Document:  All > Shakespeare > Tragedies > Coriolanus > Act III, scene II

	[Enter CORIOLANUS with Patricians]

CORIOLANUS: Let them puff all about mine ears, present me
	Death on the wheel or at wild horses' heels,
	Or pile ten hills on the Tarpeian rock,
	That the precipitation might down stretch
	Below the beam of sight, yet will I still
	Be thus to them.

A Patrician: You do the nobler.

CORIOLANUS: I muse my mother
	Does not approve me further, who was wont
	To call them woollen vassals, things created
	To buy and sell with groats, to show bare heads
	In congregations, to yawn, be still and wonder,
	When one but of my ordinance stood up
	To speak of peace or war.


		    I talk of you:
	Why did you wish me milder? would you have me
	False to my nature? Rather say I play
	The man I am.

VOLUMNIA:                   O, sir, sir, sir,
	I would have had you put your power well on,
	Before you had worn it out.


VOLUMNIA: You might have been enough the man you are,
	With striving less to be so; lesser had been
	The thwartings of your dispositions, if
	You had not show'd them how ye were disposed
	Ere they lack'd power to cross you.

CORIOLANUS: Let them hang.

A Patrician: Ay, and burn too.

	[Enter MENENIUS and Senators]

MENENIUS: Come, come, you have been too rough, something
	too rough;
	You must return and mend it.

First Senator: There's no remedy;
	Unless, by not so doing, our good city
	Cleave in the midst, and perish.

VOLUMNIA: Pray, be counsell'd:
	I have a heart as little apt as yours,
	But yet a brain that leads my use of anger
	To better vantage.

MENENIUS:                   Well said, noble woman?
	Before he should thus stoop to the herd, but that
	The violent fit o' the time craves it as physic
	For the whole state, I would put mine armour on,
	Which I can scarcely bear.

CORIOLANUS: What must I do?

MENENIUS: Return to the tribunes.

CORIOLANUS: Well, what then? what then?

MENENIUS: Repent what you have spoke.

CORIOLANUS: For them! I cannot do it to the gods;
	Must I then do't to them?

VOLUMNIA: You are too absolute;
	Though therein you can never be too noble,
	But when extremities speak. I have heard you say,
	Honour and policy, like unsever'd friends,
	I' the war do grow together: grant that, and tell me,
	In peace what each of them by the other lose,
	That they combine not there.

CORIOLANUS: Tush, tush!

MENENIUS: A good demand.

VOLUMNIA: If it be honour in your wars to seem
	The same you are not, which, for your best ends,
	You adopt your policy, how is it less or worse,
	That it shall hold companionship in peace
	With honour, as in war, since that to both
	It stands in like request?

CORIOLANUS: Why force you this?

VOLUMNIA: Because that now it lies you on to speak
	To the people; not by your own instruction,
	Nor by the matter which your heart prompts you,
	But with such words that are but rooted in
	Your tongue, though but bastards and syllables
	Of no allowance to your bosom's truth.
	Now, this no more dishonours you at all
	Than to take in a town with gentle words,
	Which else would put you to your fortune and
	The hazard of much blood.
	I would dissemble with my nature where
	My fortunes and my friends at stake required
	I should do so in honour: I am in this,
	Your wife, your son, these senators, the nobles;
	And you will rather show our general louts
	How you can frown than spend a fawn upon 'em,
	For the inheritance of their loves and safeguard
	Of what that want might ruin.

MENENIUS: Noble lady!
	Come, go with us; speak fair: you may salve so,
	Not what is dangerous present, but the loss
	Of what is past.

VOLUMNIA:                   I prithee now, my son,
	Go to them, with this bonnet in thy hand;
	And thus far having stretch'd it--here be with them--
	Thy knee bussing the stones--for in such business
	Action is eloquence, and the eyes of the ignorant
	More learned than the ears--waving thy head,
	Which often, thus, correcting thy stout heart,
	Now humble as the ripest mulberry
	That will not hold the handling: or say to them,
	Thou art their soldier, and being bred in broils
	Hast not the soft way which, thou dost confess,
	Were fit for thee to use as they to claim,
	In asking their good loves, but thou wilt frame
	Thyself, forsooth, hereafter theirs, so far
	As thou hast power and person.

MENENIUS: This but done,
	Even as she speaks, why, their hearts were yours;
	For they have pardons, being ask'd, as free
	As words to little purpose.

VOLUMNIA: Prithee now,
	Go, and be ruled: although I know thou hadst rather
	Follow thine enemy in a fiery gulf
	Than flatter him in a bower. Here is Cominius.


COMINIUS: I have been i' the market-place; and, sir,'tis fit
	You make strong party, or defend yourself
	By calmness or by absence: all's in anger.

MENENIUS: Only fair speech.

COMINIUS:                   I think 'twill serve, if he
	Can thereto frame his spirit.

VOLUMNIA: He must, and will
	Prithee now, say you will, and go about it.

CORIOLANUS: Must I go show them my unbarbed sconce?
	Must I with base tongue give my noble heart
	A lie that it must bear? Well, I will do't:
	Yet, were there but this single plot to lose,
	This mould of Marcius, they to dust should grind it
	And throw't against the wind. To the market-place!
	You have put me now to such a part which never
	I shall discharge to the life.

COMINIUS: Come, come, we'll prompt you.

VOLUMNIA: I prithee now, sweet son, as thou hast said
	My praises made thee first a soldier, so,
	To have my praise for this, perform a part
	Thou hast not done before.

CORIOLANUS: Well, I must do't:
	Away, my disposition, and possess me
	Some harlot's spirit! my throat of war be turn'd,
	Which quired with my drum, into a pipe
	Small as an eunuch, or the virgin voice
	That babies lulls asleep! the smiles of knaves
	Tent in my cheeks, and schoolboys' tears take up
	The glasses of my sight! a beggar's tongue
	Make motion through my lips, and my arm'd knees,
	Who bow'd but in my stirrup, bend like his
	That hath received an alms! I will not do't,
	Lest I surcease to honour mine own truth
	And by my body's action teach my mind
	A most inherent baseness.

VOLUMNIA: At thy choice, then:
	To beg of thee, it is my more dishonour
	Than thou of them. Come all to ruin; let
	Thy mother rather feel thy pride than fear
	Thy dangerous stoutness, for I mock at death
	With as big heart as thou. Do as thou list
	Thy valiantness was mine, thou suck'dst it from me,
	But owe thy pride thyself.

CORIOLANUS: Pray, be content:
	Mother, I am going to the market-place;
	Chide me no more. I'll mountebank their loves,
	Cog their hearts from them, and come home beloved
	Of all the trades in Rome. Look, I am going:
	Commend me to my wife. I'll return consul;
	Or never trust to what my tongue can do
	I' the way of flattery further.

VOLUMNIA: Do your will.


COMINIUS: Away! the tribunes do attend you: arm yourself
	To answer mildly; for they are prepared
	With accusations, as I hear, more strong
	Than are upon you yet.

CORIOLANUS: The word is 'mildly.' Pray you, let us go:
	Let them accuse me by invention, I
	Will answer in mine honour.

MENENIUS: Ay, but mildly.

CORIOLANUS: Well, mildly be it then. Mildly!



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