And then I’ll speak a little.
CORIOLANUS.
[After holding VOLUMNIA by the hands, in silence.]
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 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?
AUFIDIUS.
I was mov’d 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!
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.
[The Ladies make signs to CORIOLANUS.]
CORIOLANUS.
[To VOLUMNIA, VIRGILIA, &c.] 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 counter-seal’d.
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.]
SCENE IV. Rome. A public place.
[Enter MENENIUS and SICINIUS.]
MENENIUS.
See you yond coign o’ the Capitol,—yond cornerstone?
SICINIUS.
Why, what of that?
MENENIUS. If it be possible for you to displace it with your little finger, there is some hope the ladies of Rome, especially his mother, may prevail with him. But I say there is no hope in’t: our throats are sentenced, and stay upon execution.
SICINIUS. Is’t possible that so short a time can alter the condition of a man?
MENENIUS. 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.
SICINIUS.
He loved his mother dearly.
MENENIUS. 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.
SICINIUS.
Yes, mercy, if you report him truly.
MENENIUS. 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.
SICINIUS.
The gods be good unto us!
MENENIUS. 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.
[Enter a MESSENGER
MESSENGER.
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 a second MESSENGER.]
SICINIUS.
What’s the news?
SECOND MESSENGER.
Good news, good news;—the ladies have prevail’d,
The Volscians are dislodg’d, and Marcius gone:
A merrier day did never yet greet Rome,
No, not the expulsion of the Tarquins.
SICINIUS.
Friend,
Art thou certain this is true? is’t most certain?
SECOND MESSENGER.
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 you!
[Trumpets and hautboys sounded, drums beaten, aand shouting within.]
The trumpets, sackbuts, psalteries, and fifes,
Tabors and cymbals, and the shouting Romans,
Make the sun dance. Hark you!
[Shouting within.]
MENENIUS.
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
Ied not have given a doit. Hark, how they joy!
[Shouting and music.]
SICINIUS.
First, the gods bless you for your tidings; next,
Accept my thankfulness.
SECOND MESSENGER.
Sir, we have all
Great cause to give great thanks.
SICINIUS.
They are near the city?
MESSENGER.
Almost at point to enter.
SICINIUS.
We’ll meet them,
And help the joy.
[Exeunt.]
SCENE V. Rome. A street near the gate.
[Enter VOLUMNIA, VIRGILIA, VALERIA, &c., accompanied by Senators,
Patricians, and Citizens.]
FIRST SENATOR.
Behold our patroness, the life of Rome!
Call all your tribes together, praise the gods,