Coriolanus.
Lower your fasces, Lictors—
O Veturia!
Thou best of parents!

Veturia.
Coriolanus, stop.
Whom am I to embrace? a son, or foe
Say, in what light am I regarded here?
Thy mother, or thy captive?

Coriolanus.
Justly, madam,
You check my fondness, that, by nature hurry'd.
Forgot, I was the general of the Volsci,
And you a deputy from hostile Rome. [He goes back to his former station.
I hear you with respect. Speak your commission.

Veturia.
Think not I come a deputy from Rome.
Rome, once rejected, scorns a second suit.
You have already heard whate'er the tongue
Of eloquence can plead, whate'er the wisdom
Of sacred age, the dignity of senates,
And virtue can enforce. Behold me here
Sent by the shades of your immortal fathers.
Sent by the genius of the Marcian line,

Commission'd by my own maternal heart,
To try the soft, yet stronger powers of nature;
Thus authoriz'd, I ask, nay, claim a peace,
On equal, fair, and honourable terms,
To thee, to Rome, and to the Volscian people.
Grant it, my son! Thy mother begs it of thee;
Thy wife, the best, the kindest of her sex,
And these illustrious matrons, who have sooth'd
The gloomy hours thou hast been absent from us.
We, by whate'er is great and good in nature,
By every duty, by the Gods, conjure thee,
To grant us peace! and turn on other foes
Thy arms, where thou may'st purchase virtuous glory.

Coriolanus.
I should, Veturia, break those holy bonds
That hold the wide republic of mankind,
Society, together; I should grow
A wretch unworthy to be call'd thy son;
I should, with my Volumnia's fair esteem,
Forfeit her love; these matrons would despise me—
Could I betray the Volscian cause, thus trusted,
Thus recommended to me—no, my mother,
You cannot sure, you cannot ask it of me!

Veturia.
And does my son so little know me? Me!
Who took such care to form his tender years,
Left to my conduct by his dying father?
Have I so ill deserv'd that trust? Alas!
Am I so low in thy esteem, that thou
Should'st e'er imagine I could urge a part
Which in the least might stain the Marcian honour?
No, let me perish rather! perish all!
Life has no charms compar'd to spotless glory!
I only ask, thou woud'st forbid thy troops
To waste our lands, and to assault yon city,
'Till time be giv'n for mild and righteous measures.
Grant us but one year's truce: Mean while thou may'st,
With honour and advantage to both nations,

Betwixt us mediate a perpetual peace.

Coriolanus.
Alas! my mother! That were granting all.

Veturia.
Canst thou refuse me such a just petition,
The first request thy mother ever made thee?
Canst thou to her intreaties, prayers, and tears,
Prefer a savage obstinate revenge?
Have love and nature lost all power within thee?

Coriolanus.
No—in my heart they reign as strong as ever.
Come, I conjure you, quit ungrateful Rome,
Come, and complete my happiness at Antium,
You, and my dear Volumnia—There, Veturia,
There you shall see with what respect the Volsci
Will treat the wife and mother of their general.

Veturia.
Treat me thyself with more respect, my son;
Nor dare to shock my ears with such proposals.
Shall I desert my country, I who come
To plead her cause? Ah no!—A grave in Rome
Would better please me than a throne at Antium.
How hast thou thus forsaken all my precepts?
How hast thou thus forgot thy love to Rome?
O Coriolanus, when with hostile arms,
With fire and sword, you enter'd on our borders,
Did not the fostering air that breathes around us,
Allay thy guilty fury, and instil
A certain native sweetness thro' thy soul?
Did not your heart thus murmur to itself?
“These walls contain whatever can command
“Respect from virtue, or is dear to nature,
“The monuments of piety and valour;
“The sculptur'd forms, the trophies of my fathers,
“My houshold Gods, my mother, wife, and children!

Coriolanus.
Ah! you seduce me with too tender views!—

These walls contain the most corrupt of men,
A base seditious herd; who trample order,
Distinction, justice, law, beneath their feet,
Insolent foes to worth, the foes of virtue!

Veturia.
Thou hast not thence a right to lift thy hand
Against the whole community, which forms
Thy ever sacred country—That consists
Not of coeval citizens alone:
It knows no bounds; it has a retrospect
To ages past; it looks on those to come;
And grasps of all the general worth and virtue:
Suppose, my son, that I to thee had been
A harsh obdurate parent, even unjust;
How wou'd the mon'strous thought with horror strike thee,
Of plunging, from revenge, thy raging steel
Into her breast who nurs'd thy infant years!

