world Hear nought from Rome in private.-Your request? || Than can our reasons.-There is no man in the 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
Make our eyes flow with joy, hearts dance with comforts,
Constrains them weep, and shake with fear and
Making the mother, wife, and child, to see The son, the husband, and the father, tearing And to poor we, His country's bowels out. Thine enmity's most capital: thou barr'st 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 are bound; together with thy victory, Whereto we are bound? Alack! or we must lose The country, our dear nurse; or else thy person, Our comfort in the country. We must find An evident calamity, though we had
Our wish, which side should win for either thou Must, as a foreign recreant, be led
With manacles thorough our streets, or else Triumphantly tread on thy country's ruin; And bear the palm, for having bravely shed Thy wife and children's blood. For myself, son, not to wait on fortune, till purpose These wars determine :2 if I cannot persuade thee Rather to show a noble grace to both parts, Than seek the end of one, thou shalt no sooner March to assault thy country, than to tread (Trust to't, thou shalt not,) on thy mother's womb, That brought thee to this 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 Volscian 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, Ay, and on mine,Were you in my stead, say, would you have heard A mother less? or granted less, Aufidius? Auf. I was mov'd withal. Cor.
That brought you forth this boy, to keep your name Living to time.
He shall not tread on me ;
Boy. I'll run away, till I am bigger, but then I'll fight. Cor. Not of a woman's tenderness to be, Requires nor child nor woman's face to see. [Rising. I have sat too long. Nay, go not from us thus. Vol. If it were so, that our request did tend To save the Romans, thereby to destroy The Volces whom you serve, you might condemn us, As poisonous of your honour: No; our suit Is, that you reconcile them: while the Volces May say, This mercy we have show'd; the Romans, This we receiv'd; and each in either side Give the all-hail to thee, and cry, Be bless'd For making up this peace! 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;
I dare be sworn, you were: And, sir, it is no little thing, to make Mine eyes to sweat compassion. But, good sir, What peace you'll make, advise me: For my part, pray you, I'll not to Rome, I'll back with you; and Stand to me in this cause.-O mother! wife! Auf. I am glad, thou hast set thy mercy and thy honour
[Aside. [The Ladies make signs to Coriolanus. Ay, by and by;
At difference in thee: out of that I'll work Myself a former fortune.
Cor. [To Volumnia, Virgilia, &c. But we will drink together; and you shall bear On like conditions, will have counter-seal'd. A better witness back than words, which we, 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.
A public place. Enter Menenius and Sicinius.
Men. See you yond' coign1 o'the Capitol: yond' corner-stone?
Sic. Why, what of that?
To tear with thunder the wide cheeks o'the air, Men. If it be possible for you to displace it with And yet to charge thy sulphur with a bolt That should but rive an oak. Why dost not speak? your little finger, there is some hope the ladies of Think'st thou it honourable for a noble man Still to remember wrongs?-Daughter, speak you: Rome, especially his mother, may prevail with him. He cares not for your weeping.-Speak thou, boy:But I say, there is no hope in't; our throats are sentenced, and stay upon execution. Perhaps, thy childishness will move him more
(1) Betray. (2) Conclude. (3) The refinements.
Sic. Is't possible, that so short a time can alter|| the condition of a man?
Men. There is differency between a grub, and a butterfly; yet your butterfly was a grub. This Marcius is grown from man to dragon: he has wings; he's more than a creeping thing.
Sic. He loved his mother dearly.
Men. So did he me: and he no more remembers his mother now, than an eight year old horse. The tartness of his face sours ripe grapes. When he walks, he moves like an engine, and the ground shrinks before his treading. He is able to pierce a corslet with his eye; talks like a knell, and his hum is a battery. He sits in his state, as a thing made? for Alexander. What he bids be done, is finished with his bidding. He wants nothing of a god but eternity, and a heaven to throne in.
Sic. Yes, mercy, if you report him truly. Men. I paint him in the character. Mark what mercy his mother shall bring from him: There is no more mercy in him, than there is milk in a male tiger; that shall our poor city find: and all this is 'long of you.
Sic. The gods be good unto us!
Men. No, in such a case the gods will not be good unto us. When we banished him, we respected not them: and, he returning to break our necks, they respect not us.
Mess. Sir, if you'd save your life, fly to your house;
The plebeians have got your fellow-tribune, And hale him up and down; all swearing, if The Roman ladies bring not comfort home, They'll give him death by inches.
Enter another Messenger.
Sic. What's the news? Mess. Good news, good news ;-The ladies have prevail'd;
The Volces are dislodg'd, and Marcius gone: A merrier day did never yet greet Rome, No, not the expulsion of the Tarquins.
