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Complete Plays, The

Page 146

by William Shakespeare


  Their talk at table, and their thanks at end;

  And you are darken’d in this action, sir,

  Even by your own.

  Aufidius

  I cannot help it now,

  Unless, by using means, I lame the foot

  Of our design. He bears himself more proudlier,

  Even to my person, than I thought he would

  When first I did embrace him: yet his nature

  In that’s no changeling; and I must excuse

  What cannot be amended.

  Lieutenant

  Yet I wish, sir,—

  I mean for your particular,— you had not

  Join’d in commission with him; but either

  Had borne the action of yourself, or else

  To him had left it solely.

  Aufidius

  I understand thee well; and be thou sure,

  When he shall come to his account, he knows not

  What I can urge against him. Although it seems,

  And so he thinks, and is no less apparent

  To the vulgar eye, that he bears all things fairly.

  And shows good husbandry for the Volscian state,

  Fights dragon-like, and does achieve as soon

  As draw his sword; yet he hath left undone

  That which shall break his neck or hazard mine,

  Whene’er we come to our account.

  Lieutenant

  Sir, I beseech you, think you he’ll carry Rome?

  Aufidius

  All places yield to him ere he sits down;

  And the nobility of Rome are his:

  The senators and patricians love him too:

  The tribunes are no soldiers; and their people

  Will be as rash in the repeal, as hasty

  To expel him thence. I think he’ll be to Rome

  As is the osprey to the fish, who takes it

  By sovereignty of nature. First he was

  A noble servant to them; but he could not

  Carry his honours even: whether ’twas pride,

  Which out of daily fortune ever taints

  The happy man; whether defect of judgment,

  To fail in the disposing of those chances

  Which he was lord of; or whether nature,

  Not to be other than one thing, not moving

  From the casque to the cushion, but commanding peace

  Even with the same austerity and garb

  As he controll’d the war; but one of these —

  As he hath spices of them all, not all,

  For I dare so far free him — made him fear’d,

  So hated, and so banish’d: but he has a merit,

  To choke it in the utterance. So our virtues

  Lie in the interpretation of the time:

  And power, unto itself most commendable,

  Hath not a tomb so evident as a chair

  To extol what it hath done.

  One fire drives out one fire; one nail, one nail;

  Rights by rights falter, strengths by strengths do fail.

  Come, let’s away. When, Caius, Rome is thine,

  Thou art poor’st of all; then shortly art thou mine.

  Exeunt

  ACT V

  SCENE I. ROME. A PUBLIC PLACE.

  Enter Menenius, Cominius, Sicinius, Brutus, and others

  Menenius

  No, I’ll not go: you hear what he hath said

  Which was sometime his general; who loved him

  In a most dear particular. He call’d me father:

  But what o’ that? Go, you that banish’d him;

  A mile before his tent fall down, and knee

  The way into his mercy: nay, if he coy’d

  To hear Cominius speak, I’ll keep at home.

  Cominius

  He would not seem to know me.

  Menenius

  Do you hear?

  Cominius

  Yet one time he did call me by my name:

  I urged our old acquaintance, and the drops

  That we have bled together. Coriolanus

  He would not answer to: forbad all names;

  He was a kind of nothing, titleless,

  Till he had forged himself a name o’ the fire

  Of burning Rome.

  Menenius

  Why, so: you have made good work!

  A pair of tribunes that have rack’d for Rome,

  To make coals cheap,— a noble memory!

  Cominius

  I minded him how royal ’twas to pardon

  When it was less expected: he replied,

  It was a bare petition of a state

  To one whom they had punish’d.

  Menenius

  Very well:

  Could he say less?

  Cominius

  I offer’d to awaken his regard

  For’s private friends: his answer to me was,

  He could not stay to pick them in a pile

  Of noisome musty chaff: he said ’twas folly,

  For one poor grain or two, to leave unburnt,

  And still to nose the offence.

  Menenius

  For one poor grain or two!

  I am one of those; his mother, wife, his child,

  And this brave fellow too, we are the grains:

  You are the musty chaff; and you are smelt

  Above the moon: we must be burnt for you.

  Sicinius

  Nay, pray, be patient: if you refuse your aid

  In this so never-needed help, yet do not

  Upbraid’s with our distress. But, sure, if you

  Would be your country’s pleader, your good tongue,

  More than the instant army we can make,

  Might stop our countryman.

  Menenius

  No, I’ll not meddle.

