Mar.
Here, noble Tullus, sit, and judge my conduct,
Nor spare to check me if I act amiss.

Auf.
Marcius, the Volscian fate is in thy hand.

Mar.
My wife comes foremost, then the honour'd mould,
Wherein this trunk was fram'd, and in her hand
The grand-child to her blood. But out, affection!
All bond and privilege of nature break!
Let it be virtuous, to be obstinate. [Virgilia bends.
What is that curt'sie worth? or those dove's eyes,
Which can make gods forsworn?
My mother bows, [Volumnia bends.
As if Olympus to a mole-hill should
In supplication nod; and my young boy
Hath an aspect of intercession, which
Great nature cries, Deny not. Let the Volscians
Plough Rome, and harrow Italy; I'll stand

As if a man were author of himself,
And knew no other kin.

Vir.
My lord and husband!

Mar.
I melt, and am not of stronger earth than others.
O, a kiss, long as my exile, sweet as my revenge!
Now, by the jealous queen of heav'n, that kiss
I carried from thee, dear; and my true lip
Hath virgin'd it, e'er since.—You gods! I prate,
And the most noble mother of the world,
Leave unsaluted: sink my knee i'th' earth; [Kneels.
Of thy deep duty more impression shew,
Than that of common sons.

Vol.
Thou art my warrior,
Do you know this lady? [Pointing to Valeria.

Mar.
The noble sister of Poplicola:
The moon of Rome; chaste as the icicle,
That's curdled by the frost from purest snow,
And hangs on Dian's temple.

Vol.
This is a poor epitome of yours, [Shewing young Marcius.
Which by th' interpretation of full time,
May shew like all yourself.

Mar.
The god of soldiers,
With the consent of supreme Jove, inform
Thy thoughts with nobleness, that thou may'st prove
To shame invulnerable, and stick i'th' wars,
Like a great sea-mark, standing every flaw,
And saving those that eye thee!

Vol.
Your knee, sirrah.

Mar.
That's my brave boy.

Vol.
Even he, your wife, this lady, and myself,
Are suitors to you.

Mar.
I beseech you, peace:
Or if you'd ask, remember this, before;
The thing I have forsworn to grant, may never
Be held by you denial. Do not bid me
Dismiss my soldiers, or capitulate
Again with Rome's mechanicks. Tell me not
Wherein I seem unnatural: desire not
T' allay my rages and revenges. with
Your colder reasons.

Vol.
Oh, no more: no more:
You've said you will not grant us any thing:
For we have nothing else to ask, but that
Which you deny already: yet we will ask,
That if we fail in our request, the blame
May hang upon your hardness; therefore, hear us.

Mar.
Afidius, and you Volscians, mark; for we'll
Hear nought from Rome, in private.—Your request?

Vol.
Think with thyself,
How more unfortunate than all living women,
Are we come hither. For either thou
Must as a foreign recreant, be led
With manacles along our streets, or else,
Triumphantly tread on thy country's ruin,
And bear the palm for having bravely shed
Thy wife and children's blood.

Mar.
I've sat, too long.

Vol.
Nay, go not from us thus:
If it were so, that our request did tend
To save the Romans, thereby to destroy
The Volscians whom you serve, you might condemn us,
As poisoners of your honour. No; our suit
Is that you reconcile them: while the Volscians
May say, This mercy we have shew'd; the Romans,
This we receiv'd; and each on either side,
Give the all-hail to thee, and cry, Be blest,
For making up this peace.

Mar.
Those walls contain the most corrupt of men,
A base seditious herd: who trample order,
Distinction, justice, laws, beneath their feet;
Insolent foes to worth, the foes of virtue.

Vol.
Daughter, speak you;
He cares not for your weeping. Speak thou, boy;
Perhaps thy childishness will move him more,
Than can our reasons. There's no man in the world,
More bound to's mother, yet here he lets me prate,
Like one i'th' stocks. Thou'st never, in thy life,
Shew'd thy dear mother any courtesie;
When she (poor hen) fond of no second brood,
Has cluck'd thee to the wars, and safely home,
Loaden with honour.

