Counsel o' the war; but at his nurse's tears Cor. Hear'st thou, Mars? Auf. Name not the god, thou boy of tears, Cor. Ha! Auf. No more. 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 forced to scold. Your judgments, my grave lords, Must give this cur the lie and his own notion (Who wears my stripes impress'd on him; that must bear My beating to his grave;) shall join to thrust 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-cot, I Flutter'd your voices in Corioli: Alone I did it.-Boy! Auf. Why, noble lords, Will you be put in mind of his blind fortune, Which was your shame, by this unholy braggart, 'Fore your own eyes and ears? Con. Let him die for't. [Several speak at 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 fa ther. 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. No more than a boy of tears. + His fame overspreads the world. Judicial. Lords. Hold, hold, hold, hold. 1 Lord. O 2 Lord. Thou hast done a deed whereat valour will weep. 3 Lord. Tread not upon him.- Masters all, be quiet; Put up your swords. Auf. My lords, when you shall know (as in this rage, Provoked by him, you cannot), the great danger 1 Lord. Bear from hence his body, 2 Lord. His own impatience Takes from Aufidius a great part of blame. Auf My rage is gone, And I am struck with sorrow.-Take him up: [Exeunt, bearing the Body of Coriolanus.A dead March sounded. Memorial. CORIOLANUS.-The Tragedy of Coriolanus is one of the most amusing of our author's performances. The old man's merriment in Menenius; the lofty lady's dignity in Volumnia; the bridal modesty in Virgilia; the patrician and military haughtiness in Coriolanus; the plebeian malignity and tribunitian insolence in Brutus and Sicinius, make a very pleasing and interesting variety: and the various revolutions of the hero's fortune, fill the mind with anxious curiosity. There is perhaps, too much bustle in the first Act, and too little in the last. JOHNSON. PERSONS REPRESENTED. JULIUS CAESAR. Triumvirs, after the Death of Julius Cæsar. CICERO, PUBLIUS, POPILIUS LENA, Senators. MARCUS BRUTUS, CASSIUS, CASCA, Conspirators against Julius TREBONIUS, LIGARIUS, DECIUS BRUTUS, METELLUS CIMBER, CINNA, FLAVIUS and MARULLUS, Tribunes. CINNA, a Poet.-Another Poet. LUCILIUS, TITINIUS, MESSALA, Young CATO, and Vo- VARRO, CLITUS, CLAUDIUS, STRATO, LUCIUS, DAR- CALPHURNIA, Wife to Cæsar. Senators, Citizens, Guards, Attendants, &c. Scene, during a great part of the Play, at Rome; afterwards at Sardis; and near Philippi. JULIUS CAESAR. ACT I. SCENE 1-Rome.-A Street. Enter FLAVIUS, MARULLUS, and a Rabble of Citizens. Flav. Hence; home, you idle creatures, get you home: Is this a holiday? What! know you not, Of your profession ?-Speak, what trade art thou? 1 Cit. Why, Sir, a carpenter. Mar. Where is thy leather apron, and thy rule? What dost thou with thy best apparel on ?You, Sir; what trade are you? 2 Cit. Truly, Sir, in respect of a fine workman, I am but, as you would say, a cobler. Mar. But what trade art thou? Answer me directly. 2 Cit. A trade, Sir, that, I hope, I may use with a safe conscience; which is, indeed, Sir, a mender of bad soals. - Mar. What trade, thou knave? Thou nanghty knave, what trade? 2 Cit. Nay, I beseech you, Sir, be not out with me: yet, if you be out, Sir, I can mend you. Mar. What meanest thou by that? Mend me, thou saucy fellow? 2 Cit. Why, Sir, cobble you. Flav. Thou art a cobler, art thon? 2 Cit. Truly, Sir, all that I live by is, with the awl I meddle with no tradesman's matters, nor women's matters, but with awl. I am, indeed, Sir, a surgeon to old shoes; when they are in great danger, I recover them. As proper men as ever trod upon neat's-leather, have gone upon my handy-work. Flav. But wherefore art not in thy shop to-day? Why dost thou lead these men about the streets? 2 Cit. Truly, Sir, to wear out their shoes, to get myself into more work. But, indeed, Sir, we VOL. IV. 000 |