A root of ancient envy.-Let me twine Mine arms about that body, where against My grained ash an hundred times hath broke, And scar'd the moon with splinters! The anvil of my sword; and do contest As hotly and as nobly with thy love As ever in ambitious strength I did Contend against thy valour. Know thou first, I lov'd the maid I married: never man Sigh'd truer breath; but that I see thee here, Thou noble thing! more dances my rapt heart Than when I first my wedded mistress saw Bestride my threshold. Why, thou Mars! I tell thee,
We have a power on foot: and I had purpose Once more to hew thy target from thy brawn, Or lose mine arm for't: Thou hast beat me out Twelve several times, and I have nightly since Dreamt of encounters 'twixt thyself and me: We have been down together in my sleep,
Cor. Auf. Therefore, most absolute sir, if thou wilt, have
The leading of thine own revenges, take
The one half of my commission; and set down,- As best thou art experienc'd, since thou know'st Thy country's strength and weakness,-thine own ways;
Whether to knock against the gates of Rome, Or rudely visit them in parts remote,
To fright them, ere destroy. But come in: Let me commend thee first to those that shall Say, Yea, to thy desires. A thousand welcomes! And more a friend than e'er an enemy; Yet, Marcius, that was much. welcome!
[Exeunt CORIOLANUS and AUFIdius.
SCENE.-The Tent of Coriolanus. Enter CORIOLANUS, AUFIDIUS, and others. Cor. We will before the walls of Rome to
Set down our host.-My partner in this action, You must report to the Volcian lords how plainly
I have borne this business.
Auf. 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.
Whom with a crack'd heart I have sent to Rome,
Lov'd 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 from 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 VIRGILIA, VOLUMNIA, leading young MAR- CIUS, VALERIA, and Attendants.
My wife comes foremost; then the honour'd mould
Wherein this trunk was fram'd, 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 fors worn! 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 Volces 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. Vir. My lord and husband! Cor. These eyes are not the same I wore in Rome.
Vir. The sorrow that delivers us thus chang'd, Makes you think so.
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;
Of thy deep duty more impression show Than that of common sons.
Vol. O, stand up bless'd! 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.
Cor. 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; Murd'ring impossibility, to make
What cannot be, slight work.
Vol. Do you know this lady?
Cor. The noble sister of Publicola, The moon of Rome; chaste as the icicle, That's curded by the frost from purest snow, And hangs on Dian's temple: Dear Valeria! Vol. This is a poor epitome of yours, Which by the interpretation of full time May show like all yourself.
Cor. [To his son.] The god of soldiers, With the consent of supreme Jove, inform Thy thoughts with nobleness; that thou mayst
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. Cor. Aufidius, and you, Volces, mark; for we'll Hear nought from Rome in private.-Your re- quest ?
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 sorrow;
Making the mother, wife, and child, to see The son, the husband, and the father, tearing His country's bowels out. We must find An evident calamity, though we had
Our wish, which side should win; for either thou Must, as a foreigner 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. 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. 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 Volcian 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. Cor. 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, Were you in my stead, would you have heard A mother less? or granted less, Aufidius? Auf. I was mov'd withal. Cor. I dare be sworn you were: And, sir, it is no little thing to make Mine eyes to sweet 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
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.
Enter three or four Conspirators of Aufidius' faction.
1 Con. How is it with our general? Auf.
Enter CORIOLANUS, with drums and colours; a crowd of Citizens with him.
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, Even so The charges of the action. We have made peace, With no less honour to the Antiates,
As with a man by his own alms empoison'd, And with his charity slain.
If you do hold the same intent wherein You wish'd us parties, we'll deliver you Of your great danger.
Auf. Sir, I cannot tell; 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.
I know it; And my pretext to strike at him admits A good construction. I rais'd him, and I pawn'd Mine honour for his truth: Who being so heigh- ten'd,
He water'd his new plants with dews of flattery, Seducing so my friends: 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.
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 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
I'll grace thee with that robbery, thy stol'n name Coriolanus, in Corioli ?
You lords and heads of the state, perfidiously He has betray'd your business, and given up, For certain drops of salt, your city Rome (I say, your city) to his wife and mother; Breaking his oath and resolution, like A twist of rotten silk: never admitting Counsel o' the war; but at his nurse's tears He whin'd and roar'd away your victory; That pages blush'd at him, and men of heart Look'd wondering each at other.
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 Volcians in Corioli: Alone I did it.-Boy!
Auf. Why, noble lords, Will you be put in mind of his blind fortune, Which was your shame, by this unholy braggart, 'Fore your own eyes and ears?
Con. Let him die for't. [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! The man is noble, and his fame folds in This orb o' the earth. His last offences to us Shall have judicious hearing.-Stand, Aufidius,
To call me to your senate, I'll deliver Myself your loyal servant, or endure Your heaviest censure.
1 Lord. And mourn you for him; let him be regarded As the most noble corse that ever herald Did follow to his urn.
Bear from hence his body,
His own impatience Takes from Aufidius a great part of blame. Let's make the best of it. Auf. And I am struck with sorrow -Take him up :Help, three o' the chiefest soldiers; I'll be one.Beat thou the drum that it speak mournfully. Trail your steel pikes.-Though in this city he Hath widow'd and unchilded many a one, Which to this hour bewail the injury, Yet he shall have a noble memory. Assist.
