Cor.
Let them set Death in its worst Shape before me,
Upon the Wheel, or at wild Horses Heels,
Or pile ten Hills on the Tarpeian Rock,
That the vast Precipice might stretch below

The very Beam of Sight, yet should they find
That I am still unalter'd. Enter Volumnia.

Sen.
A Roman Spirit!

Cor.
I wonder that my Mother
Does not approve of this my just Proceeding:
She who was wont to call them Wooden Vessels,
Things that were bought and sold for wretched Groats
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. Enter Menenius with 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 your Refusal, our good City
Cleave in the midst, and perish.

Vol.
Pray be advis'd;
I have a Heart as much resolv'd as yours,
But yet a Brain that teaches me to use
My Anger to advantage.

Cor.
What must I do?

Men.
Return to the Tribunes.

Cor.
Well! What then? What then?

Men.
Repent what you have spoke.

Cor.
To them? I cannot do it to the Gods.
Must I then do it to them? Enter Cominius.

Com.
I from the Forum come, and, Sir, 'tis fit
You make your Party strong, or else secure yourself
By Calmness or by Absence; all's in Uproar.

Men.
Only fair Speech will do it.

Com.
I think 'twill serve, if he can bend his Mind to't.

Vol.
He must, he will.
Pr'ythee now say you will, and go about it.

Cor.
Must I go worship then this monstrous Idol?
Must my base Tongue give to my noble Heart
A Lie that it must bear? Well, I will do it!
And yet were but my single Life at stake,
They first to Dust should grind this Mould of Marcius,
And throw it in the Air. Now to the Forum;
You have put me to a most unnatural Part,
Which I shall play most awkwardly.

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

Vol.
I pr'ythee now, sweet Son, as thou hast said
My Praises made thee first a valiant Soldier,
To have my Praise for this, perform a Part
Thou hast not done before.

Cor.
Well, I must do it.
And thou, my Nature, and my generous Mind,
Now leave me for a while: Instead of these,
Some Harlot's wanton Soul inform my Body;
My martial Voice, that like a Trumpet, once,
Was wont to rouze up Valour in our Soldiers,
Grow soft and and melting as the warbling Flute,
Small as an Eunuch's Pipe, or Virgin's Voice,
That lulls asleep a Babe: The Smiles of Knaves
Entrench my honest Cheeks, and may my Eyes
Grow Imitators of the false Hyena:
A Beggar's canting Tone possess my Tongue;
And my arm'd Knee, that never bow'd before,
But to the Gods and you, now bend, like his
Who has receiv'd, or who expects an Alms.
Confusion! Must I do this! No, I will not:
Lest I should cease to honour my own Truth;
And by my Body's Action, teach my Mind
A most inherent Baseness.

Vol.
At thy choice then,
Whether is greater Condescension, mine
To beg of thee, or thine to ask of them?
Let universal Ruin seize on all,
I laugh at Death, with as large Heart as thou.
Do as thou list! Thy Bravery was mine,

Thou suck'dst it from me, but thy Pride's thy own.

Cor.
Come, come, you shall be satisfied.
Mother, I am going to the Roman Forum,
Where I will cheat the Rabble of their Loves,
Decoy their Hearts, and cogg their very Souls from 'em:
Come home the very Minion of the Crowd,
The Darling of each dirty vile Mechanic.
Just now I go, and Consul I'll return,
Or never trust my Tongue to flatter more.

Vol.
Do as you list. [Exit.

Com.
Come, come, the Tribunes wait you. Pray prepare
To answer mildly, for they're arm'd, I hear,
With Accusations stronger than their former.

Cor.
The Word is Mildly. Pray now lead the Way;
Let them accuse me by Invention, I
Will answer in mine Honour.

Men.
Ay, but mildly.

Cor.
Well, mildly: Be it then mildly. [Exeunt. Enter Sicinus and Brutus.

Bru.
In this part charge him home; that he affects
A Regal Power: If he evade us there,
Then urge him with his Hatred to the People,
And that the Spoil got from the Antiats
Was ne'er distributed—What, will he come? Enter Ædile.

Æd.
He's coming.

Bru.
How accompanied?

Æd.
With old Menenius, and those Senators
That always favour'd him.

Sic.
Have you a Catalogue
Of all the Voices that we have procur'd,
Set down by the Poll?

Æd.
I have, 'tis ready,

Sic.
Have you collected them by Tribes?

Æd.
I have, they're ready.