Auf.
See, see, Volusius, how the strong emotions
Of powerful nature shake his inmost soul!
See how they tear him.—If he long resist them,
He is a god, or something worse than man!

Vol.
He turns away:
Down, ladies; let us shame him with our knees,
Nay, behold us,
This boy, that cannot tell what he would have,
But kneels, and holds up hands for fellowship,
Does reason our petition with more strength,
Than thou hast to deny't.
Yet give us our dispatch:
I'm hush't, until our city be afire,
And then I'll speak a little.

Vir.
Since, Coriolanus, thou dost still retain,
In spite of all thy mother now has pleaded,
Thy dreadful purpose, ah! how much in vain
Were it for me to join my supplications!
The voice of thy Virgilia, once so pleasing,
How shall it hope to touch the husband's heart,
When proof against the tears of such a parent?
But I must weep—O permit me,
To shed my gushing tears upon thy hand,
And take my last farewell!

Mar.
Leave me.

Vir.
I obey.—How bitter thus to part!
Upon such terms to part! perhaps for ever!
But tell me ere I hence unroot my feet,
When to my lonely home I shall return—

Mar.
Come, and compleat my happiness at Antium,
You and my honoured mother—
There shall you see with what respect the Volces
Will treat the wife and mother of their general.

Vol.
Treat us thyself with more respect, my son;
Nor dare to shock our ears with such proposals.
Shall we desert our country, we, who come
To plead her cause?—Ah, no—A grave in Rome
Would better please me, than a throne at Antium.

Mar.
Cease, cease, to torture me—
You only tear my heart, but cannot shake it.
By the immortal Gods—

Vir.
Oh! vow not our destruction! [Falling on her knees.

Vol.
Daughter, rise;
Let us no more before the Volscian people
Expose ourselves a spectacle of shame.
Hear me, proud man! I have
A heart as stout as thine. I came not hither,
To be sent back rejected, baffled, sham'd,
Hateful to Rome, because I am thy mother:
A Roman matron knows, in such extremes,
What part to take.
Go! barbarous son! go! double parricide
Rush o'er my corse to thy belov'd revenge!
Tread on the bleeding breast of her, to whom
Thou ow'st thy life.—Lo! thy first victim. [Drawing a dagger.

Mar. (Seizing her hand.)
Ha! what mean'st thou?

Vol.
To die, while Rome is free.

Mar.
Set not thus
My treacherous heart in arms against my reason.
Here, here! thy dagger will be well employed;—

Pity me, generous Volscians!—You are men—
Must it then be?—My stifled words refuse
A passage to the throes that wring my heart.

Vol.
Nay, if thou yieldest, yield like Coriolanus;
And what thou do'st, do nobly!

Mar.
Here! 'tis done!
Thine is the triumph, Nature!—Ah, Volumnia!
Rome by thy aid is sav'd—but thy son lost.

Vol.
He never can be lost, who saves his country.

Mar.
Ye matrons, guardians of the Roman safety,
We grant the truce you ask,
Volscians we raise the siege. [Marcius turns to the Roman ladies, who retire in the order they entered.

Auf.
'Tis as we wish'd, Volusius—
But mark me well—one offer more
My honour bids me make to this proud man.
If he rejects it,
His blood be on his head.

Volu.
Well! I obey you.

Mar.
I plainly, Tullus, by your looks discern
You disapprove my conduct.

Auf.
I mean not to assail thee with the clamour
Of loud reproaches, and the war of words;
But, pride apart, and all that can pervert
The light of steady reason, here to make
A candid fair proposal.

Mar.
Speak, I hear thee.

Auf.
I need not tell thee that I have perform'd
My utmost promise. Thou hast been protected;
Hast had thy amplest, most ambitious wish:
Thy wounded pride is heal'd, thy dear revenge
Compleatly sated; and, to crown thy fortune,
At the same time, thy peace with Rome restor'd.
Thou art no more a Volscian, but a Roman.
Return, return; thy duty calls upon thee,
Still to protect the city thou hast sav'd:
It still may be in danger from our arms.
Retire: I will take care thou may'st with safety.

