Rome. Before a Gate of the City. |
| |
Enter CORIOLANUS, VOLUMNIA, VIRGILIA, MENENIUS, COMINIUS, and several young Patricians. |
| Cor. Come, leave your tears: a brief farewell: the beast |
| With many heads butts me away. Nay, mother, |
| Where is your ancient courage? you were us'd, |
| To say extremity was the trier of spirits; |
| That common chances common men could bear; |
| That when the sea was calm all boats alike |
| Show'd mastership in floating; fortune's blows, |
| When most struck home, being gentle wounded, craves |
| A noble cunning: you were us'd to load me |
| With precepts that would make invincible |
| The heart that conn'd them. |
| Vir. O heavens! O heavens! |
| Cor. Nay, I prithee, woman,— |
| Vol. Now the red pestilence strike all trades in Rome, |
| And occupations perish! |
| Cor. What, what, what! |
| I shall be lov'd when I am lack'd. Nay, mother, |
| Resume that spirit, when you were wont to say, |
| If you had been the wife of Hercules, |
| Six of his labours you'd have done, and sav'd |
| Your husband so much sweat. Cominius, |
| Droop not; adieu. Farewell, my wife! my mother! |
| I'll do well yet. Thou old and true Menenius, |
| Thy tears are salter than a younger man's. |
| And venomous to thine eyes. My sometime general, |
| I have seen thee stern, and thou hast oft beheld |
| Heart-hardening spectacles; tell these sad women |
| 'Tis fond to wail inevitable strokes |
| As 'tis to laugh at them. My mother, you wot well |
| My hazards still have been your solace; and |
| Believe 't not lightly,—though I go alone |
| Like to a lonely dragon, that his fen |
| Makes fear'd and talk'd of more than seen,—your son |
| Will or exceed the common or be caught |
| With cautelous baits and practice. |
| Vol. My first son, |
| Whither wilt thou go? Take good Cominius |
| With thee awhile: determine on some course, |
| More than a wild exposture to each chance |
| That starts i' the way before thee. |
| Cor. O the gods! |
| Com. I'll follow thee a month, devise with thee |
| Where thou shalt rest, that thou mayst hear of us, |
| And we of thee: so, if the time thrust forth |
| A cause for thy repeal, we shall not send |
| O'er the vast world to seek a single man, |
| And lose advantage, which doth ever cool |
| I' the absence of the needer. |
| Cor. Fare ye well: |
| Thou hast years upon thee; and thou art too full |
| Of the wars' surfeits, to go rove with one |
| That's yet unbruis'd: bring me but out at gate. |
| Come, my sweet wife, my dearest mother, and |
| My friends of noble touch, when I am forth, |
| Bid me farewell, and smile. I pray you, come. |
| While I remain above the ground you shall |
| Hear from me still; and never of me aught |
| But what is like me formerly. |
| Men. That's worthily |
| As any ear can hear. Come, let's not weep. |
| If I could shake off but one seven years |
| From these old arms and legs, by the good gods, |
| I'd with thee every foot. |
| Cor. Give me thy hand: |
| Come. [Exeunt. |
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