Coriolanus.
Rome is no more! that Rome which nurs'd my youth;
That Rome, conducted by patrician virtue,
She is no more! my sword shall now chastise
These sons of pride and dirt! her upstart tyrants!
Who have debas'd the noblest state on earth
Into a sordid democratic faction;
Why will my mother join her cause to theirs?

Veturia.
Forbid it, Jove! that I should e'er distinguish
My interest from the general cause of Rome;
Or live to see a foreign hostile arm
Reform th' abuses of our land of freedom. [Pausing.
But 'tis in vain, I find, to reason more.
Is there no way to reach thy filial heart,
Once fam'd as much for piety as courage?
Oft hast thou justly triumph'd, Coriolanus;
Now yield one triumph to thy widow'd mother;
And send me back amidst the loud acclaims,

The grateful transports of deliver'd Rome,
The happiest far, the most renown'd of women!

Coriolanus.
Why, why, Veturia, wilt thou plead in vain?

Tullus [aside to Volusius.]
See, see, Volusius, how the strong emotions.
Of powerful nature shake his inmost soul!
See how they tear him—If he long resists them,
He is a God, or something worse than man.

Veturia.
O Marcius, Marcius! canst thou treat me thus?
Canst thou complain of Rome's ingratitude,
Yet be to me so cruelly ungrateful?
To me! who anxious rear'd thy youth to glory?
Whose only joy these many years has been,
To boast that Coriolanus was my son?
And dost thou then renounce me for thy mother?
Spurn me before these chiefs, before those soldiers,
That weep thy stubborn cruelty? Art thou
The hardest man to me in this assembly?
Look at me! speak! [Pausing, during which he appears in great agitation.
Still dost thou turn away?
Inexorable? silent?—Then, behold me,
Behold thy mother, at whose feet thou oft
Hast kneel'd with fondness, kneeling now at thine,
Wetting thy stern tribunal with her tears.

Coriolanus.
Veturia, rise; I cannot see thee thus. [Raises her.
It is a sight uncomely to behold
My mother at my feet, and that to urge
A suit, relentless honour must refuse.

Volumnia [advancing.]
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 Volumnia, once so pleasing,
How shall it hope to touch the husband's heart,
When proof against the tears of such a parent?
I dare not urge what to thy mother thou
So firmly hast deny'd—But I must weep—
Must weep, if not thy harsh severity,
At least thy situation. O permit me [Taking his hand.
To shed my gushing tears upon thy hand!
To press it with the cordial lips of love!
And take my last farewell!

Coriolanus.
Yet, yet, my soul,
Be firm, and persevere—

Volumnia.
Ah, Coriolanus!
Is then this hand, this hand to me devoted,
The pledge of nuptial love, that has so long
Protected, bless'd, and shelter'd us with kindness,
Now lifted up against us? yet I love it,
And, with submissive veneration, bow
Beneath th' affliction which it heaps upon us.
But oh! what nobler transports would it give thee!
What joy beyond expression! could'st thou once
Surmount the furious storm of fierce revenge,
And yield thee to the charms of love and mercy.
Oh make the glorious trial!

Coriolanus.
Mother! wife!
Are all the powers of nature leagu'd against me?
I cannot!—will not!—Leave me, my Volumnia!

Volumnia.
Well, 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,
What from their father, to our little slaves,
Unconscious of the shame to which you doom them,
What shall I say? [Pausing, he highly agitated.

Nay—tell me, Coriolanus!

Coriolanus.
Tell thee! what shall I tell thee? See these tears!
These tears will tell thee what exceeds the pow'r
Of words to speak, what'er the son, the husband,
And father, in one complicated pang,
Can feel—But leave me;—ev'n in pity leave me!
Cease, cease, to torture me, my dear Volumnia!
You only tear my heart; but cannot shake it:
For by th' immortal Gods, the dread avengers
Of broken faith!—

Volumnia. [Kneeling.]
Oh swear not, Coriolanus!
Oh vow not our destruction!

Veturia.
Daughter, rise,
Let us no more before the Volscian people
Expose ourselves a spectacle of shame.
It is in vain we strive to melt a breast,
That, to the best affections nature gives us
Prefers the worst—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—And thus I came provided. [Drawing forth a conceal'd dagger.
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!

