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* ^note.

Vol.
But hear me, Martius.

Cor.
I muse, my mother
Does not approve me further, (I talk of you) [To his Mother.
Why did you wish me milder? wou'd you have me
False to my nature? rather say, I play
Truly the man I am.

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

Cor.
Why let it go—

Vol.
You might have been enough the man you are,
With striving less to be so. Lesser had been
The thwartings of your disposition, if
You had not shew'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, with the Senators.

Men.
Come, come, you've been too rough, something too rough:
You must return and mend it.

Vol.
Pray be counsell'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 th' herd, but that
The violent fit o'th' times craves it as physic,
For the whole state, I'd put mine armour on,
Which I can scarcely bear.

Cor.
What must I do?

Men.
Return to th' tribunes.

Cor.
Well, what then? what then?

Men.
Repent what you have spoke.

Cor.
For them! I cannot do it for the Gods,
Must I then do't to them?

Vol.
You are not absolute,
Tho' therein you can never be too noble,
But when extremities speak. I've heard you say,
Honour and policy, like unsever'd friends,
I'th' war do grow together: grant that, and tell me,
In peace what each of them by th'other loses,
That they combine not there?

Men.
A good demand.

Cor.
Why force you this!

Vol.
Because it lies on you to speak to th' people:
Not by your own instruction, nor by th' matter
Which your heart prompts you to, but with such words
But roted* ^note on your tongue; bastards, and syllables,

Of no alliance to your bosom's truth.
I would dissemble with my nature, where
My fortunes and my friends at stake requir'd
I should do so in honour.

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 pr'ythee now, my son,
Go to them, with this bonnet in thy hand,
And thus far having stretch'd it (here be with them)
Thy knees bussing the stones; for in such business,
Action is eloquence; and the eyes of th' ignorant
More learned than the ears; waving thy hand,
Which often, thus, correcting thy stout heart,
Now humble as the ripest mulberry,
That will not hold the handling; 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 them to claim,
In asking their good loves, but thou wilt frame
Thyself (forsooth) hereafter theirs so far,
As thou hast power and person* ^note.

Men.
This but done,
Ev'n as she speaks, why, all their hearts were yours:
For they have pardons, being ask'd, as free,
As words to little purpose. Enter Cominius.
Here is Cominius.

Com.
I have been i'th' market-place, and, Sir, 'tis fit
You have 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 shew them my unbarbed sconce?* ^note
Must 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 pelt to lose,
This mould of Martius, they to dust should grind it,
And throw't against the wind. To th' market-place!
You've put me now to such a part, which never
I shall discharge to th' life.

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

Vol.
Ay, 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.

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 an eunuch's, or the virgin voice
That babies lulls asleep!
A beggar's tongue
Make motion through my lips, and my arm'd knees,† ^note
Which 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 lift.
Thy valiantness was mine, thou suck'dst it from me;
But own thy pride thyself.

Cor.
Pray be content:
Mother, I'm 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'th' way of flattery, further.

Vol.
Do your will. [Exeunt.

Previous section

Next section