Never admitted private whisper, no,

Not with fuch friends that thought them fure of yoù.
Cor. This last old man,

Whom with a crack'd heart I have fent to Rome,
Lov'd me above the measure of a father;

Nay, godded me, indeed. Their lateft refuge
Was to fend him for whose old love, I have
(Tho' I fhew'd fow'rly to him) once more offer'd
The firft conditions; (which they did refuse,
And cannot now accept,) to grace him only,
That thought he could do more: a very little
I've yielded to. Fresh embaffy, and fuits,
Nor from the state, nor private friends, hereafter
Will I lend ear to.-Ha! what fhout is this?

Shall I be tempted to infringe my vow,
In the fame time 'tis made? I will not-

[Shout within

Enter Virgilia, Volumnia, Valeria, young Marcius, with Attendants all in Mourning.

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 obftinate.

What is that curt'fy worth? or thofe dove's eyes,
Which can make gods forfworn? I melt, and am not
Of stronger earth than others my mother bows,
As if Olympus to a mole-hill fhould

In fupplication nod; and my young boy
Hath an afpect of interceffion, which

Great nature cries, Deny not. Let the Volfcians
Plough Rome, and harrow Italy; I'll never
Be fuch a gofling to obey inftinet; but stand
As if a man were author of himself,

And knew no other kin.

Virg. My Lord and husband!

Cor. These eyes are not the fame I wore in Rome. Virg. The forrow, that delivers us thus chang'd, Makes you think so..

Cer

Cor. Like a dull actor now,

I have forgot my part, and I am out,
Even to a full difgrace. Beft of my flesh,
Forgive my tyranny; but do not fay,
For that, forgive our Romans. O a kifs
Long as my exile, fweet as my revenge!
Now, by the jealous Queen of heav'n, that kifs
I carried from thee, dear; and my true lip

Hath virgin'd it e'er fince. You gods! I prate; (39)

(39)

-

You gods, I pray,

And the mof noble mother of the world
Leave unfaluted,]

And

An old corruption must have poffefs'd this paffage, for two reafons. In the first place, whoever confults this fpeech, will find, that he is talking fondly to his wife, and not praying to the gods at all. $econdly, if he were employ'd in his devotions, no apology would be wanting for leaving his mother unfaluted. The poet's intention was certainly this. Coriolanus, having been lavish in his tenderneffes and raptures to his wife, bethinks himself on the fudden, that his fondnefs to her had made him guilty of ill manners in the neglect of his mother; and, therefore correcting himself upon reflection, cries;

-You gods! I prate;

Prate, 'tis true, is a term now ill-founding to us, because it is taken only, as the grammarians call it, in malam partem. Our language was not fo refin'd, tho more mafculine, in Shakespeare's days; and therefore (notwithstanding the prefent fuppos'd nanopavía,) when he is most serious, he frequently makes ufe of the word. A little after, in this very fcene, Volumnia fays;

yet here he lets me prate, Like one i' th' ftocks.

K. John.

If I talk to him, with his innocent prate

He will awake my mercy.

Hamlet.

And if thou prate of mountains, let them throw

Millions of acres on us.

Nor is it infrequent with him to employ the diminutive of this term.

But I prattle

Something too wildly, and my father's precepts

I do forget..

Silence that fellow ;---I would, he had fome

Caufe to prattle for himself.

O my fweet,

I prattle out of fashion, and I doat

In mine own comfort.

And the most noble mother of the world

Leave unfaluted: fink, my knee, i' th' earth; [knees.
Of thy deep duty more impreffion fhew
Than that of common fons.

Vol. O ftand up bleft!

Whilft with no fofter cufhion than the flint

I kneel before thee, and unproperly
Shew duty as miftaken all the while,
Between the child and parent.

Cor. What is this?

Your knees to me? to your corrected fon?
Then let the pebbles on the hungry beach
Fillop the ftars: then, let the mutinous winds
Strike the proud cedars 'gainst the fiery fun :
Murd'ring impoffibility, to make

What cannot be, flight work.

