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That thou wilt use the wars as thy redress,
Then there's my glove;
'Tis most nobly spoken.
Enter a Soldier.
upon very hem o'the sea :
wretched soul bereft; Seek not my name. A plague consume you vicked
A caitiffs left! Here lie 1, Timon ; who, alive, all living men did hate. Pass by, and curse thy fill ; but pass, and stay not here
1 i. e. unattacked gates. According to Johnson, unguarded. 2 i. e. to reconcile them to it.
3 All attempts to extract a meaning from this passage, as it stands, must be vain. We should, perhaps, read:
“ But shall be remitted to your public laws
At heaviest answer." It is evident that the context requires a word of this import: remunded might serve. The comma at remedied is not in the old copy. Johnson's explanation will then serve, “ Not a soldier shall quit his station, or commit any violence, but he shall answer it regularly to the law.”
4 This epitaph is formed out of two distinct epitaphs in North's Plu
These well express in thee thy latter spirits.
stint’ war; make each Prescribe to other, as each other's leech. Let our drums strike.
[Exeunt. CORIOL ANUS.
tarch. The first couplet is there said to have been composed by Timon
“But he from rocks that fountains can command
The play of Timon is a domestic tragedy, and therefore strongly fastens on the attention of the reader. In the plan there is not much art, but the incidents are natural, and the characters various and exact. The catastrophe affords a very powerful warning against that ostentatious liberality, which scatters bounty, but confers no benefits; and buys flattery, but not friendship.
In this tragedy are many passages perplexed, obscure, and probably corrupt, which I have endeavored to rectify or explain with due diligence; but, having only one copy, cannot promise myself that my endeavors shall be much applauded
In this play, the narration of Plutarch, in the Life of Coriolanus, is very exactly followed; and it has been observed that the Poet shows consummate skill in knowing how to seize the true poetical point of view of the historical circumstances, without changing them in the least degree. His noble Roman is indeed worthy of the name, and his mob such as a Roman mob doubtless were; such as every great city has possessed, from the time of the polished Athenians to that of modern Paris, where such scenes have been exhibited by a people collectively considered the politest on earth, as shows that “the many-headed multitude” have the same turbulent spirit, when there is an exciting cause, in all ages.
Shakspeare has extracted amusement from this popular humor, and, with the aid of the pleasant satirical vein of Menenius, las relieved the serious part of the play with some mirthful scenes, in which it is certain the people's folly is not spared.
The character of Coriolanus, as drawn by Plutarch, was happily euited to the drama, and in the hands of Shakspeare could not fail of exciting the highest interest and sympathy in the spectator. He is made of that stern, unbending stuff, which usually enters into the composition of a hero. Accustomed to conquest and triumph, his inflexible spirit could not stoop to solicit, by flattering condescension, what it felt that its worthy services ought to command :
He hated flattery; and his sovereign contempt for the people arose from having witnessed their pusillanimity: though he loved “ the bubble reputation,” and would have grappled with fate for honor, he hated the breath of vulgar applause as “the reek o' the rotten fens."
He knew that his actions must command the good opinion of men; but his modesty shrunk from their open declaration of it; he could not bear to hear “his nothings monstered.”
-Pray you, no more; my mother,
When she does praise me, grieves me.”
“Which out of daily fortune ever taints
The happy man." This it was that made him seek distinction from the ordinary herd of popular heroes; his honor must be won by difficult and daring enterprise, and worn in silence. It was this pride which was his overthrow, and from which the moral of the piece is to be drawn. He had thrown himself, with the noble and confiding magnanimity of a hero, into the hands of an enemy, knowing that the truly brave are ever generous; but two suns could not shine in one hemisphere; Tullus Aufidius found he was darkened by his light, and he exclaims
He bears himself more proudlier,
In that's no changeling." The closeness with which Shakspeare has followed his original, sir Thomas North’s translation of Plutarch, will be observed upon comparison of the following passage with the parallel scene in the play, describing Coriolanus's flight to Antium, and his reception by Aufidius:—" It was even twilight when he entered the city of Antium, and many people met him in the streets, but no man knew him. So he went immediately to Tullus Aufidius' house; and when he came thither he got him up straight to the chimney hearth, and sat him down, and spake not a word to any man, his face all muffled over. They of the house spying him, wondered what he should be, and yet they durst not bid him rise; for, ill-favoredly muffled and disguised as he was, yet there appeared a certain majesty in his countenance and in his silence: whereupon they went to Tullus, who was at supper, to tell him of the strange disguising of this man. Tullus rose presently from the board, and, coming towards him, asked him what he was and wherefore he came. Then Martius unmuffled himself, and, after he had paused awhile, making no answer, he said unto him, “If thou knowest me not yet, Tullus, and, seeing me, dost not perhaps believe me to be the man I am indeed, I must of necessity discover myself to be that I am. I am Caius Martius, who hath done to thyself particularly, and to all the Volces generally, great hurt and mischief, which I cannot deny, for my surname of Coriolanus that I bear. For I never had other benefit
of the true and painful service I have done, and the extreme dangers I have been in, but this surname; a good memory and witness of the malice and displeasure thou shouldest bear me. Indeed, the name only remaineth with me; for the rest, the envy and cruelty of the people of Rome have taken from me, by the sufferance of the dastardly nobility and magistrates, who have forsaken me, and let me be banished by the people. This extremity hath now driven me to come as a poor suitor, to take thy chimneybearth, not of any hope I have to save my life thereby. For if I feared death, I would not have come hither to put myself in hazard; but pricked forward with desire to be revenged of them that have thus banished me, which now I do begin, by putting my person in the hands of their enemies. Wherefore, if thou hast any heart to be wreaked of the injuries thy enemies have done thee, speed thee now, and let my misery serve thy turn, and so use it as my service may be a benefit to the Volces; promising thee that I will fight with better good-will for all you, than 1 did when I was against you, knowing that they fight more valiantly who know the force of the enemy, than such as have never proved it. And if it be so that thou dare not, and that thou art weary to prove fortune any more, then am I also weary to live any longer. And it were no wisdom in thee to save the life of him who hath been heretofore thy mortal enemy, and whose service now can nothing help or pleasure thee.'—Tullus, bearing what he said, was a marvellous glad man, and, taking him by the hand, he said to him, “Stand up, O Martius, and be of good cheer; for in proffering thyself unto us, thou doest us great honor: and by this means thou mayest hope also of greater things at all Volces' hands.' So he feasted him for that time, and entertained him in the honorablest manner he could, talking with him of no other matter at that present; but within a few days after they fell to consultation together in what sort they should begin their wars."
In the scene of the meeting of Coriolanus with his wife and mother, when they come to supplicate him to spare Rome, Shakspeare has adhered very closely to his original. He felt that it was sufficient to give it merely a dramatic form. The speech of Volumnia, as we have observed in a note, is almost in the very words of the old translator of Plutarch.
The time comprehended in the play is about four years; commencing with the secession to the Mons Sace in the year of Rome 26 and ending with the death of Coriolanus, A. U. C. 266. Malone conjectures it to have been written in the year 1610.