Sic.
Assemble presently the People hither,
And when they hear our positive Decree

Pronounc'd by vertue of their Right, then let them
Confirm it by unanimous Consent,
Insisting on their own Original Power.

Æd.
I shall inform them.

Sici.
When they have begun,
Let them not cease, but with a Dinn confus'd
Inforce th' immediate Execution,
Of what we chance to sentence.

Æd.
Very well.

Sic.
Bid them be strong, and ready for this Hint,
When we shall chance to give it.

Bru.
Go about it.
Provoke him streight to rage. He has been us'd
Ever to conquer, has been still impatient
Of Contradiction: Being once chaf'd, he cannot
Be rein'd again to Temp'rance; then he speaks
What's in his Heart; and that is there, which we
Expect should break his Neck. Enter Coriolanus, Menenius, Cominius, with others.

Sic.
Well, here he comes.

Men.
Calmly, I do beseech you.

Cor.
Ye great and tutelary Gods of Rome,
Keep Rome in Safety, and the Chairs of Justice
Supply'd with worthy Men: Plant Love among you,
Adorn our Temples with the Pomp of Peace,
And from our Streets drive horrid War away.

1 Sen.
Amen, Amen.

Men.
A Noble Wish. Enter the Ædile, and the Plebeians.

Sic.
Draw near, ye People.

Æd.
List to your Tribunes, give attentive Audience.
Peace, I say.

Cor.
First hear me speak.

Both Trib.
Well, say. Peace, ho.

Cor.
What is the Reason,
That being pass'd for Consul, with full Voice,
I'm so dishonour'd, that the very Hour
You take it off again?

Sic.
Answer to us.

Cor.
Say then, 'tis true, I ought so.

Sic.
We charge you, that you have contriv'd to take
From Rome all limited and lawful Power,
And to establish lawless, boundless Sway,
For which you are a Traytor to the People.

Cor.
How, Traytor!

Men.
Nay, temperately: your Promise.

Cor.
The Fires of lowest Hell confound the People!
Call me their Traytor, thou injurious Tribune!
Within thy Eyes sat twenty thousand Deaths,
As many Millions in thy threatning Hands,
Both Numbers doubled in thy Lying Tongue,
Still would I dare to tell thee, with a Voice
As free as I invoke the Gods, thou ly'st.

Sic.
Hear him, ye Romans.

All.
To the Rock with him.

Sic.
Silence.
We need not lay new Matter to his Charge.
What you have seen him do, and heard him speak;
Beating your Officers, cursing your selves,
Opposing Law with Force, and here defying
Those whose unquestionable Power must try him,
This Criminal, this Capital Offence,
Deserves th' extreamest Death.

Bru.
But since he has serv'd well for Rome—

Cor.
What, do you prate of Service?

Bru.
I talk of that, who know it.

Cor.
You?

Men.
Is this the Promise that you made your Mother?

Com.
Pray know—

Cor.
I'll know no further.
Let them pronounce the steep Tarpeian Death,
Vagabond Exile, fleaing, starving, lingring
But with a Grain a Day, I would not buy
Their Mercy at the Price of one fair Word;
Nor check my Courage for what they can give,
To have it for Good-Morrow.

Sic.
For that he has,
As much as in him lies, from Time to Time,
Annoy'd, oppress'd the People, seeking means
To overturn their Power; and now at last
Given hostile Strokes, not only in the Presence
Of dreaded Justice, but upon its Ministers;
We, in the People's Name, and People's Power,
Even from this Instant banish him our City,
Ne'er to re-enter Rome, but on the Pain
Of being thrown headlong from the Rock Tarpeian;
And in the People's Name, and People's Power,
We here once more pronounce it shall be so.

All.
It shall be so, it shall be so; let him away;
He's banish'd, and it shall be so.

Com.
Hear me, my Masters, and my common Friends.

Sic.
He's sentenc'd; no more hearing.

Com.
Let me speak.

Sic.
Speak, what?

Bru.
'Tis now too late; th' Offender has been sentenc'd,
And he is banish'd as a Foe to Rome,
And to the Roman People; and it shall be so.

All.
It shall be, it shall be so.