Vol. Thou art my warrior,

I holp to frame thee. Do you know this Lady?
Cor. The noble fifter of Poplicola,

The moon of Rome; chafte as the ificle,

That's curdled by the froft from pureft fnow,
And hangs on Dian's temple: dear Valeria!
Vol. This is a poor epitome of

yours,

[kneek.

[hewing young Marcius.

Which by th' interpretation of full time

May fhew like all yourself.

Cor. The god of foldiers,

With the confent of fupreme Jove, inform

Thy thoughts with noblenefs, that thou may'ft prove To fhame unvulnerable, and stick ' th' wars

Like a great fea-mark, ftanding every flaw,

And faving those that eye thee?

Kol. Your knee, firrah.

Cor. That's my brave boy.

Vol. Even he, your wife, this Lady, and my felf,

Are fuitors to you.

Cor. I befeech you, peace:

I amended the paffage in queftion, in the appendix to my SHAKESPEARE reford; and Mr. Pope has thought fit to correct it from thence, in his laft edition.

Or, if you'd afk, remember this before;

before i co

The thing, I have forfworn to grant, may never,
Be held by you denial. Do not bid me qe bvd: lo
Difmifs my foldiers, or capitulate

Again with Rome's mechanicks. Tell me not,
Wherein I seem unnatural: defire not

T'allay my rages and revenges, with

Your colder reafons.

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

us.

Cor. Aufidius, and you Volfcians, mark; for we'll Hear nought from Rome in private.-Your request?

Vol. Should we be filent and not fpeak, our raiment And state of bodies would bewray what life We've lead fince thy exile. Think with thyfelf, How more unfort'nate than all living women

Are we come hither; fince thy fight, which Ihould Make our eyes flow with joy, hearts dance with comforts,

Conftrains them weep, and shake with fear and forrow; Making the mother, wife, and culo to lee y3 doin

The fon, the husband, and

tearing
His country's bowels out: and to poor we,
Thine enmity's moft capital; thou barr'ft us
Our prayers to the gods, which is a comfort
That all but we enjoy. For how can we,
Alas! how can we, for our country pray,
Whereto we're bound together with thy victory,
Whereto we're bound? Alack! or we must lofe
The country, our dear nurse; or elfe thy perfon,
Our comfort in the country. We must find
An eminent calamity, tho' we had

Our wish, which fide fhou'd win. For either thou
Muft, 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 fhed
Thy wife and children's blood. For myself, fon,
I purpofe not to wait on fortune, 'till

Thefe wars determine: if I can't perfuade thee
Rather to fhew a noble grace to both parts,
Than feek the end of one; thou shalt no fooner
March to affault thy country, than to tread
(Truft to't, thou shalt not) on thy mother's womb,
That brought thee to this world.

Virg. Ay, and mine too,

That brought you forth this boy, to keep your name Living to time.

Boy. He fhall not tread on me:

I'll run away till I'm bigger, but then I'll fight.
Cor. Not of a woman's tenderness to be,
Requires, nor child, nor woman's face, to fee:
I've fat too long.-

Vol. Nay, go not from us thus:

If it were fo, that our requeft did tend
To fave the Romans, thereby to destroy

The Volfcians whom you ferve, you might condemn us,
As poisonous of your honour. No; our fuit

Is, that you reconcile them: while the Vascians
May fay, this mercy we have fhew'd; the Romans,
This we receiv'd; and each in either fide

Give the all-hail to thee, and cry, be blest
For making up this peace! thou know'ft, great fon,
The end of war's uncertain; but this certain,
That if thou conquer Rome, the benefit,
Which thou shalt thereby reap, is fuch a name,
Whofe repetition will be dogg'd with curfes:
Whofe 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 th' enfuing age, abhorr'd.' Speak to me, fon: Thou haft affected the firft ftrains of honour, To imitate the graces of the gods;

To tear with thunder the wide cheeks o' th' air,

And