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; |
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. |
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 |
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. |
|
Enter VOLUMINA. |
I talk of you: |
Why did you wish me milder? Would you have me |
False to my nature? Rather say I play |
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. |
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 |
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. |
|
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; |
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, |
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 |
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? |
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; |
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, |
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. |
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, |
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? |
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, |
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 |
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 |
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 |
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! |
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, |
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 |
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, |
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 |
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; |
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 |
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 |
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 |
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? |
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, |
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. |
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. |
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 |
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 |
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, |
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 |
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, |
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; |
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, |
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 |
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.' |
Cor. Pray you, let us go: |
Let them accuse me by invention, I |
Will answer in mine honour. |
Men. Ay, but mildly. |
Cor. Well, mildly be it then. Mildly! [Exeunt. |
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