[Exeunt, bearing the body of CORIOLANUS. A dead march sounded.
Enter KENT, GLOSTER, and EDMUND. Kent. I thought the king had more affected the duke of Albany, than Cornwall.
Glo. It did always seem so to us; but now, in the division of the kingdom, it appears not which of the dukes he values most; for equalities are so weigh'd, that curiosity in neither can make choice of either's moiety.
Kent. Is not this your son, my lord?
Glo. Ay, and I have, sir, a son, some year elder than this, who is yet no dearer in my account:Do you know this noble gentleman, Edmund ? Edm. No, my lord.
Glo. My lord of Kent: remember him hereafter as my honourable friend.
Edm. My services to your lordship. Kent. I must love you, and sue to know you better. Edm. Sir, I shall study deserving.
Glo. He hath been out nine years, and away he
shall again.-The king is coming.
[Trumpets sound within. Enter LEAR, CORNWALL, ALBANY, GONERIL, REGAN, CORDELIA, and Attendants. Lear. Attend the lords of France and Burgundy, Gloster.
Glo. I shall, my liege. [Exeunt GLO, and EDM. Lear. Meantime, we shall express our darker
Give me the map there.-Know, that we have divided In three, our kingdom; and 'tis our fast intent To shake all cares and business from our age; Conferring them on younger strengths, while we Unburden'd crawl toward death.-Our son of Cornwall,
And you, our no less loving son of Albany, We have this hour a constant will to publish Our daughters' several dowers, that future strife May be prevented now. The princes, France and Burgundy,
Great rivals in our youngest daughter's love,
Do love you more than words can wield the matter, Dearer than eyesight, space, and liberty; Beyond what can be valued, rich or rare: No less than life, with grace, health, beauty, honour: As much as child e'er lov'd, or father found. A love that makes breath poor, and speech unable; Beyond all manner of so much I love you. Cor. What shall Cordelia do? Love, and be silent. [Aside. Lear. Of all these bounds, even from this line to this,
With shadowy forests, and with champains rich'd; With plenteous rivers, and wide-skirted meads, We make thee lady. To thine and Albany's issue Be this perpetual.-What says our second daughter, Our dearest Regan, wife to Cornwall?-speak.
Reg. I am made of that self metal as my sister, And prize me at her worth. In my true heart I find, she names my very deed of love; Only she comes too short,-that I profess Myself an enemy to all other joys,
Which the most precious square of sense possesses; And find, I am alone felicitate
In your dear highness' love, Cor. Then poor Cordelia !-[Aside. And yet not so; since, I am sure, my love's More richer than my tongue.
Lear. To thee, and thine, hereditary ever, Remain this ample third of our fair kingdom; No less in space, validity, and pleasure,
Than that confirm'd on Goneril.-Now, our joy, Although the last, not least; to whose young love The vines of France, and milk of Burgundy, Strive to be interess'd; what can you say, to draw A third more opulent than your sisters ? Speak. Cor. Nothing, my lord. Lear. Nothing?
Lear. Nothing can come of nothing: speak again. Cor. Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave My heart into my mouth: I love your majesty According to my bond; nor more, nor less.
Lear. How, how, Cordelia ? mend your speech a little,
Lest it may mar your fortunes.
Cor. Good, my lord, You have begot me, bred me, loved me : Return those duties back as are right fit, Obey you, love you, and most honour you. Why have my sisters husbands, if they say, They love you all? Haply, when I shall wed, That lord, whose hand must take my plight, shall
Come not between the dragon and his wrath : I lov'd her most, and thought to set my rest On her kind nursery.- Hence, and avoid my sight! [TO CORDELIA.
So be my grave my peace, as here I give Her father's heart from her!-Call France ;- Who stirs ?
Call Burgundy.-Cornwall, and Albany, With my two daughters' dowers digest this third: Let pride, which she calls plainness, marry her. I do invest you jointly with my power, Pre-eminence, and all the large effects That troop with majesty.-Ourself, by monthly
With reservation of an hundred knights, By you to be sustain'd, shall our abode Make with you by due turns. Only we still retain The name, and all the additions to a king: The sway,
Revenue, execution of the rest,
Beloved sons, be yours; which to confirm, This coronet part between you. [Giving the crown. Kent. Royal Lear, Whom I have ever honour'd as my king, Lov'd as my father, as my master follow'd, As my great patron thought on in my prayers,- Lear. The bow is bent and drawn, make from
Kent. Let it fall rather, though the fork invade The region of my heart; be Kent unmannerly, When Lear is mad. What would'st thou do, old man?
Think'st thou, that duty shall have dread to speak, When power to flattery bows? To plainness honour's bound,
When majesty stoops to folly. Reverse thy doom; And, in thy best consideration, check
This hideous rashness: answer my life my judgment, Thy youngest daughter does not love thee least; Nor are those empty-hearted, whose low sound Reverbs no hollowness.
Kent. See better, Lear; and let me still remain The true blank of thine eye. Lear. Now, by Apollo,- Kent.
Thou swear'st thy gods in vain. Lear.
O vassal! miscreant. [Laying his hand on his sword.
Alb. & Corn. Dear sir, forbear. Kent. Do;
Kill thy physician, and the fee bestow * Kindred.
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