Thine enmity's most capital: thou barr'st us An evident calamity, though we had Our wish, which side should win; for either thou With manacles through our streets, or else These wars determine: if I cannot persuade thee Vir. Ay, and 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. I have sat too long. Vol. Nay, go not from us thus. If it were so, that our request did tend To save the Romans, thereby to destroy The Volsces whom you serve, you might condemn us, Is, that you reconcile them: while the Volsces May say, "This mercy we have show'd;" the Romans, [Rising. "This we receiv'd;" and each in either side To tear with thunder the wide cheeks o' the air, That should but rive an oak. Why dost not speak? Still to remember wrongs? He cares not for your weeping. Daughter, speak you; Perhaps, thy childishness will move him more Than can our reasons. There is no man in the world yet here he lets me prate Thou hast never in thy life Show'd thy dear mother any courtesy ; When she, (poor hen!) fond of no second brood, Thou art not honest, and the gods will plague thee, But kneels and holds up hands for fellowship, 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, Cor. What have you done? [He holds VOLUMNIA by the hand, silent. Behold! the heavens do ope, But, for your son, believe it, O! believe it, A mother less, or granted less, Aufidius? Auf. I was mov'd withal. I dare be sworn, you were: And, Sir, it is no little thing to make Mine eyes to sweat compassion. But, good Sir, For my part, O mother! wife! Auf. [Aside.] 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. Cor. [The Ladies make signs to CORIolanus. Ay, by and by; [To VOLUMNIA, VIRGILIA, &c. But we will drink together; and you shall bear On like conditions will have counter-seal'd. SCENE IV. Rome. A Public Place. Enter MENENIUS and SICINIUS. [Exeunt. Men. See you yond' coign o' the Capitol; yond' corner 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 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 sours 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 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. Enter a Messenger. Mess. Sir, if you'd save your life, fly to your house. Sic. Enter another Messenger. What's the news? -- Mess. Good news, good news! The ladies have prevail'd, The Volscians are dislodg'd, and Marcius gone. A merrier day did never yet greet Rome, Friend, Sic. As the recomforted through the gates. Why, hark you! [Trumpets and Hautboys sounded, and Drums beaten, The trumpets, sackbuts, psalteries, and fifes, Men. [Shouting again. This is good news. I will go meet the ladies. This Volumnia Is worth of consuls, senators, patricians, A sea and land-full. You have pray'd well to-day: I'd not have given a doit. Hark, how they joy! [Shouting and Music. Sic. First, the gods bless you for their tidings: next, Accept my thankfulness. |