I purpose not to wait on Fortune, 'till
Thefe Wars determine: If I cannot perfwade 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, then to tread
(Truft to't, thou fhall 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. A fhall not tread on me: I'll run away

Till I am bigger, but then I'll fight.

Cor. Not of a Woman's tenderness to be, Requires no Child, nor Woman's Face to fee: I have fate 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 Volfcies, whom you ferve, you might condemn us,
As poyfonous of your Honour. No, our fuit
Is that you reconcile them: While the Volfcies
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 bleft
For making up this Peace. Thou know'ft, Great Son,
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,
Whose 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,
Defroy'd his Country, and his Name remains
To th' enfuing Age, abhorr'd. Speak to me Son:
Thou haft affected the five ftrains of Honour,
To imitate the Graces of the Gods,

To tear with Thunder the wide Cheeks o'th'Air,
And yet to change thy Sulphur with a Bolt,
That fhould but rive an Oak. Why doft not speak?
Think'ft thou it Honourable for a Noble Man
Still to remember Wrongs? Daughter, speak your
He cares not for your weeping. Speak thou, Boy,
Perhaps thy Childishnefs will move him more

Than

Than can our Reafons. There is no Man in the World
More bound to's Mother, yet here he lets me prate
Like one i'th' Stocks. Thou haft never in thy Life,
Shew'd thy dear Mother any Curtefie,

When the (poor Hen) fond of no fecond Brood,
Mas cluck'd thee to the Wars, and fafely home
Loaden with Honour. Say my Request's unjust,
And fpurn me back: But if it be not fo,

Thou art not Honeft, and the Gods will plague thee
That thou restrain'ft from me the Duty, which
To a Mother's part belongs. He turns away;
Down Ladies; let us fhame him with our Knees.
To his Sir-name, Coriolanus, 'longs more Pride,
Than Pity to our Prayers. Down; and end,
This is the last. So, we will home to Rome,
And die among our Neighbours: Nay, behold's.
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 haft to deny't. Come, let us go:
This Fellow had a Volician to his Mother;
His Wife is in Coxiolus, and his Child.
Like him by chance; yet give us our Dispatch:

I am husht until our City be afire, and then I'll speak a little. [Holds her by the Hand, filent.

Cor. Mother, Mother!

What have you done? Behold, the Heav'ns do ope,
The Gods look down, and this unnatural Scene
They laugh at. Oh, my Mother, Mother: Oh!
You have won a happy Victory to Rome.
But for your Son, believe it, Oh believe it,
Moft dangerously you have with him prevail'd,
If not moft Mortal to him. But let it come:
Aufidius, though I cannot make true Wars,

I'll frame convenient Peace. Now, good Aufidius,
Were
you in my ftead, would you have heard

A Mother lefs? Or granted lefs, Aufidius?
Auf. I was mov'd withal.

Cor. I dare be fworn you were ;

And, Sir, it is no little thing to make

Mines Eyes to fweat Compaffion. But, good Sir,

What

What Peace you'll make, advife me: For my part,
I'll not to Rome, I'll back with you, and pray you
Stand to me in this Caufe. O Mother! Wife!

Auf. I am glad thou haft fet thy Mercy, and thy Honour At difference in thee; out of that I'll work

My felf a former Fortune.

Cor. Ay, by and by; but we will drink together; And you shall bear

[Afide.

[To Vol. Virg, &c.

A better witnefs back than words, which we
On like Conditions, will have counter-feal'd.
Come, enter with us: Ladies, you deferve
To have a Temple built you: All the Swords
In Italy, and her Confederate Arms
Could not have made this Peace.

SCENE III. Rome.

Enter Menenius and Sicinius.

[Exeunt.

Men. See you yond Coin o'th'Capitol, yond Corner Stone? Sic. Why, what of that?

Men. If it be poffible for you to difplace it with your little Finger, there is fome hope the Ladies of Rome, efpecially his Mother, may prevail with him. But I fay, there is no hope in't, our Throats are fentenc'd, and stay upon Execution.

Sic. Is't poffible that fo fhort a time can alter the condition of a Man.

