SCENE III.-The Tent of CORIOLANUS.

Enter CORIOLANUS, AUFIDIUS, and others.

Cor. We will before the walls of Rome to

morrow

Set down our host.-My partner in this action, You must report to the Volscian lords, how

plainly

I have borne this business.

Only their ends

Auf.
You have respected; stopped your ears against
The general suit of Rome; never admitted

A private whisper, no, not with such friends
That thought them sure of you.

This last old man,

Cor.
Whom with a cracked heart I have sent to Rome,
Loved me above the measure of a father;

Nay, godded me, indeed. Their latest refuge
Was to send him; for whose old love I have-
Though I show'd sourly to him-

-once more offered
The first conditions, which they did refuse
And cannot now accept, to grace him only
That thought he could do more.

A very little

Will I lend ear to.-[Shout within] Ha! what shout is this?

Shall I be tempted to infringe my vow

In the same time 't is made? I will not.

Enter, in mourning habits, VIRGILIA, VOLUMNIA, leading Young MARCIUS, VALERIA, and Atten

dants.

My wife comes foremost; then the honoured mould

Wherein this trunk was framed, and in her hand The grandchild to her blood. But out, affection! All bond and privilege of nature, break!

Let it be virtuous to be obstinate.

What is that curt'sy worth? or those doves' eyes, Which can make gods forsworn?—I melt, and am

not

Of stronger earth than others.-My mother bows, As if Olympus to a molehill should

In supplication nod: and my young boy

Hath an aspéct of intercession, which

Great Nature cries, Deny not.'-Let the Volsces
Plough Rome, and harrow Italy; I'll never
Be such a gosling to obey instinct, but stand
As if a man were author of himself

Vir.

My lord and husband!

Cor. These eyes are not the same I wore in

Rome.

Vir. The sorrow that delivers us thus changed,

Makes you think so.

Cor.

Like a dull actor now,

I have forgot my part, and I am out,
Even to a full disgrace.-Best of my flesh,
Forgive my tyranny; but do not say

For that, 'Forgive our Romans.’—O, a kiss
Long as my exile, sweet as my revenge!
Now, by the jealous queen of heaven, that kiss
I carried from thee, dear; and my true lip
Hath virgined it e'er since.-You gods! I prate,
And the most noble mother of the world
Leave unsaluted: sink, my knee, i' the earth;

Of thy deep duty more impression show
Than that of common sons.

Vol.

[Kneels.

0, stand up blessed!

Whilst, with no softer cushion than the flint,

I kneel before thee, and unproperly

Show duty, as mistaken all this while

Between the child and parent.

Cor.

[Kneels.

What is this?

Your knees to me? to your corrected son?

Then let the pebbles on the hungry beach
Fillip the stars; then let the mutinous winds
Strike the proud cedars 'gainst the fiery sun,
Murdering impossibility, to make

What cannot be, slight work.

Vol.

Thou art my warrior;

I holp to frame thee. Do you know this lady?
Cor. The noble sister of Publicola,

The moon of Rome; chaste as the icicle,
That's curded by the frost from purest snow,
And hangs on Dian's temple: dear Valeria!
Vol. This is a poor epitome of yours,
Which, by the interpretation of full time,
May show like all yourself.

Cor.

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' the wars

Like a great sea-mark, standing every flaw,
And saving those that eye thee!

Vol.

Cor. That's my brave boy!

Your knee, sirrah.

Vol. Even he, your wife, this lady, and myself,

Are suitors to you.

Cor.

I beseech you, peace;

Or, if you 'd ask, remember this before:

The things I have forsworn to grant may never
Be held by you denials. Do not bid me
Dismiss my soldiers, or capitulate

Again with Rome's mechanics: tell me not
Wherein I seem unnatural desire not

To allay my rages and revenges with

Your colder reasons.

Vol.

O! no more, no more!

You have said you will not grant us anything:
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.
Cor. Aufidius, and you Volsces, mark; for we 'll
Hear nought from Rome in private.-Your re-
quest?

Vol. Should we be silent and not speak, our raiment

And state of bodies would bewray what life
We have led since thy exile. Think with thyself,
How more unfortunate than all living women
Are we come hither: since that thy sight, which

should

Make our eyes flow with joy, hearts dance with comforts,