Cor.
You common cry of Curs, whose Breath I hate,
As the contagious Reek of rotten Fens;
Whose Loves I prize, as the dead Carcasses
Of Men unbury'd, which corrupt the Air;
I from Coriolanus banish you,
And here remain with your Uncertainty.
Let ev'ry feeble Rumour shake your Hearts;
Your Enemies, with nodding of their Plumes,
Fan you into Despair; have still the Power
To banish your Defenders, till at length,
Your Ignorance, which finds not till it feels,
Delivers you most despicable Captives,
To Foes that shall without a Blow subdue you,
And therefore scorn your City and your selves.

For me, thus, thus, I turn my Back upon you,
And make a better World where'er I go.

Sic.
Masters, go home; the Ædiles shall attend him,
And see him forth the Gates. [Ex. Tribunes and People

Cor.
But here comes Company will try my Firmness;
From these my parting will not be so easy. Enter Volumnia, and Virgilia.

Com.
We must not be at this sad Enterview;
We'll meet you at the Gates.

Cor.
There I'll expect you.

Men.
Till then farewell. [Ex. Com. and Men.

Vol.
O Marcius, Marcius, whither art thou going?

Cor.
Nay, Mother,
Where is your Ancient Courage? You were wont
To say they were Extreams that try'd Mens Spirits;
That common Chances common Men could bear.
Where are the noble Precepts that you taught me?
Those Precepts that could make invincible
The Heart that learnt them.

Vol.
Now may the red right Hand of Jove confound
All Trades in Rome, and all Employments perish.

Cor.
What, what, what!
When I am wanted, I shall be belov'd.
Nay, Mother,
Resume that Spirit that was 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 Toil. I need not tell you,
'Tis fond to wail inevitable Strokes,
As 'tis to laugh at them. Mother, Farewell.

Vol.
Farewell my Son; I leave thee to Virgilia,
She has most need of Comfort. [Exit.

Cor.
And thou, my dear Virgilia—

Virg.
Never bid me farewell, I ne'er will leave thee;
But where thou goest, thy faithful Mate will follow.

Cor.
Alas, thou talk'st of things impossible.
Can'st thou endure the hardships I must suffer?

Virg.
'Tis parting, parting, is the dreadful hardship;
I can bear any thing if thou art with me,
Without thee nothing.—
Alas, he hears This cold and unconcern'd!
Look, if he sheds one pitying Tear at parting!
See, if he casts one tender mournful Look,
Or throws one Sigh from his obdurate Heart.

Cor.
Is it for me, before my insulting Foes,
To shew my Grief by Tears, to mourn like Women?
Or Men like Women: They who make me grieve
Shall feel, not see, my Sorrow; they shall feel
The greatness of my Grief in my Revenge.
By all that's binding upon Earth, or awful in the Skies,
I will revenge thy Grief, and mine, Virgilia.
Then temperate thy Sorrow, lest the Wretches
In thee, my dearer Part, insult o'er me.

Virg.
Have I the Power to moderate my Sorrow?
Can human Nature part with all its Happiness,
And never once complain?

Cor.
Imitate me; compose, at least, thy Outside,
Suppress thy Sighs, tho' all within's unquiet.

Virg.
As soon the Soul may from the Body part
Without a Groan, as I can from my Marcius.
Ah, how can I resolve to part for ever?
For ever, Marcius, has a fearful Sound.

Cor.
Then think'st thou that I take my' Eternal leave?

Virg.
Thou know'st that to return is certain Death.

Cor.
Yes, Death and Vengeance to th' accursed Tribunes.
Before yon Planet has renew'd its Orb,
I that depart from hence an empty Cloud,
Fraught with Destructive Thunder will return,
And break upon them with avoidless Ruin.

Virg.
Yet my sad Heart with doleful Beatings tells me
We part for ever.

Cor.
No; e'er yon Moon repoints her blunted Horns,

I will chastize my Foes, and comfort thee.

Virg.
But whither art thou going?

Cor.
Where I can find Revenge.

Virg.
Shall I not hear from thee?

Cor.
Yes, if my Actions answer to my Thoughts,
The Universe shall hear from me.

Virg.
I shall be dead of Grief e'er thou return'st.

Cor.
My Mother soon will teach thee nobler Passions,
And tell thee, that my Wife should mourn like Jove's,
With Grief that meditates Revenge.
Now for one parting Kiss, one last Embrace.

Virg.
The last! Thou kill'st me, Marcius.

Cor.
Now all the Gods protect thee.

Virg.
When thou desert'st me ev'ry God forsakes me,

Cor.
Adieu!
In quest of great Revenge thy Lover flies.

Virg.
Support me, Virgins, for Virgilia dies. [Exe. The End of the Third ACT.

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