Men. There is difference between a Grub and a Butterfly, yet your Butterfly was a Grub; this Martins is grown from Man to Dragon: He has Wings, he's more than a creeping thing.

Sic. He lov'd his Mother dearly.

Men. So did he me; and he no more remembers his Mother now, than an eight years old Horfe. The tartness of his Face fours ripe Grapes. When he walks, he moves like an Engine, and the Ground fhrinks before his Treading. He is able to pierce a Corflet with his Eye: Talks like a Knell, and his hum is a Battery. He fits in his State as a thing made for Alexander. What he bids be done is finifh'd with his bidding. He wants nothing of a God, but Eter nity, and a Heaven to Throne in.

Sic. Yes, Mercy, if you report him truly.

Mena

Men. I paint him in the Character. Mark what Mercy his Mother fhall bring from him; there is no more Mercy in him, than there is Milk in a Male-Tyger; that fhall our poor City find; and all this is long of you.

Sic. The Gods be good unto us.

Men. No, in fuch a cafe the Gods will not be good unto us. When we banish'd him, we refpected not them: And he returning to break our Necks, they refpe& not us. Enter a Meffenger,

Mef. Sir, if you'd fave your Lifeiflye to your House, The Plebeians have got your Fellow-Tribune, And hale him up and down, all fwearing, if The Roman Ladies bring not Comfort home, They'll give him Death by Inches.

Enter another Meffenger.

Sic. What's the News?

Mef. Good News, good News, the Ladies have prevail'd, The Volfcies are diflodg'd, and Martius gone:

A merrier Day did never yet greet Rome,
No, not th' Expulfion of the Tarquins.",

Sic. Friend, art thou certain this is true?
Is't moft certain?

Mef. 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 fo hurried the blown Tide,
As the recomforted through th' Gates. Why, hark you.
[Trumpets, Hautboys, Drums beat, all together.
The Trumpets, Sackbuts, Pfalteries and Fifes,

Tabors and Cymbals, and the fhouting Romans
Make the Sun dance. Hark you.

Men. This is good News:

I will go meet the Ladies. This Volumnia
Is worth of Confuls, Senators, Patricians,
A City full: Of Tribunes, fuch as you,

[A fhout within.

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.

[Sound fill with the Shouts. Sic. First, the Gods blefs you for your Tidings: Next, accept my Thankfulness,

Mef. Sir, we have all great cause to give great thanks.
Sic. They are tear the City?

Mef.

Mef. Almoft at point to enter.

Sic. We'll meet them, and help the Joy.

[Exeunt.

Enter two Senators, with Ladies paffing over the Stage with other Lords.

Sen. Behold our Patronefs, the life of Rome:
Call all your Tribes together, praise the Gods,
And make triumphant Fires, ftrew Flowers before them:
Unfhout the Noife that banish'd Martius;
Repeal him with the welcome of his Mother:
Cry, welcome, Ladies, welcome.

All. Welcome Ladies, welcome.

[Exeunt.

[A Flourish with Drums and Trumpets.

SCENE IV. Antium.
Enter Tullus Aufidius, with Attendants.
Auf. Go tell the Lords o' th' City, I am here:
Deliver them this Paper: Having read it,
Bid them repair to th' Market-place, where I
Even in theirs, and in the Commons Ears,
Will vouch the truth of it. Him I accufe
The City Ports by this hath enter'd, and
Intends t' appear before the People, hoping
Το purge himself with words. Difpatch.

Enter three or four Confpirators of Aufidius's Faction. Moft welcome.

I Con. How is it with our General ?

Auf. Even fo, as with a Man by his own Alms impoyfon'd, and with his Charity flain.

2 Con. Moft noble Sir, if you do hold the fame intent, Wherein you with'd us Parties; we'll deliver

Of your great danger.

Auf. Sir, I cannot tell,

We must proceed as we do find the People.

you

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 ftrike at him admits

A good Conftruction. I rais'd him, and I pawn'd
Mine Honour for his Truth; who being fo heighten'd,
He water'd his new Plants with dews of Flattery,
Seducing fo

my

Friends; and to this end,