Coriolanus.
Come, leave your tears: a brief farewel: the beast
With many heads butts me away. Nay, mother,
Where is your ancient Courage? you were us'd
To say, Extremity was the trier of spirits,
That common chances common men could bear;
That, when the Sea was calm, all boats alike
Shew'd mastership in floating. Fortune's blows,
When most struck home, being gently warded, craves
A noble Cunning. You were us'd to load me
With precepts, that would make invincible
The heart that conn'd them.

Vir.
Oh heav'ns! O heav'ns!

Cor.
Nay, I pr'ythee, woman—

Vol.
Now the red pestilence strike all trades in Rome,
And occupations perish.

Cor.
What! what! what!
I shall be lov'd, when I am lack'd. Nay, mother,
Resume that spirit, when you were 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 sweat. Cominius,
Droop not; adieu: farewel, my wife! my mother!
I'll do well yet. Thou old and true Menenius,
Thy tears are salter than a younger man's,
And venomous to thine eyes. My sometime General,

I've seen thee stern, and thou hast oft behold.
Heart-hardning spectacles. Tell these sad Women,
'Tis fond to wail inevitable stroaks,
As 'tis to laugh at 'em. Mother, you wot,
My hazards still have been your solace; and
Believe't not lightly, (tho' I go alone,
Like to a lonely dragon, that his fen
Makes fear'd, and talk'd of more than seen:) your Son
Will, or exceed the common, or be caught
With cautelous baits and practice.

Vol.
My first Son,
Where will you go? take good Cominius
With thee a while; determine on some course,
More than a wild exposure to each chance,
That starts i'th' way before thee.

Cor.
O the Gods!

Com.
I'll follow thee a month, devise with thee
Where thou shalt rest, that thou may'st hear of us,
And we of thee. So, if the time thrust forth
A Cause for thy Repeal, we shall not send
O'er the vast world, to seek a single man;
And lose advantage, which doth ever cool
I'th' absence of the needer.

Cor.
Fare ye well;
Thou'st years upon thee, and thou art too full
Of the war's surfeits, to go rove with one
That's yet unbruis'd; bring me but out at gate.
Come, my sweet Wife, my dearest Mother, and
My Friends of noble touch: when I am forth,
Bid me farewel, and smile. I pray you, come.
While I remain above the ground, you shall
Hear from me still, and never of me ought
But what is like me formerly.

Men.
That's worthily
As any ear can hear. Come, let's not weep.
If I could shake off but one seven years
From these old arms and legs, by the good Gods,
I'd with thee every foot.

Cor.
Give me thy hand. [Exeunt.

Enter Sicinius and Brutus, with the Ædile.

Sic.
Bid them all home, he's gone; and we'll no further.
Vex'd are the Nobles, who, we see, have sided
In his behalf.

Bru.
Now we have shewn our Power,
Let us seem humbler after it is done,
Than when it was a doing.

Sic.
Bid them home;
Say, their great enemy is gone, and they
Stand in their ancient strength.

Bru.
Dismiss them home.
Here comes his Mother. Enter Volumnia, Virgilia, and Menenius.

Sic.
Let's not meet her.

Bru.
Why?

Sic.
They say, she's mad.

Bru.
They have ta'en note of us: keep on your way.

Vol.
Oh, y'are well met:
The hoorded plague o'th' Gods requite your love!

Men.
Peace, peace; be not so loud.

Vol.
If that I could for weeping, you should hear—
Nay, and you shall hear some.—Will you be gone?

Virg.
You shall stay too:—I would, I had the Power
To say so to my Husband.

Sic.
Are you man-kind?

Vol.
Ay, fool: is that a shame? note but this fool.
Was not a Man my Father? hadst thou foxship
To banish him that struck more blows for Rome,
Than thou hast spoken words—

Sic.
Oh blessed heav'ns!

Vol.
More noble blows, than ever thou wise words,
And for Rome's Good—I'll tell thee what—yet go—
Nay, but thou shalt stay too—I would, my Son
Were in Arabia, and thy tribe before him,
His good sword in his hand.

Sic.
What then?

Virg.
What then? he'd make an end of thy Posterity.

Vol.
Bastards, and all.
Good man, the wounds that he does bear for Rome!

Men.
Come, come, peace.

Sic.
I would, he had continued to his Country
As he began, and not unknit himself
The noble Knot he made.

Bru.
I would, he had.

Vol.
I would, he had!—'twas you incens'd the rabble:
Cats, that can judge as fitly of his worth,
As I can of those mysteries which Heav'n
Will not have Earth to know.

Bru.
Pray, let us go.

Vol.
Now, pray, Sir, get you gone.
You've done a brave deed: ere you go, hear this:
As far as doth the Capitol exceed
The meanest house in Rome; so far my Son,
This Lady's Husband here, this, (do you see)
Whom you have banish'd, does exceed you all.

Bru.
Well, well, we'll leave you.

Sic.
Why stay you to be baited
With one that wants her wits? [Ex. Tribunes.

Vol.
Take my prayers with you.
I wish, the Gods had nothing else to do,
But to confirm my Curses! Could I meet 'em
But once a-day, it would unclog my heart
Of what lyes heavy to't.

Men.
You've told them home,
And, by my troth, have cause: you'll sup with me?

Vol.
Anger's my meat, I sup upon my self,
And so shall starve with feeding: come, let's go,
Leave this faint puling, and lament as I do,
In anger, Juno-like: come, come, fie, fie! [Exeunt.

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