Coriolanus.
Ha! [Seizing her hand.
What do'st thou mean?

Veturia.
To die, while Rome is free,
To seize the moment e're thou art her tyrant.

Coriolanus.
Oh use thy pow'r more justly! set not thus
My treach'rous heart in arms against my reason,
Here! here! thy dagger will be well employ'd;
Strike here, and reconcile my fighting duties.

Veturia.
Off—set me free!—think'st thou that grasp which bind[illeg.]
My feeble hand, can fetter too my will?
No, my proud son! thou can'st not make me live,
If Rome must fall!—No pow'r on earth can do it!

Coriolanus.
Pity me, generous Volsci!—You are men!—
Must it then be?—Confusion! Do I yield?
What is it? is it weakness? is it virtue?—
Well!—

Veturia.
What? Speak!

Coriolanus.
O, no!—

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

Coriolanus.
There!—'Tis done! [Quitting her hand.
Thine is the triumph, nature! [To Veturia, in a low tone of voice.
Ah, Veturia!
Rome by thy aid is sav'd—But thy son lost.

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

Coriolanus.
Ye matrons! [Turning to the Roman ladies.
Guardians of the Roman safety,
You to the senate may report this answer,
We grant the truce you ask, but on these terms:
That Rome, mean time, shall to a peace agree,
Fair, equal, just, and such as may secure

The safety, rights, and honour of the Volsci.
Volsci, we raise the siege. Go, and prepare, [To the troops.
By the first dawn, for your return to Antium. [As the troops retire, and Coriolanus turns to the Roman ladies, Tullus to Volusius aside.

Tullus.
'Tis as as we wish'd, Volusius, to your station—
But mark me well—'Till thou shalt hear my call,
I charge thee not to stir. One offer more
My honour bids me make to this proud man,
Before we strike the blow—If he rejects it,
His blood be on his head.

Volusius.
Well! I obey you. [Goes out.

Coriolanus.
Be it thy care, Galesius, that a safeguard
Attend these noble matrons back to Rome. [Exeunt all but Coriolanus and Tullus.
I plainly, Tullus, by your looks, discern
You disapprove my conduct.

Tullus.
Caius Marcius,
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.

Coriolanus.
Speak. I hear thee.

Tullus.
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.

Coriolanus.
Insolent man! Is this thy fair proposal?

Tullus.
Be patient—Hear me speak—I have already
From Rome protected thee: now from the Volsci,
From their just vengeance, I will still protect thee.
Retire, I will take care thou may'st with safety.

Coriolanus.
With safety!—Gods!—And think'st thou, Coriolanus
Will stoop to thee for safety? No, my safeguard
Is in my self, a bosom void of blame,
And the great Gods, protectors of the just.—
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.

Tullus.
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.

Coriolanus.
When to the Volsci I have clear'd my faith,
Doubt not, I shall find means to meet thee nobly.
We then our generous quarrel may decide
In the bright front of some embattled field,
And not in private brawls, like fierce barbarians.

Tullus.
Thou can'st not hope acquittal from the Volsci.—

Coriolanus.
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?

Tullus.
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,
The genuine seed of outlaws and of robbers.

Coriolanus.
The seed of Gods!—'Tis not for thee, vain boaster!
'Tis not for such as thou, so often spar'd
By her victorious sword, to talk of Rome,
But with respect and awful veneration.
Whate'er her blots, whate'er her giddy factions,
There is more virtue in one single page
Of Roman story, than your Volscian annals
Can boast thro' all your creeping dark duration.

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

Coriolanus.
Ha! Traitor!

Tullus.
First, to thy own country, traitor!
And traitor, now, to mine.
Who hast perfidiously,
Basely betray'd your trust, and given up,
For certain drops of salt, our city, Rome;
I say our city, to your wife and mother;
Breaking your oath and resolution, like
A twist of rotten silk; never admitting

Counsel o' the war; but at your nurse's tears
You whin'd, and roar'd away your victory,
That pages blush'd at you, and men of heart
Look'd wond'ring each at other.

Coriolanus.
Hear'st thou, Mars!

Tullus.
Name not the God, thou boy of tears!

Coriolanus.
Measureless liar, thou hast made my heart
Too great for what contains it. Boy! O slave!
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.

