Vol.
Fie, my Virgilia, leave these doleful Murmurs;
Dreams are but idle Vapours without Meaning.

Virg.
Ay, but for five successive Nights this Vision
At dead of Night has visited my Slumbers;
For five successive Nights I've seen my Lord
Supriz'd, surrounded, murder'd by the Volscians.

Vol.
The meer Delusions of your Melancholy.
But, after all, suppose Presage divine
Did by these Visions break your restless Slumbers,
Should they perswade you to throw off the Roman,
And to appear dejected and desponding!
This is just counter to the Gods Design;
Why shou'd at any time divine Prediction
Descend, t' inform us of our future Fate?
Is it, that by foreseeing we can shun
Th' Eternal Dictates of Almighty Will?
Or, that the Powers take barbarous Delight,
To plague the Minds of miserable Mortals,
By vain Fore-knowledge of avoidless Ills?
No sure; 'tis that our Souls without surprise
May be prepared to meet the worst of Fate,
That we secure may view its ghastfull'st Terrors,
Stem with undaunted Breasts a Flood of Evils,
And may, in short, behave our selves like Romans,
And like the darling Offspring of the Gods.

Virg.
You are the awful Parent of my Marcius
Do you not love your Son?

Vol.
Yes, with a Love, as tender, and as true,
As softest Mothers love their darling Children:
For which of them can show a Son like Marcius
To justifie her Fondness? Such a Son
As my luxuriant, wanton Fancy form'd,
Such as my boldest, warmest Wishes pray'd for;
Exactly such a one the Gods have sent me.
Yet such a Child, and such an only Child,
So cherish'd, so belov'd, (for all true Love
Is always regulated by th' Advantage
Of the beloved Object, not its own;)
E're yet the Down his tender Cheek adorn'd,
While Youthful Beauty drew all Eyes upon him,
When, tho' a King should beg a live-long Day,
Some Mothers would not part with him an Hour;
I, knowing Indolent, Inglorious Men
To be but Pictures, the dead Furniture
Of Houses that are Noble, that 'tis Glory
That ends what we begin, and makes the Man;
Convinc'd of this, to a cruel War I sent him,
Where he thro' Manly Dangers hunted Fame,
And Brow-bound with the Oak came back to Rome.
I tell thee, Daughter, my Heart sprung not more
When first I heard there was a Man-child born,
Than when my Boy first prov'd himself a Man.

Virg.
But can you think of his untimely Death,
And not feel Horror at the dreadful Thought?

Vol.
No; at that Thought great Nature takes th' Alarm;
Yes, at that Thought, those very piercing Terrors,
Those shadd'wing Horrors, which torment your Breast;
Begin to swell and tyrannize in mine,
But strait with Roman Spirit I subdue them;
And still remain the Mistress of my Soul.
My Comfort is, that if my Marcius dies,
The noble Services he does for Rome,

And his Eternal Fame, shall be my Offspring.

Virg.
I have a doleful, and a boding Heart.

Vol.
I an auspicious, and a sprightly one,
And rather think that mine's inspir'd from Heaven.
Methinks I hither hear your Husband's Drums:
I see, I see him pluck Aufidius down;
While all the routed Volscians fly amain,
As Hunters from the roaring Lion fly,
And leave their General to my Marcius' Rage.
And thus methinks I see him Stamp, and thus
I hear him to our Romans cry aloud,
Come on, ye Cowards; ye were got in Fear,
Tho' ye were born in Rome: his Bloody Brow
With Iron Hand then wiping, on he goes,
Like to a Harvest Man, that's task'd to mow
Or all, or lose his Hire.

Virg.
His Bloody Brow! Oh Heavens!

Vol.
Away, you Fool; it more becomes a Man,
Than gilded Trophies, and triumphant Chariots.
The Breasts of Hecuba appear'd not lovelier,
When in her charming Bloom she suckled Hector;
Than Hector's Forehead, when it spouted Blood,
In the contention against stern Achilles.

Virg.
Heav'n guard my Lord from fell Aufidius' Rage.