  Sicinius

  Pray you, go to him.

  Menenius

  What should I do?

  Brutus

  Only make trial what your love can do

  For Rome, towards Marcius.

  Menenius

  Well, and say that Marcius

  Return me, as Cominius is return’d,

  Unheard; what then?

  But as a discontented friend, grief-shot

  With his unkindness? say’t be so?

  Sicinius

  Yet your good will must have that thanks from Rome, after the measure As you intended well.

  Menenius

  I’ll undertake ’t:

  I think he’ll hear me. Yet, to bite his lip

  And hum at good Cominius, much unhearts me.

  He was not taken well; he had not dined:

  The veins unfill’d, our blood is cold, and then

  We pout upon the morning, are unapt

  To give or to forgive; but when we have stuff’d

  These and these conveyances of our blood

  With wine and feeding, we have suppler souls

  Than in our priest-like fasts: therefore I’ll watch him

  Till he be dieted to my request,

  And then I’ll set upon him.

  Brutus

  You know the very road into his kindness,

  And cannot lose your way.

  Menenius

  Good faith, I’ll prove him,

  Speed how it will. I shall ere long have knowledge

  Of my success.

  Exit

  Cominius

  He’ll never hear him.

  Sicinius

  Not?

  Cominius

  I tell you, he does sit in gold, his eye

  Red as ’twould burn Rome; and his injury

  The gaoler to his pity. I kneel’d before him;

  ’Twas very faintly he said ‘Rise;’ dismiss’d me

  Thus, with his speechless hand: what he would do,

  He sent in writing after me; what he would not,

  Bound with an oath to yield to his conditions:

  So that all hope is vain.

  Unless hi
s noble mother, and his wife;

  Who, as I hear, mean to solicit him

  For mercy to his country. Therefore, let’s hence,

  And with our fair entreaties haste them on.

  Exeunt

  SCENE II. ENTRANCE OF THE VOLSCIAN CAMP BEFORE ROME.

  Two Sentinels on guard.

  Enter to them, Menenius

  First Senator

  Stay: whence are you?

  Second Senator

  Stand, and go back.

  Menenius

  You guard like men; ’tis well: but, by your leave,

  I am an officer of state, and come

  To speak with Coriolanus.

  First Senator

  From whence?

  Menenius

  From Rome.

  First Senator

  You may not pass, you must return: our general

  Will no more hear from thence.

  Second Senator

  You’ll see your Rome embraced with fire before

  You’ll speak with Coriolanus.

  Menenius

  Good my friends,

  If you have heard your general talk of Rome,

  And of his friends there, it is lots to blanks,

  My name hath touch’d your ears it is Menenius.

  First Senator

  Be it so; go back: the virtue of your name

  Is not here passable.

  Menenius

  I tell thee, fellow,

  The general is my lover: I have been

  The book of his good acts, whence men have read

  His name unparallel’d, haply amplified;

  For I have ever verified my friends,

  Of whom he’s chief, with all the size that verity

  Would without lapsing suffer: nay, sometimes,

  Like to a bowl upon a subtle ground,

  I have tumbled past the throw; and in his praise

  Have almost stamp’d the leasing: therefore, fellow,

  I must have leave to pass.

  First Senator

  Faith, sir, if you had told as many lies in his behalf as you have uttered words in your own, you should not pass here; no, though it were as virtuous to lie as to live chastely. Therefore, go back.

  Menenius

  Prithee, fellow, remember my name is Menenius, always factionary on the party of your general.

  Second Senator

  Howsoever you have been his liar, as you say you have, I am one that, telling true under him, must say, you cannot pass. Therefore, go back.

  Menenius

  Has he dined, canst thou tell? for I would not speak with him till after dinner.

  First Senator

  You are a Roman, are you?

  Menenius

  I am, as thy general is.

  First Senator

  Then you should hate Rome, as he does. Can you, when you have pushed out your gates the very defender of them, and, in a violent popular ignorance, given your enemy your shield, think to front his revenges with the easy groans of old women, the virginal palms of your daughters, or with the palsied intercession of such a decayed dotant as you seem to be? Can you think to blow out the intended fire your city is ready to flame in, with such weak breath as this? No, you are deceived; therefore, back to Rome, and prepare for your execution: you are condemned, our general has sworn you out of reprieve and pardon.

  Menenius

  Sirrah, if thy captain knew I were here, he would use me with estimation.

