The Tragedy of Coriolanus — Act 5 Scene 3

Enter Coriolanus and Auffidius.

Corio.We will before the walls of Rome to morrowSet downe our Hoast. My partner in this Action,You must report to th'Volcian Lords, how plainlyI haue borne this Businesse.

Auf.Onely their ends you haue respected,Stopt your eares against the generall suite of Rome:Neuer admitted a priuat whisper, no not with such frendsThat thought them sure of you.

Corio.This last old man,Whom with a crack'd heart I haue sent to Rome,Lou'd me, aboue the measure of a Father,Nay godded me indeed. Their latest refugeWas to send him: for whose old Loue I haue(Though I shew'd sowrely to him) once more offer'dThe first Conditions which they did refuse,And cannot now accept, to grace him onely,That thought he could do more: A very littleI haue yeelded too. Fresh Embasses, and Suites,Nor from the State, nor priuate friends heereafterShout withinWill I lend eare to. Ha? what shout is this?Shall I be tempted to infringe my vowIn the same time 'tis made? I will not.Enter Virgilia, Volumnia, Valeria, yong Martius,with Attendants.My wife comes formost, then the honour'd mouldWherein this Trunke was fram'd, and in her handThe Grandchilde to her blood. But out affection,All bond and priuiledge of Nature breake;Let it be Vertuous to be Obstinate.What is that Curt'sie worth? Or those Doues eyes,Which can make Gods forsworne? I melt, and am notOf stronger earth then others: my Mother bowes,As if Olympus to a Mole-hill shouldIn supplication Nod: and my yong BoyHath an Aspect of intercession, whichGreat Nature cries, Deny not. Let the VolcesPlough Rome, and harrow Italy, Ile neuerBe such a Gosling to obey instinct; but standAs if a man were Author of himself, & knew no other kin

Virgil.My Lord and Husband.

Corio.These eyes are not the same I wore in Rome.

Virg.The sorrow that deliuers vs thus chang'd,Makes you thinke so.

Corio.Like a dull Actor now, I haue forgot my part,And I am out, euen to a full Disgrace. Best of my Flesh,Forgiue my Tyranny: but do not say,For that forgiue our Romanes. O a kisseLong as my Exile, sweet as my Reuenge!Now by the iealous Queene of Heauen, that kisseI carried from thee deare; and my true LippeHath Virgin'd it ere since. You Gods, I pray,And the most noble Mother of the worldKneelesLeaue vnsaluted: Sinke my knee i'th'earth,Of thy deepe duty, more impression shewThen that of common Sonnes.

Volum.Oh stand vp blest!Whil'st with no softer Cushion then the FlintI kneele before thee, and vnproperlyShew duty as mistaken, all this while,Betweene the Childe, and Parent.

Corio.What's this? your knees to me?To your Corrected Sonne?Then let the Pibbles on the hungry beachFillop the Starres: Then, let the mutinous windesStrike the proud Cedars 'gainst the fiery Sun:Murd'ring Impossibility, to makeWhat cannot be, slight worke.

VolumThou art my Warriour, I hope to frame theeDo you know this Lady?

Corio.The Noble Sister of Publicola;The Moone of Rome: Chaste as the IsicleThat's curdied by the Frost, from purest Snow,And hangs on Dians Temple: Deere Valeria.

Volum.This is a poore Epitome of yours,Which by th'interpretation of full time,May shew like all your selfe.

Corio.The God of Souldiers:With the consent of supreame Ioue, informeThy thoughts with Noblenesse, that thou mayst proueTo shame vnvulnerable, and sticke i'th WarresLike a great Sea-marke standing euery flaw,And sauing those that eye thee.

VolumYour knee, Sirrah.

Corio.That's my braue Boy.

VolumEuen he, your wife, this Ladie, and my selfe,Are Sutors to you.

Corio.I beseech you peace:Or if you'ld aske, remember this before;The thing I haue forsworne to graunt, may neuerBe held by you denials. Do not bid meDismisse my Soldiers, or capitulateAgaine, with Romes Mechanickes. Tell me notWherein I seeme vnnaturall: Desire not t'allayMy Rages and Reuenges, with your colder reasons.

VolumOh no more, no more:You haue said you will not grant vs any thing:For we haue nothing else to aske, but thatWhich you deny already: yet we will aske,That if you faile in our request, the blameMay hang vpon your hardnesse, therefore heare vs.

Corio.Auffidius, and you Volces marke, for wee'lHeare nought from Rome in priuate. Your request?