Sic. Friend, Art thou certain this is true? is it most certain? Mess. As certain as I know the sun is fire: Where have you lurk'd, that you make doubt of it? Ne'er through an arch so hurried the blown tide, As the recomforted through the gates. Why, hark
[Trumpets and hautboys sounded, and drums beaten, all together. Shouting also within. The trumpets, sackbuts, psalteries, and fifes, Tabors, and cymbals, and the shouting Romans, Make the sun dance. Hark you!
[Shouting again. Men. This is good news: I will go meet the ladies. This Volumnia Is worth of consuls, senators, patricians, A city full; of tribunes, such as you,
A sea and land full: You have pray'd well to-day; This morning, for ten thousand of your throats I'd not have given a doit. Hark, how they joy! [Shouting and music. Sic. First, the gods bless you for their tidings:
Accept my thankfulness. Mess.
Sir, we have all Great cause to give great thanks. Sic. They are near the city?
Enter the Ladies, accompanied by Senators, Patricians, and People. They pass over the stage.
1 Sen. 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!— All.
Welcome, ladies! Welcome! [A flourish with drums and trumpets. [Exeunt.
SCENE V-Antium. A public place. Enter Tullus Aufidius, with Attendants. Auf. Go tell the lords of the city, I am here: Deliver them this paper: having read it, Bid them repair to the market-place; where I, Even in theirs and in the commons' ears, Will vouch the truth of it. Him I accuse, The city-ports by this hath enter'd, and Intends to appear before the people, hoping To purge himself with words: Despatch.
We must proceed, as we do find the people.
3 Con. The people will remain uncertain, whilst 'Twixt you there's difference; but the fall of either Makes the survivor heir of all. Auf. I know it; And my pretext to strike at him adınits A good construction. I rais'd him, and I pawn'd Mine honour for his truth: Who being so heighten'd, He water'd his new plants with dews of flattery, Seducing so my friends: and, to this end, He bow'd his nature, never known before But to be rough, unswayable, and free. 3 Con. Sir, his stoutness, When he did stand for consul, which he lost By lack of stooping,- Auf. That I would have spoke of: Being banish'd for't, he came unto my hearth; Presented to my knife his throat: I took him; Made him joint servant with me; gave him way In all his own desires; nay, let him choose Out of my files, his projects to accomplish, My best and freshest men; serv'd his designments In mine own person; holps to reap the fame, Which he did end all his; and took some pride To do myself this wrong: till, at the last, I seem'd his follower, not partner; and He wag'd me with his countenance, as if I had been mercenary. 1 Con. So he did, my lord: The army marvell'd at it. And, in the last, When he had carried Rome; and that we look'd
(6) Thought me rewarded with good looks.
For no less spoil, than glory,-Auf.
There was it ;For which my sinews shall be stretch'd upon him. At a few drops of women's rheum, which are As cheap as lies, he sold the blood and labour Of our great action; Therefore shall he die, And I'll renew me in his fall. But, hark!
[Drums and trumpets sound, with great shouts of the people.
1 Con. Your native town you enter'd like a post, And had no welcomes home; but he returns, Splitting the air with noise.
2 Con. And patient fools, Whose children he hath slain, their base throats tear,
With giving him glory. 3 Con. Therefore, at your vantage, Ere he express himself, or move the people With what he would say, let him feel your sword, Which we will second. When he lies along, After your way his tale pronounc'd shall bury His reasons with his body. Auf Say no more;
Cor. Measureless liar, thou hast made my heart Too great for what contains it. Boy! O slave!Pardon me, lords, 'tis the first time that ever
I was forc'd to scold. Your judgments, my grave lords,
Must give this cur the lie: and his own notion (Who wears my stripes impress'd on him; that must bear
My beating to his grave;) shall join to thrust The lie unto him.
1 Lord. Peace, both, and hear me speak. Cor. Cut me to pieces, Volces; men and lads, Stain all your edges on me.-- -Boy! False hound! If you have writ your annals true, 'tis there, That like an eagle in a dove-cote, I Flutter'd your voices in Corioli:
Why, noble lords, Will you be put in mind of his blind fortune, Which was your shame, by this unholy braggart, it.'Fore your own eyes and ears?
[Several speak at once. Cit. [Speaking promiscuously.] Tear him to pieces, do it presently. He killed my son ;-my daughter;-He killed my cousin Marcus;-He killed my father.--
2 Lord. Peace, ho;-no outrage--peace. a This orb o'the earth. His last offence to us The man is noble, and his fame folds in Shall have judicious hearing.-Stand, Aufidius, And trouble not the peace.
