The Same. A Room in CORIOLANUS’S House. | |
| |
Enter CORIOLANUS and Patricians. | |
| Cor. Let them pull all about mine ears; present me | |
| Death on the wheel, or at wild horses’ heels; | 4 |
| Or pile ten hills on the Tarpeian rock, | |
| That the precipitation might down stretch | |
| Below the beam of sight; yet will I still | |
| Be thus to them. | 8 |
| First Pat. You do the nobler. | |
| Cor. I muse my mother | |
| Does not approve me further, who was wont | |
| To call them woollen vassals, things created | 12 |
| To buy and sell with groats, to show bare heads | |
| In congregations, to yawn, be still, and wonder, | |
| When one but of my ordinance stood up | |
| To speak of peace or war. | 16 |
| |
Enter VOLUMINA. | |
| I talk of you: | |
| Why did you wish me milder? Would you have me | |
| False to my nature? Rather say I play | 20 |
| The man I am. | |
| Vol. O! sir, sir, sir, | |
| I would have had you put your power well on | |
| Before you had worn it out. | 24 |
| Cor. Let go. | |
| Vol. You might have been enough the man you are | |
| With striving less to be so: lesser had been | |
| The thwarting of your dispositions if | 28 |
| You had not show’d them how you were dispos’d, | |
| Ere they lack’d power to cross you. | |
| Cor. Let them hang. | |
| Vol. Ay, and burn too. | 32 |
| |
Enter MENENIUS and Senators. | |
| Men. Come, come; you have been too rough, something too rough; | |
| You must return and mend it. | |
| First Sen. There’s no remedy; | 36 |
| Unless, by not so doing, our good city | |
| Cleave in the midst, and perish. | |
| Vol. Pray be counsell’d. | |
| I have a heart of mettle apt as yours, | 40 |
| But yet a brain that leads my use of anger | |
| To better vantage. | |
| Men. Well said, noble woman! | |
| Before he should thus stoop to the herd, but that | 44 |
| The violent fit o’ the time craves it as physic | |
| For the whole state, I would put mine armour on, | |
| Which I can scarcely bear. | |
| Cor. What must I do? | 48 |
| Men. Return to the tribunes. | |
| Cor. Well, what then? what then? | |
| Men. Repent what you have spoke. | |
| Cor. For them! I cannot do it to the gods; | 52 |
| Must I then do’t to them? | |
| Vol. You are too absolute; | |
| Though therein you can never be too noble, | |
| But when extremities speak. I have heard you say, | 56 |
| Honour and policy, like unsever’d friends, | |
| I’ the war do grow together: grant that, and tell me, | |
| In peace what each of them by th’ other lose, | |
| That they combine not there. | 60 |
| Cor. Tush, tush! | |
| Men. A good demand. | |
| Vol. If it be honour in your wars to seem | |
| The same you are not,—which, for your best ends, | 64 |
| You adopt your policy,—how is it less or worse, | |
| That it shall hold companionship in peace | |
| With honour, as in war, since that to both | |
| It stands in like request? | 68 |
| Cor. Why force you this? | |
| Vol. Because that now it lies you on to speak | |
| To the people; not by your own instruction, | |
| Nor by the matter which your heart prompts you, | 72 |
| But with such words that are but rooted in | |
| Your tongue, though but bastards and syllables | |
| Of no allowance to your bosom’s truth. | |
| Now, this no more dishonours you at all | 76 |
| Than to take in a town with gentle words, | |
| Which else would put you to your fortune and | |
| The hazard of much blood. | |
| I would dissemble with my nature where | 80 |
| My fortunes and my friends at stake requir’d | |
| I should do so in honour: I am in this, | |
| Your wife, your son, these senators, the nobles; | |
| And you will rather show our general louts | 84 |
| How you can frown than spend a fawn upon ’em, | |
| For the inheritance of their loves and safeguard | |
| Of what that want might ruin. | |
| Men. Noble lady! | 88 |
| Come, go with us; speak fair; you may salve so, | |
| Not what is dangerous present, but the loss | |
| Of what is past. | |
| Vol. I prithee now, my son, | 92 |
