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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; 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.

CORIOLANUS. This last old man,
Whom with 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. [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, in mourning habits, VIRGILIA, VOLUMNIA, VALERIA,
YOUNG MARCIUS, with 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 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 chang'd
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.' 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' th' earth; [Kneels]
Of thy deep duty more impression show

Than that of common sons.
VOLUMNIA. O, stand up blest!

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. [Kneels]

CORIOLANUS. What's 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.
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 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'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 any thing-
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 nought 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 bar'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 evidentcalamity, 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 can not 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.

BOY. '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. [Rising]
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 show'd,' the Romans

'This we receiv'd,' and each in either side
Give the all-hail to thee, and cry 'Be blest

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 petition" target="_blank" title="n.重复;背诵;复制品">repetition will be dogg'd with curses;
Whose chronicle thus writ: 'The man was noble,

But with his last attempt he wip'd it out,
Destroy'd his country, and his name remains

To th' 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' 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
Show'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 he 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;

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.

This fellow had a Volscian to his mother;
His wife is in Corioli, and his child

Like him by chance. Yet give us our dispatch.
I am hush'd 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


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