Tullus.
Begone—Return—
To head the Roman troops. I grant thee quittance,
Full and complete, of all those obligations,
Thou hast so oft insultingly complain'd
Fetter'd thy hands. They now are free. I court
The worst thy hand 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.

Coriolanus.
Think'st thou to fright me hence?

Tullus.
Thou wilt not then?
Thou wilt not take the safety which I offer.

Coriolanus.
'Till have clear'd my honour in your council,
And prov'd before them all, to thy confusion,
The falshood 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.

Tullus.
Volusius! ho! Enter Volusius and Conspirators, with their swords drawn.
Seize, the secure the traitor.

Coriolanus.
Who dares [Laying his hand on his sword.
Approach me, dies!

Volusius.
Die thou! [As Coriolanus draws his sword, Volusius and the rest rush upon him and stab him. Tullus stands, without drawing.

Coriolanus.
Off!—Villains. [Endeavours to free himself, falls.
Oh murdering slaves! assassinating cowards. [Dies. Enter Galesus, the Volscian states, officers and friends of Coriolanus, and Titus, with a large band of soldiers, &c.

Galesus.
Are we a nation rul'd by laws, or fury?
How! whence this tumult?
Gods! what do I see?
The noble Marcius slain!

Tullus.
You see a traitor
Punish'd as he deserv'd, the Roman yoke,
That thrall'd us, broken, and the Volsci free.

Galesus.
Hear me, great Jove! Hear all you injur'd powers
Of friendship, hospitality and faith!
By that heroic blood, which from the ground
Reeking to you for vengeance cries, I swear!
This impious breach of your eternal laws,
This daring outrage of the Volscian honour,
Shall find in me a rigorous avenger!

On the same earth, polluted by their crime,
I will not live with these unpunish'd ruffians.

Tullus.
My rage is gone,
And I am struck with sorrow.
Tho' he has been our foe,
Yet as a soldier, brave, unmatch'd in arms,
With martial pomp, let these his sacred reliques
Be consecrate to the dread god of war,
Whose favourite he liv'd. His noble memory,
His deathless fame remain; but be his faults,
Be our resentments bury'd with his dust. [Galesius standing over the body of Coriolanus, after a short pause,
Ye noble Volscians,
And ye, brave soldiers, see an awful scene,
Demanding serious, solemn meditation.
This man was once the glory of his age,
Disinterested, just, with every virtue
Of civil life adorn'd, in arms unequal'd.
His only blot was this; that, much provok'd,
He rais'd his vengeful arm against his country.
And lo! the righteous gods have now chastis'd him,
Even by the hands of those for whom he fought.
Whatever private views and passions plead,
No cause can justify so black a deed.
Then be this truth the star by which we steer,
Above our selves our country should be dear. End of the FIFTH ACT.

EPILOGUE.
Well! gentlemen! and are you still so vain
To treat our sex with arrogant disdain,
And think, to you alone, by partial Heav'n,
Superior sense and sovereign pow'r are giv'n,
When in the story told to-night, you find,
With what a boundless sway we rule the mind;
And, by a few soft words of ours, with ease,
Can turn the proudest hearts just where we please?
If an old mother had such pow'rful charms,—
To stop a stubborn Roman's conqu'ring arms,—
Soldiers and statesmen of these days, with you,
What, think you, would a fair young mistress do?
If with my grave discourse, and wrinkled face,
I thus could bring a hero to disgrace,
How absolutely may I hope to reign
Now I am turn'd to my own shape again?
However, I will use my empire well;
And if I have a certain magic spell,
Or in my tongue, or wit, or shape, or eyes,
Which can subdue the strong, and fool the wise,
Be not alarm'd: I will not interfere
In state-affairs, nor undertake to steer
The helm of government—as we are told,
Those female politicians did of old;
Such dangerous heights I never wish'd to climb—
Thank Heav'n! I better can employ my time—
Ask you, to what my pow'r I shall apply?
To make my subjects blest, is my reply.
My purposes are gracious all, and kind.
Some may be told—and some may be divin'd.
I lay no tax but what you well may bear,
I bind no chains but what you wish to wear.
Then in return for such an easy sway,
With hearts and hands your willing homage pay,
Applaud Veturia, and protect the play.
  But hold—Gads-me, I had forgotten quite,
  You must attend me here—on the next night. FINIS.