Imagini ale paginilor
PDF
ePub

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

ment, And state of bodies would bewray what life We have led since thy exíle. Think with thyself, How more unfortunate than all living women Are we come hither: since that thy sight, which

should Make our eyes flow with joy, hearts dance with

comforts, Constrains them weep, and shake with fear and

sorrow;
Making the mother, wife, and child, to see
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 Our wish, which side should win: for either thou Must, as a foreigu recreant, be led With manacles thorough our streets; or else Triumphantly tread on thy country's ruin; And bear the palm, for having bravely shed Thy wife and children's blood.

For myself, son,

I

purpose not to wait on fortune, till These wars determine: if I cannot persuade thee Rather to show a noble grace to both parts, Than seek the end of one, thou shalt no sooner March to assault thy country, than to tread (Trust to't, thou shalt not,) on thy mother's womb, That brought thee to this world. Vir.

Ay, and on mine, That brought you forth this boy, to keep your name Living to time. Boy.

He shall not tread on me; I'll run away till I am 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 have sat too long.

[rising 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

us, As poisonous of your honour: No; our suit Is, that you reconcile them: while the Volces May say, This mercy we have show'd; the Romans, 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 wip'd 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 thy 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

world
More bound to his mother; yet here he lets me prate,
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; An end:
This is the last ;-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 reason our petition with more strength
Than thou hast to deny't.-Come, let us go:

But, for

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:

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.-0 mother! wife!
Auf. I am glad, thou hast set thy mercy and thy

honour 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.

[Ereunt.

[blocks in formation]

Men. See you yond' coign o' the Capitol; yond' 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 sentenced, and stay upon execution.

Sic. Is't possible, that so short a time can alter the condition of a 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 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 year old horse. The

« ÎnapoiContinuați »