Mar.
With safety!—Heav'ns!—And think'st thou, Coriolanus
Will stoop to thee for safety?—No! my safeguard
Is in myself, a bosom void of blame.—
O 'tis an act of cowardice and baseness,
To seize the very time my hands are fetter'd,
By the strong chain of former obligations,
The safe sure moment to insult me. Gods!
Were I now free, as on that day I was
When at Corioli I tam'd thy pride,
This had not been.

Auf.
Thou speak'st the truth: it had not.
O for that time again! propitious gods,
If you will bless me, grant it!—Know, for that,
For that dear purpose, I have now propos'd
Thou should'st return. I pray thee, Marcius, do it!
And we shall meet again on nobler terms.

Mar.
Till I have clear'd my honour in your council,
And prov'd before them all, to thy confusion,
The falsehood of thy charge; as soon in battle
I would before thee fly, and howl for mercy,
As quit the station they have here assign'd me.

Auf.
Thou can'st not hope acquittal from the Volscians.

Mar.
I do:—Nay more, expect their approbation,
Their thanks! I will obtain them such a peace
As thou durst never ask; a perfect union
Of their whole nation with imperial Rome,
In all her privileges, all her rights.
By the just Gods, I will! What would'st thou more?

Auf.
What would I more! proud Roman; this I would,
Fire the curst forest where these Roman wolves
Haunt and infest their nobler neighbours round them;
Extirpate from the bosom of this land,
A false perfidious people, who, beneath
The mask of freedom, are a combination
Against the liberty of human kind.

Mar.
The seeds of Gods!
Whate'er her blots, whate'er her giddy factions,
There is more virtue in one single year
Of Roman story, than your Volscian annals
Can boast, thro' all your creeping dark duration!

Auf.
I thank thy rage. This full displays the traitor.

Mar.
Traitor!—how now!—

Auf.
Ay, traitor, Marcius.

Mar.
Marcius!

Auf.
Ay, Marcius, Caius Marcius; dost thou think
I'll grace thee with that robbery, thy stol'n name
Coriolanus, in Corioli?
You lords, and head o'th' state, perfidiously
He has betray'd your business, and given up,
For certain drops of salt, your city Rome;
I say your city, to his wife and mother;
Breaking his oath and resolution, like
A twist of rotten silk, never admitting
Counsel o'th' war; but at his nurse's tears,
He whin'd and roar'd away your victory,
That pages blush'd at him, and men of heart,
Look'd wond'ring each at other.

Mar.
Hear'st thou, Mars?

Auf.
Name not the god, thou boy of tears.

Mar.
Measureless liar, thou hast made my heart
Too great for what contains it. Boy?
Cut me to pieces, Volscians,
Stain all your edges in me. Boy?
If you have writ your annals true, 'tis there,
That like an eagle in a dove-coat, I
Flutter'd your Volscians in Corioli,
Alone I did it. Boy?—But let us part,
Lest my rash hand should do a hasty deed
My cooler thought forbids.

Auf.
I court
The worst thy sword can do; whilst thou from me
Hast nothing to expect, but sore destruction.
Quit then this hostile camp. Once more I tell thee,
Thou art not here one single hour in safety.

Mar.
O that I had thee,
With six Aufidius's, or more; thy tribe;
To use my lawful sword—

Volu.
Insolent villain! [Volscian officers draw, and kill Marcius.

Auf.
My lords, when you shall know the great danger
Which this man's life did owe you, you'll rejoice
That he is thus cut off. Please it your honours
To call me to your senate, I'll deliver
Myself your loyal servant, or endure
Your heaviest censure.
My rage is gone, and I am struck
With sorrow. Bear from hence his body.
Let him be regarded,
As the most noble corse, that ever herald
Did follow to his urn.
Beat, beat the drum that it speak mournfully:
Trail your steel pikes. Though in this city he
Hath widow'd and unchilded many a one,
Which to this hour bewail the injury;
Yet he shall have a noble memory. A dead march. The Curtain drops slowly.

Previous section