Cor. Hail, lords! I am return'd your soldier; No more infected with my country's love, Than when I parted hence, but still subsisting Under your great command. You are to know, That prosperously I have attempted, and With bloody passage, led your wars, even to The gates of Rome. Our spoils we have brought home,
Do more than counterpoise, a full third part, The charges of the action. We have made peace,
With no less honour to the Antiates,3
Than shame to the Romans: And we here deliver, Subscrib'd by the consuls and patricians, Together with the seal o'the senate, what We have compounded on.
Read it not, noble lords;
But tell the traitor, in the highest degree He hath abus'd your powers. Cor. Traitor-How now? Auf. Ay, traitor, Marcius. Cor. Marcius! Auf. Ay, Marcius, Caius Marcius; Dost thou
Cor. O, that I had him, With six Aufidiuses, or more, his tribe, To use my lawful sword! Auf.
Insolent villain! Con. Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill him.
[Aufidius and the Conspirators draw, and kill Coriolanus, who fails, and Aufidius stands on him.
Lords. Hold, hold, hold, hold. Auf. My noble masters, hear me speak. 1 Lord. O Tullus,-2 Lord. Thou hast done a deed whereat valour will weep.
3 Lord. Tread not upon him.-Masters all, be quiet; Put up your swords.
Auf. My lords, when you shall know (as in this
The tragedy of Coriolanus is one of the most amusing of our author's performances. The old man's merriment in Menenius; the lofty lady's dig. nity in Volumnia; the bridal modesty in Virgilia; the patrician and military haughtiness in Coriolanus; the plebeian malignity and tribunitian insolence in Brutus and Sicinius, make a very pleasing and interesting variety; and the various revolutions of the hero's fortune, fill the mind with anxious curiosity. There is, perhaps, too much bustle in the first act, and too little in the last.
2 Cit. Truly, sir, to wear out their shoes, to get myself into more work. But, indeed, sir, we make holiday, to see Cæsar, and to rejoice in his triumph.
Mar. Wherefore rejoice? What conquest brings he home?
What tributaries follow him to Rome,
HENCE; home, you idle creatures, get you To grace in captive bonds his chariot wheels?
Is this a holiday? What! know you not, Being mechanical, you ought not walk, Upon a labouring day, without the sign
Of your profession? Speak, what trade art thou? 1 Cit. Why, sir, a carpenter.
Mar. Where is thy leather apron, and thy rule? What dost thou with thy best apparel on?You, sir; what trade are you?"
2 Cit. Truly, sir, in respect of a fine workman, I am but, as you would say, a cobbler. Mar. But what trade art thou? Answer me directly.
2 Cit. A trade, sir, that, I hope, I may use with a safe conscience; which is, indeed, sir, a mender|| of bad soals.
Mar. What trade, thou knave? thou naughty knave, what trade?
2 Cit. Nay, I beseech you, sir, be not out with me: yet, if you be out, I can mend you. Mar. What meanest thou by that? Mend me, thou saucy fellow?
2 Cit. Why, sir, cobble you.
Flav. Thou art a cobbler, art thou?
You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless
O, you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome, Knew you not Pompey? Many a time and oft Have you climb'd up to walls and battlements, To towers and windows, yea, to chimney-tops, Your infants in your arms, and there have sat The live-long day, with patient expectation, To see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome : And when you saw his chariot but appear, Have you not made an universal shout, That Tyber trembled underneath her banks, To hear the replication of your sounds, Made in her concave shores? And do you now put on your best attire? And do you now cull out a holiday? And do you now strew flowers in his way, That comes in triumph over Pompey's blood? Be gone;
Run to your houses, fall upon your knees, Pray to the gods to intermit the plague That needs must light on this ingratitude.
Flav. Go, go, good countrymen, and, for this fault,
Assemble all the poor men of your sort; Draw them to Tyber banks, and weep your tears Into the channel, till the lowest stream
2 Cit. Truly, sir, all that I live by is, with the awl: I meddle with no tradesman's matters, nor women's matters, but with awl. I am, indeed, sir,|| a surgeon to old shoes; when they are in great Do kiss the most exalted shores of all. [Exe. Cit. danger, I re-cover them. As proper men as ever See, whe'r? their basest metal be not mov'd; trod upon neat's-leather, have gone upon my handy-They vanish tongue-tied in their guiltiness.
Go you down that way towards the Capitol; This way will I: Disrobe the images, If you do find them deck'd with ceremonies.3
(3) Honorary ornaments; tokens of respect.
« AnteriorContinuar » |