Coriolanus — Act 5, Scene 3 · Shakespeare for Bharat

CORIOLANUS

We will before the walls of Rome tomorrowSet down our host. My partner in this action,You must report to the Volscian lords, how plainlyI have borne this business.

AUFIDIUS

Only their endsYou have respected; stopp'd your ears againstThe general suit of Rome; never admittedA private whisper, no, not with such friendsThat 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 refugeWas to send him; for whose old love I have,Though I show'd sourly to him, once more offer'dThe first conditions, which they did refuseAnd cannot now accept; to grace him onlyThat thought he could do more, a very littleI have yielded to: fresh embassies and suits,Nor from the state nor private friends, hereafterWill I lend ear to. Ha! what shout is this?

CORIOLANUS

Shall I be tempted to infringe my vowIn the same time 'tis made? I will not.

CORIOLANUS

My wife comes foremost; then the honour'd mouldWherein this trunk was framed, and in her handThe 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 notOf stronger earth than others. My mother bows;As if Olympus to a molehill shouldIn supplication nod: and my young boyHath an aspect of intercession, whichGreat nature cries 'Deny not.' let the VolscesPlough Rome and harrow Italy: I'll neverBe such a gosling to obey instinct, but stand,As if a man were author of himselfAnd 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 changedMakes 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 sayFor that 'Forgive our Romans.' O, a kissLong as my exile, sweet as my revenge!Now, by the jealous queen of heaven, that kissI carried from thee, dear; and my true lipHath virgin'd it e'er since. You gods! I prate,And the most noble mother of the worldLeave unsaluted: sink, my knee, i' the earth;

CORIOLANUS

Of thy deep duty more impression showThan that of common sons.

VOLUMNIA

O, stand up blest!Whilst, with no softer cushion than the flint,I kneel before thee; and unproperlyShow duty, as mistaken all this whileBetween the child and parent.

CORIOLANUS

What is this?Your knees to me? to your corrected son?Then let the pebbles on the hungry beachFillip the stars; then let the mutinous windsStrike the proud cedars 'gainst the fiery sun;Murdering impossibility, to makeWhat 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 icicleThat's curdied by the frost from purest snowAnd hangs on Dian's temple: dear Valeria!

VOLUMNIA

This is a poor epitome of yours,Which by the interpretation of full timeMay show like all yourself.

CORIOLANUS

The god of soldiers,With the consent of supreme Jove, informThy thoughts with nobleness; that thou mayst proveTo shame unvulnerable, and stick i' the warsLike a great sea-mark, standing every flaw,And saving those that eye thee!

VOLUMNIA

Your knee, sirrah.

CORIOLANUS

That's my brave boy!

VOLUMNIA

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

CORIOLANUS

I beseech you, peace:Or, if you'ld ask, remember this before:The thing I have forsworn to grant may neverBe held by you denials. Do not bid meDismiss my soldiers, or capitulateAgain with Rome's mechanics: tell me notWherein I seem unnatural: desire notTo ally my rages and revenges withYour colder reasons.

VOLUMNIA

O, no more, no more!You have said you will not grant us any thing;For we have nothing else to ask, but thatWhich you deny already: yet we will ask;That, if you fail in our request, the blameMay hang upon your hardness: therefore hear us.

CORIOLANUS

Aufidius, and you Volsces, mark; for we'llHear nought from Rome in private. Your request?

VOLUMNIA

Should we be silent and not speak, our raimentAnd state of bodies would bewray what lifeWe have led since thy exile. Think with thyselfHow more unfortunate than all living womenAre we come hither: since that thy sight,which shouldMake our eyes flow with joy, hearts dancewith comforts,Constrains them weep and shake with fear and sorrow;Making the mother, wife and child to seeThe son, the husband and the father tearingHis country's bowels out. And to poor weThine enmity's most capital: thou barr'st usOur prayers to the gods, which is a comfortThat 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 loseThe country, our dear nurse, or else thy person,Our comfort in the country. We must findAn evident calamity, though we hadOur wish, which side should win: for either thouMust, as a foreign recreant, be ledWith manacles thorough our streets, or elsetriumphantly tread on thy country's ruin,And bear the palm for having bravely shedThy wife and children's blood. For myself, son,I purpose not to wait on fortune tillThese wars determine: if I cannot persuade theeRather to show a noble grace to both partsThan seek the end of one, thou shalt no soonerMarch 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 nameLiving to time.

Young MARCIUS

A' 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.

VOLUMNIA

Nay, go not from us thus.If it were so that our request did tendTo save the Romans, thereby to destroyThe Volsces whom you serve, you might condemn us,As poisonous of your honour: no; our suitIs that you reconcile them: while the VolscesMay say 'This mercy we have show'd;' the Romans,'This we received;' and each in either sideGive the all-hail to thee and cry 'Be blestFor making up this peace!' Thou know'st, great son,The end of war's uncertain, but this certain,That, if thou conquer Rome, the benefitWhich thou shalt thereby reap is such a name,Whose repetition will be dogg'd with curses;Whose chronicle thus writ: 'The man was noble,But with his last attempt he wiped it out;Destroy'd his country, and his name remainsTo the ensuing age abhorr'd.' 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' the air,And yet to charge thy sulphur with a boltThat should but rive an oak. Why dost not speak?Think'st thou it honourable for a noble manStill to remember wrongs? Daughter, speak you:He cares not for your weeping. Speak thou, boy:Perhaps thy childishness will move him moreThan can our reasons. There's no man in the worldMore bound to 's mother; yet here he lets me prateLike one i' the stocks. Thou hast never in thy lifeShow'd thy dear mother any courtesy,When she, poor hen, fond of no second brood,Has cluck'd 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 whichTo a mother's part belongs. He turns away:Down, ladies; let us shame him with our knees.To his surname Coriolanus 'longs more prideThan pity to our prayers. Down: an 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 haveBut kneels and holds up bands for fellowship,Does reason our petition with more strengthThan thou hast to deny 't. Come, let us go:This fellow had a Volscian to his mother;His wife is in Corioli and his childLike him by chance. Yet give us our dispatch:I am hush'd until our city be a-fire,And then I'll speak a little.

CORIOLANUS

O mother, mother!What have you done? Behold, the heavens do ope,The gods look down, and this unnatural sceneThey 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 heardA 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 makeMine 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 andthy honourAt difference in thee: out of that I'll workMyself a former fortune.

CORIOLANUS

Ay, by and by;

CORIOLANUS

But we will drink together; and you shall bearA better witness back than words, which we,On like conditions, will have counter-seal'd.Come, enter with us. Ladies, you deserveTo have a temple built you: all the swordsIn Italy, and her confederate arms,Could not have made this peace.