SCENE III. The tent of Coriolanus

Enter Coriolanus and Aufidius .

CORIOLANUS. We will before the walls of Rome tomorrow Set down our host. My partner in this action, You must report to th’ Volscian lords how plainly I have borne this business.

AUFIDIUS. Only their ends You have respected, stopped 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 cracked 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 showed sourly to him—once more offered 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 from the state nor private friends, hereafter Will I lend ear to.

[ Shout within. ]

Ha? What shout is this? Shall I be tempted to infringe my vow In the same time ’tis made? I will not.

Enter Virgilia, Volumnia, Valeria, young Martius with attendants.

My wife comes foremost, then the honoured mold 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 curtsy 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.”

[ They kiss. ]

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 virgined it e’er since. You gods! I prate And the most noble mother of the world Leave unsaluted. Sink, my knee, i’ th’ earth;

[ Kneels. ]

Of thy deep duty more impression show Than that of common sons.

VOLUMNIA. O, stand up blest,

[ He rises .]

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.

[ She kneels. ]

CORIOLANUS. What is this? Your knees to me? To your corrected son?

[ He raises her up. ]

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?

CORIOLANUS. The noble sister of Publicola, The moon of Rome, chaste as the icicle That’s curdied by the frost from purest snow And hangs on Dian’s temple!—Dear Valeria.

VOLUMNIA. This is a poor epitome of yours, Which by th’ interpretation of full time May show like all yourself.

CORIOLANUS. The god of soldiers, With the consent of supreme Jove, inform Thy thoughts with nobleness, that thou mayst prove To shame unvulnerable, and stick i’ th’ wars Like a great seamark standing every flaw And saving those that eye thee.

VOLUMNIA. [ To young Martius .] Your knee, sirrah.

[ He kneels. ]

CORIOLANUS. That’s my brave boy!

VOLUMNIA. Even he, your wife, this lady, and myself Are suitors to you.

[ Young Martius rises. ]

CORIOLANUS. I beseech you, peace; Or, if you’d ask, remember this before: The thing I have forsworn to grant may never Be held by you denials. Do not bid me Dismiss my soldiers or capitulate Again with Rome’s mechanics. Tell me not Wherein I seem unnatural; desire not T’ allay my rages and revenges with Your colder reasons.

VOLUMNIA. O, no more, no more! You have said you will not grant us anything; For we have nothing else to ask but that Which you deny already. Yet we will ask, That if you fail in our request, the blame May hang upon your hardness. Therefore hear us.

CORIOLANUS. Aufidius, and you Volsces, mark, for we’ll Hear naught from Rome in private. Your request?

VOLUMNIA. 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 should Make our eyes flow with joy, hearts dance with comforts, Constrains them weep and shake with fear and sorrow, Making the mother, wife, and child to see The son, the husband, and the father tearing His country’s bowels out. And to poor we 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 through 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, I purpose not to wait on fortune till These wars determine. 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.

VIRGILIA. Ay, and mine, That brought you forth this boy to keep your name Living to time.

YOUNG MARTIUS. He shall not tread on me. I’ll run away till I am bigger, but then I’ll fight.

CORIOLANUS. Not of a woman’s tenderness to be Requires nor child nor woman’s face to see.— I have sat too long.

[ He rises. ]

VOLUMNIA. Nay, go not from us thus. If it were so, that our request did tend To save the Romans, thereby to destroy The Volsces whom you serve, you might condemn us As poisonous of your honour. No, our suit Is that you reconcile them, while the Volsces May say “This mercy we have showed,” the Romans “This we received,” and each in either side Give the all-hail to thee and cry, “Be blessed 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 dogged with curses, Whose chronicle thus writ: “The man was noble, But with his last attempt he wiped it out; Destroyed his country, and his name remains To th’ ensuing age abhorred.” Speak to me, son. Thou hast affected the fine strains of honour To imitate the graces of the gods, To tear with thunder the wide cheeks o’ th’ air And yet to charge thy sulphur with a bolt That should but rive an oak. Why dost not speak? Think’st thou it honourable for a noble man Still to remember wrongs?—Daughter, speak you. He cares not for your weeping.—Speak thou, boy. Perhaps thy childishness will move him more Than can our reasons.—There’s no man in the world More bound to’s mother, yet here he lets me prate Like one i’ th’ stocks. Thou hast never in thy life Showed thy dear mother any courtesy When she, poor hen, fond of no second brood, Has clucked 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.

[ They kneel. ]

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 hast to deny’t.—Come, let us go.

[ They rise. ]

This fellow had a Volscian to his mother, His wife is in Corioles, and his child Like him by chance.—Yet give us our dispatch. I am hushed until our city be afire, And then I’ll speak a little.

[ He holds her by the hand, silent. ]

CORIOLANUS. O mother, mother! 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 prevailed, 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, Were you in my stead, would you have heard A mother less? Or granted less, Aufidius?

AUFIDIUS. I was moved withal.

CORIOLANUS. 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, I’ll not to Rome, I’ll back with you; and pray you, Stand to me in this cause.—O mother!—Wife!

[ He speaks with them aside. ]

AUFIDIUS. [ Aside .] I am glad thou hast set thy mercy and thy honour At difference in thee. Out of that I’ll work Myself a former fortune.

CORIOLANUS. [ To the Women .] Ay, by and by; But we’ll drink together, and you shall bear A better witness back than words, which we, On like conditions, will have countersealed. 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.

[ Exeunt. ]