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For they have pardons, being ask'd, as free
As words to little purpose.

Pr'ythee now,
Go, and be ruld: although, I know, thou hadst rather
Follow thine enemy in a fiery gulf,
Than flatter him in a bower. Here is Cominius.

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Volumnia. I prythee now, sweet son; as thou hast said, My praises made thee first a soldier, so, To have my praise for this, perform a part Thou hast not done before.


Volumnia. Ay, fool; is that a shame?—Note but this

Was not a man my father? Hadst thou foxship
To banish him that struck more blows for Rome,
Than thou hast spoken words ?

O blessed heavens !
Volumnia. More noble blows, than ever thou wise

And for Rome's good.—I'll tell thee what
Nay, but thou shalt stay too :- I would my son
Were in Arabia, and thy tribe before him,
His good sword in his hand.

What then?

_Yet go :


Volumnia. I would be had ! 'Twas you incens'd the

rabble : Cats, that can judge as fitly of his worth, As I can of those mysteries which heaven

Will not have earth to know.

Pray, let us go
Volumnia. Now, pray, sir, get you gone :
You have 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.

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

Take my prayers with you.—
I would the gods had nothing else to do,
But to confirm my curses ! Could I meet them
But once a day, it would unclog my heart
Of what lies heavy to’t.

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

Volumnia. Anger's my meat; I sup upon myself,
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, come.

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Volumnia. *

Thou know'st, great son, The end of war's uncertain; but this certain, That, if thou conquer Rome, the benefit Which thou shalt thereby reap, is such a name, Whose repetition will be dogg’d with curses : Whose chronicle thus writ,—The man was noble, But with his last attempt he wip'd it out ; Destroy'd his country; and his name remains To the ensuing age, abhorr'd. Speak to me, son:

Thou hast affected the fine strains of honour,
To imitate the graces of the gods ;
To tear with thunder the wide cheeks o' the air,
And yet to charge thy sulphur with a bolt
That should but rive an oak. Why dost not speak ?
Think'st thou it honourable for a noble man
Still to remember wrongs ?--Daughter, speak you :
He cares not for your weeping.-Speak thou, boy :
Perhaps, thy childishness will move him more
Than can our reasons.-There is no man in the world
More bound to his mother : yet here he lets me prate
Like one i’ the stocks. Thou hast never in thy life
Show'd thy dear mother any courtesy ;
When she (poor hen !) fond of no second brood,
Has cluck'd thee to the wars, and safely home,
Loaden with honour. Say, my request 's unjust,
And spurn me back : But, if it be not so,
Thou art not honest; and the gods will plague thee,
That thou restrain’st from me the duty, which
To a mother's part belongs.—He turns away :
Down, ladies ; let us shame him with our knees.
To his surname Coriolanus ’longs more pride,
Than pity to our prayers. Down; an end :
This is the last ;-So we will home to Rome,
And die among our neighbours.—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.—Come, let us go:
This fellow had a Volcian to his mother ;
His wife is in Corioli, and his child
Like him by chance :

-Yet give us our despatch ;
I am hush'd until our city be afire,

And then I'll speak a little.

O mother, mother!

[Holding Volumnia by the hands, silent. What have you done ? Behold, the heavens do ope, The gods look down, and this unnatural scene They laugh at. O my mother, mother! O! You have won a happy victory to Rome: But, for your son,-believe it, O, believe it, Most dangerously you have with him prevail'd, If not most mortal to him. But, let it come :Aufidius, though I cannot make true wars, I'll frame convenient peace. Now, good Aufidius, Were you in my stead, say, would you have heard A mother less ? or granted less, Aufidius ?

Aufidius. I was mov'd withal.


Ay, by and by ;
But we will drink together; and you shall bear
A better witness back than words, which we,
On like conditions, will have counterseald.
Come, enter with us. Ladies, you deserve
To have a temple built you : all the swords
In Italy, and her confederate arms,
Could not have made this peace.


Enter the Ladies, accompanied by Senators, Patricians

and People Ist. Senator. Behold our patroness, the life of Rome : Call all your tribes together, praise the gods, And make triumphant fires ; strew flowers before them ;

Unshout the noise that banish'd Marcius,
Repeal him with the welcome of his mother ;
Cry,—Welcome, ladies, welcome !

Welcome, ladies! Welcome!


ist. Lord. Bear from hence his body,
And mourn you for him : let him be regarded
As the most noble corse, that ever herald
Did follow to his urn.
2nd. Lord.

His own impatience
Takes from Aufidius a great part of blame.
Let's make the best of it.

My rage is gone,
And I am struck with sorrow.—Take him up:
Help, three o' the chiefest officers ; I'll be one.
Beat thou 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 sounded.

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