  Second Senator

  Come, my captain knows you not.

  Menenius

  I mean, thy general.

  First Senator

  My general cares not for you. Back, I say, go; lest I let forth your half-pint of blood; back,— that’s the utmost of your having: back.

  Menenius

  Nay, but, fellow, fellow,—

  Enter Coriolanus and Aufidius

  Coriolanus

  What’s the matter?

  Menenius

  Now, you companion, I’ll say an errand for you: You shall know now that I am in estimation; you shall perceive that a Jack guardant cannot office me from my son Coriolanus: guess, but by my entertainment with him, if thou standest not i’ the state of hanging, or of some death more long in spectatorship, and crueller in suffering; behold now presently, and swoon for what’s to come upon thee.

  To Coriolanus

  The glorious gods sit in hourly synod about thy particular prosperity, and love thee no worse than thy old father Menenius does! O my son, my son! thou art preparing fire for us; look thee, here’s water to quench it. I was hardly moved to come to thee; but being assured none but myself could move thee, I have been blown out of your gates with sighs; and conjure thee to pardon Rome, and thy petitionary countrymen. The good gods assuage thy wrath, and turn the dregs of it upon this varlet here,— this, who, like a block, hath denied my access to thee.

  Coriolanus

  Away!

  Menenius

  How! away!

  Coriolanus

  Wife, mother, child, I know not. My affairs

  Are servanted to others: though I owe

  My revenge properly, my remission lies

  In Volscian breasts. That we have been familiar,

  Ingrate forgetfulness shall poison, rather

  Than pity note how much. Therefore, be gone.

  Mine ears against your suits are stronger than

  Your gates against my force. Yet, for I loved thee,

  Take this along; I writ it for thy sake

  Gives a letter

  And would have rent it. Another word, Menenius,

  I will not hear thee speak. This man, Aufidius,

  Was my beloved in Rome: yet thou behold’st!

  Aufidius

  You keep a constant temper.

  Exeunt Coriolanus and Aufidius

  First Senator

  Now, sir, is your name Menenius?

  Second Senator

  ’Tis a spell, you see, of much power: you know the way home again.

  First Senator

  Do you hear how we are shent for keeping your greatness back?

  Second Senator

  What cause, do you think, I have to swoon?

  Menenius

  I neither care for the world nor your general: for such things as you, I can scarce think there’s any, ye’re so slight. He that hath a will to die by himself fears it not from another: let your general do his worst. For you, be that you are, long; and your misery increase with your age! I say to you, as I was said to, Away!

  Exit

  First Senator

  A noble fellow, I warrant him.

  Second Senator

  The worthy fellow is our general: he’s the rock, the oak not to be wind-shaken.

  Exeunt

  SCENE III. THE TENT OF CORIOLANUS.

  Enter Coriolanus, Aufidius, and others

  Coriolanus

  We will before the walls of Rome tomorrow

  Set down our host. My partner in this action,

  You must report to the Volscian lords, how plainly

  I have borne this business.

  Aufidius

  Only their ends

  You have respected; stopp’d your ears against

  The general suit of Rome; never admitted

  A private whisper, no, not with such friends

  That thought them sure of you.

  Coriolanus

  This last old man,

  Whom with a crack’d 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 offer’d

  The first conditions, which they did refuse

  And cannot now accept; to grace him only

  That thought he could do more, a very little

  I have yielded to: fresh embassies and suits,

  Nor f
rom the state nor private friends, hereafter

  Will I lend ear to. Ha! what shout is this?

  Shout within

  Shall I be tempted to infringe my vow

  In the same time ’tis made? I will not.

  Enter in mourning habits, Virgilia, Volumnia, leading young Marcius, Valeria, and Attendants

  My wife comes foremost; then the honour’d 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 aspect 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

  And knew no other kin.

  Virgilia

  My lord and husband!

  Coriolanus

  These eyes are not the same I wore in Rome.

  Virgilia

  The sorrow that delivers us thus changed

  Makes you think so.

  Coriolanus

  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 virgin’d it e’er since. You gods! I prate,

  And the most noble mother of the world

  Leave unsaluted: sink, my knee, i’ the earth;

  Kneels

  Of thy deep duty more impression show

  Than that of common sons.

  Volumnia

  O, stand up blest!

  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.

  Kneels

  Coriolanus

  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.

  Volumnia

  Thou art my warrior;

  I holp to frame thee. Do you know this lady?

 

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