Cor.
Let them pull all about mine ears; present me
Death on the wheel, or at wild horses' heels^{3 note}

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. Enter Volumnia.

1 Pat.
You do the nobler.

Cor.
I muse^{4 note}

Vol.
O, sir, sir, sir,
I would have had you put your power well on,
Before you had worn it out.

Cor.
Let go^{7 note}.

Vol.
You might have been enough the man you are,
With striving less to be so: Lesser had been
The thwartings of your dispositions^{8 note}

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.

1 Sen.
There's no remedy;
Unless, by not so doing, our good city
Cleave in the midst, and perish.

Vol.
Pray be counsel'd:
I have a heart as little 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^{9 note}

The violent fit o' the time craves it as physick
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^{1 note}





;
Must I then do't to them?

Vol.
You are too absolute;
Though therein you can never be too noble,
But when extremities speak^{2 note}

. 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^{3 note}

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^{4 note}

Now, this no more dishonours you at all,
Than to take in a town^{5 note} 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^{6 note}

Men.
Noble lady!—
Come, go with us; speak fair: you may salve so,
Not what^{9 note} is dangerous present, but the loss
Of what is past.

Vol.
I pr'ythee now, my son,
Go to them, with this bonnet in thy hand^{1 note}

That humble, as the ripest mulberry^{3 note}

Thou art their soldier, and being bred in broils,
Hast not the soft way^{4 note}




, 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^{5 note}
:
For they have pardons, being ask'd, as free
As words to little purpose.

Vol.
Pr'ythee now,
Go, and be rul'd: although, I know, thou had'st rather
Follow thine enemy in a firy gulf^{6 note}
,
Than flatter him in a bower^{7 note}

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:—
Pr'ythee, now, say, you will, and go about it.

Cor.
Must I go show them my unbarb'd sconce^{8 note}

And throw it against the wind.—To the market-place:
You have put me now to such a part, which never^{1 note}

Com.
Come, come, we'll prompt you.

Vol.
I pr'ythee 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^{2 note}
.

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^{3 note}

Small as an eunuch, or the virgin voice
That babies lulls asleep! The smiles of knaves
Tent in my cheeks^{4 note}; 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 stirrop, bend like his
That hath receiv'd an alms!—I will not do't:
Lest I surcease to honour mine own truth^{5 note}
,
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^{6 note}

: 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^{7 note}

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.

Cor.
The word is, mildly:—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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