| Go to them, with this bonnet in thy hand; | |
| And thus far having stretch’d it,—here be with them, | |
| Thy knee bussing the stones,—for in such business | |
| Action is eloquence, and the eyes of the ignorant | 96 |
| More learned than the ears,—waving thy head, | |
| Which often, thus, correcting thy stout heart, | |
| Now humble as the ripest mulberry | |
| That will not hold the handling: or say to them, | 100 |
| Thou art their soldier, and being bred in broils | |
| Hast not the soft way which, thou dost confess, | |
| Were fit for thee to use as they to claim, | |
| In asking their good loves; but thou wilt frame | 104 |
| Thyself, forsooth, hereafter theirs, so far | |
| As thou hast power and person. | |
| Men. This but done, | |
| Even as she speaks, why, their hearts were yours; | 108 |
| For they have pardons, being ask’d, as free | |
| As words to little purpose. | |
| Vol. Prithee now, | |
| Go, and be rul’d; although I know thou hadst rather | 112 |
| Follow thine enemy in a fiery gulf | |
| Than flatter him in a bower. Here is Cominius. | |
| |
Enter COMINIUS. | |
| Com. I have been i’ the market-place; and, sir, ’tis fit | 116 |
| You make strong party, or defend yourself | |
| By calmness or by absence: all’s in anger. | |
| Men. Only fair speech. | |
| Com. I think ’twill serve if he | 120 |
| Can thereto frame his spirit. | |
| Vol. He must, and will. | |
| Prithee now, say you will, and go about it. | |
| Cor. Must I go show them my unbarbed sconce? | 124 |
| Must I with my base tongue give to my noble heart | |
| A lie that it must bear? Well, I will do’t: | |
| Yet, were there but this single plot to lose, | |
| This mould of Marcius, they to dust should grind it, | 128 |
| And throw ’t against the wind. To the market-place! | |
| You have put me now to such a part which never | |
| I shall discharge to the life. | |
| Com. Come, come, we’ll prompt you. | 132 |
| Vol. I prithee now, sweet son, as thou hast said | |
| My praises made thee first a soldier, so, | |
| To have my praise for this, perform a part | |
| Thou hast not done before. | 136 |
| Cor. Well, I must do ’t: | |
| Away, my disposition, and possess me | |
| Some harlot’s spirit! My throat of war be turn’d, | |
| Which quired with my drum, into a pipe | 140 |
| Small as a eunuch, or the virgin voice | |
| That babies lulls asleep! The smiles of knaves | |
| Tent in my cheeks, and school-boys’ tears take up | |
| The glasses of my sight! A beggar’s tongue | 144 |
| Make motion through my lips, and my arm’d knees, | |
| Who bow’d but in my stirrup, bend like his | |
| That hath receiv’d an alms! I will not do ’t, | |
| Lest I surcease to honour mine own truth, | 148 |
| And by my body’s action teach my mind | |
| A most inherent baseness. | |
| Vol. At thy choice then: | |
| To beg of thee it is my more dishonour | 152 |
| Than thou of them. Come all to ruin; let | |
| Thy mother rather feel thy pride than fear | |
| Thy dangerous stoutness, for I mock at death | |
| With as big heart as thou. Do as thou list, | 156 |
| Thy valiantness was mine, thou suck’dst it from me, | |
| But owe thy pride thyself. | |
| Cor. Pray, be content: | |
| Mother, I am going to the market-place; | 160 |
| Chide me no more. I’ll mountebank their loves, | |
| Cog their hearts from them, and come home belov’d | |
| Of all the trades in Rome. Look, I am going: | |
| Commend me to my wife. I’ll return consul, | 164 |
| Or never trust to what my tongue can do | |
| I’ the way of flattery further. | |
| Vol. Do your will. [Exit. | |
| Com. Away! the tribunes do attend you: arm yourself | 168 |
| To answer mildly; for they are prepar’d | |
| With accusations, as I hear, more strong | |
| Than are upon you yet. | |
| Men. The word is ‘mildly.’ | 172 |
| Cor. Pray you, let us go: | |
| Let them accuse me by invention, I | |
| Will answer in mine honour. | |
| Men. Ay, but mildly. | 176 |
| Cor. Well, mildly be it then. Mildly! [Exeunt. | |