Volum.Should we be silent & not speak, our RaimentAnd state of Bodies would bewray what lifeWe haue led since thy Exile. Thinke with thy selfe,How more vnfortunate then all liuing womenAre we come hither; since that thy sight, which shouldMake our eies flow with ioy, harts dance with comforts,Constraines them weepe, and shake with feare & sorow,Making the Mother, wife, and Childe to see,The Sonne, the Husband, and the Father tearingHis Countries Bowels out; and to poore weThine enmities most capitall: Thou barr'st vsOur prayers to the Gods, which is a comfortThat all but we enioy. For how can we?Alas! how can we, for our Country pray?Whereto we are bound, together with thy victory:Whereto we are bound: Alacke, or we must looseThe Countrie our deere Nurse, or else thy personOur comfort in the Country. We must findeAn euident Calamity, though we hadOur wish, which side should win. For either thouMust as a Forraine Recreant be ledWith Manacles through our streets, or elseTriumphantly treade on thy Countries ruine,And beare the Palme, for hauing brauely shedThy Wife and Childrens blood: For my selfe, Sonne,I purpose not to waite on Fortune, tillThese warres determine: If I cannot perswade thee,Rather to shew a Noble grace to both parts,Then seeke the end of one; thou shalt no soonerMarch to assault thy Country, then to treade(Trust too't, thou shalt not) on thy Mothers wombeThat brought thee to this world.

Virg.I, and mine, that brought you forth this boy,To keepe your name liuing to time.

Boy.A shall not tread on me: Ile run awayTill I am bigger, but then Ile fight.

Corio.Not of a womans tendernesse to be,Requires nor Childe, nor womans face to see:I haue sate too long.

Volum.Nay, go not from vs thus:If it were so, that our request did tendTo saue the Romanes, thereby to destroyThe Volces whom you serue, you might condemne vsAs poysonous of your Honour. No, our suiteIs that you reconcile them: While the VolcesMay say, this mercy we haue shew'd: the Romanes,This we receiu'd, and each in either sideGiue the All-haile to thee, and cry be BlestFor making vp this peace. Thou know'st (great Sonne)The end of Warres vncertaine: but this certaine,That if thou conquer Rome, the benefitWhich thou shalt thereby reape, is such a nameWhose 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 remainesTo th'insuing Age, abhorr'd. Speake to me Son:Thou hast affected the fiue straines of Honor,To imitate the graces of the Gods.To teare with Thunder the wide Cheekes a'th'Ayre,And yet to change thy Sulphure with a BoultThat should but riue an Oake. Why do'st not speake?Think'st thou it Honourable for a NoblemanStill to remember wrongs? Daughter, speake you:He cares not for your weeping. Speake thou Boy,Perhaps thy childishnesse will moue him moreThen can our Reasons. There's no man in the worldMore bound to's Mother, yet heere he let's me prateLike one i'th'Stockes. Thou hast neuer in thy life,Shew'd thy deere Mother any curtesie,When she (poore Hen) fond of no second brood,Ha's clock'd thee to the Warres: and safelie homeLoden with Honor. Say my Request's vniust,And spurne me backe: But, if it be not soThou art not honest, and the Gods will plague TheeThat thou restrain'st from me the Duty, whichTo a Mothers part belongs. He turnes away:Down Ladies: let vs shame him with him with our kneesTo his sur-name Coriolanus longs more prideThen pitty to our Prayers. Downe: an end,This is the last. So, we will home to Rome,And dye among our Neighbours: Nay, behold's,This Boy that cannot tell what he would haue,But kneeles, and holds vp hands for fellowship,Doe's reason our Petition with more strengthThen thou hast to deny't. Come, let vs go:This Fellow had a Volcean to his Mother:His Wife is in Corioles, and his ChildeLike him by chance: yet giue vs our dispatch:I am husht vntill our City be afire, & then Ile speak a litleHolds her by the hand silent.

Corio.O Mother, Mother!What haue you done? Behold, the Heauens do ope,The Gods looke downe, and this vnnaturall SceneThey laugh at. Oh my Mother, Mother: Oh!You haue wonne a happy Victory to Rome.But for your Sonne, beleeue it: Oh beleeue it,Most dangerously you haue with him preuail'd,If not most mortall to him. But let it come:Auffidius, though I cannot make true Warres,Ile frame conuenient peace. Now good Auffidius,Were you in my steed, would you haue heardA Mother lesse? or granted lesse Auffidius?

Auf.I was mou'd withall.

Corio.I dare be sworne you were:And sir, it is no little thing to makeMine eyes to sweat compassion. But (good sir)What peace you'l make, aduise me: For my part,Ile not to Rome, Ile backe with you, and pray youStand to me in this cause. Oh Mother! Wife!

Auf.I am glad thou hast set thy mercy, & thy HonorAt difference in thee: Out of that Ile workeMy selfe a former Fortune.

Corio.I by and by; But we will drinke together:And you shall beareA better witnesse backe then words, which weOn like conditions, will haue Counter-seal'd.Come enter with vs: Ladies you deserueTo haue a Temple built you: All the SwordsIn Italy, and her Confederate ArmesExeunt.Could not haue made this peace.