're through an Arch so hurried the blowne Tide, As the recomforted through th' gates. Why harke you:

Trumpets, Hoboyes, Drums beate, altogether.

The Trumpets, Sack-buts, Psalteries, and Fifes, Tabors, and Symboles, and the showting Romans, Make the Sunne dance. Hearke you.

A shout within