Vol.
He'll beat Aufidius' Head below his Heel,
And tread upon his Neck. Alas, Virgilia!
What makes the Blood come mantling o'er thy Face,
And then departing leave a Death-like Pale?
Why is thy Eye thus fix'd? What mean these Starts,
And these convulsive Tremblings?

Virg.
'Tis he himself! it can be none but he.
That Godlike Form belongs to none but Marcius.
Protect me, and support me, all ye Powers. Enter Cominius, Coriolanus, and Menenius.

Cor.
The Powers make me their Substitute for that;
'Tis I'll protect thee, and support thee now.
Come to my Heart, to which thou art more dear,

Than the Life-Blood that warms it. [Cominius entertains Volumnia.

Virg.
Excess of Bliss, which I can never bear,
The mighty Joy, so sudden, so impetuous,
Consumes my Spirits, and devours my Life.
What Power has given thee to my eager Arms?
What God has snatcht thee from the Jaws of Fate,
And hither sent thee on the Wings of Love,
To stop my Hand, and cheer my dying Eyes?

Cor.
The God of War, the God of Victory,
At the request of Love's propitious Goddess.

Virg.
Of Victory? This is too much, ye Gods!
O fierce Convulsions of transporting Joy!
But see, the noblest Mother of the World
Remains too long neglected.

Cor.
I knew not till this Moment she was here,
So much my Eyes and every busy Power
Of my rapt Soul were taken up with thee.

Vol. [to Com.]
Now pour ten Thousand Blessings on him, Gods!
These are unparallel'd, unheard-of Wonders?

Com.
This is not half the Truth.

Men.
Conquest and Glory evermore like this.
Attend the Godlike Man!

Vol.
O Joy, that lifts Volumnia to the Skies,
And places her among the deathless Gods!

Cor.
Pardon, that I've so long delay'd my Knee;
For you, I know, have knelt to all the Gods
For my Prosperity. [Kneels.

Vol.
O Marcius, Marcius, O my Son, my Son,
Thou wondrous Prop of a declining State,
Support of Rome, and Glory of thy Race!
Thy joyful Mother's Ornament and Honour,
My worthy Marcius, my Coriolanus!
O rise, thou Turner of Despair to Victory,
Rise, thou sole glorious Conqueror of Corioli.

Cor.
What, my Friend too? My good Menenius here?

Men.
Now the Gods crown thee!
'Tis Forty Years since last my Eyes were moist,
But all my Mother comes into them now:
Now welcome, welcome, yes, ten thousand Welcomes!
A Curse begin ev'n at his very Heart,
Who is not glad to see thee. Enter Messenger.

Mess.
My Lord, your Colleague and th' assembled Senate
Desire your Presence.

Com.
I come;
And, Marcius, you without delay must follow.

Cor.
I will. Exit Comin.

Volum.
Now all that ever my luxuriant Fancy
Invented, to indulge my fondest Wishes,
Is truly come to pass; there wants but one thing;
You must be Consul now, Coriolanus.

Cor.
Yes, if I can be so, without becoming
The Creature of the despicable Rabble.

Men.
Come to the Capitol; you are expected. [Exeunt Coriol. and Men.

Vol.
Now where's the dreadful Vision of the Night?
Marcius has been surrounded by the Volscians;
But singly, solely has o'ercome them all.
He with his single Arm subdu'd Corioli;
Then swift as Lightning joyn'd our routed Army:
And rallied them to Conquest and to Glory.
He was the very Soul of their vast Body,
Was all in all, and all in ev'ry part;
Where-e'er he went, before him Fortune flew,
And certain Fate attended on his March,
And Victory upon his dreadful Plume
Sate perch'd, and clapt her joyful Eagle's Wings:
Three times our Marcius singled out Aufidius,
And thrice the Volscian sunk beneath his Thunder,
And bent his Knee, as 'twere in Adoration

Virg.
Ye Gods!
These are transporting, and amazing things!

Volum.
Hark! how the People shout! Come, let's go gaze
Upon his unpremeditated Triumph. [Ex.

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