Act IIIScene II
Rome. A room in Coriolanus’s house
Enter Coriolanus with Nobles.
Coriolanus
Let them pull all about mine ears, present meDeath on the wheel or at wild horses’ heels,Or pile ten hills on the Tarpeian rock,That the precipitation might down stretchBelow the beam of sight, yet will I stillBe thus to them.
First Patrician
You do the nobler.
Coriolanus
I muse my motherDoes not approve me further, who was wontTo call them woollen vassals, things createdTo buy and sell with groats, to show bare headsIn congregations, to yawn, be still, and wonderWhen one but of my ordinance stood upTo speak of peace or war.
Enter Volumnia.
I talk of you.Why did you wish me milder? Would you have meFalse to my nature? Rather say I playThe man I am.
Volumnia
O, sir, sir, sir,I would have had you put your power well onBefore you had worn it out.
Coriolanus
Let go.
Volumnia
You might have been enough the man you areWith striving less to be so. Lesser had beenThe thwartings of your dispositions ifYou had not showed them how ye were disposedEre they lacked power to cross you.
Coriolanus
Let them hang!
Volumnia
Ay, and burn too.
Enter Menenius with the 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 cityCleave in the midst and perish.
Volumnia
Pray be counselled.I have a heart as little apt as yours,But yet a brain that leads my use of angerTo better vantage.
Menenius
Well said, noble woman.Before he should thus stoop to th’ herd—but thatThe violent fit o’ th’ time craves it as physicFor the whole state—I would put mine armour on,Which I can scarcely bear.
Coriolanus
What must I do?
Menenius
Return to th’ 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 nobleBut when extremities speak. I have heard you sayHonour and policy, like unsevered friends,I’ th’ war do grow together. Grant that, and tell meIn peace what each of them by th’ other loseThat they combine not there.
Coriolanus
Tush, tush!
Menenius
A good demand.
Volumnia
If it be honour in your wars to seemThe same you are not, which for your best endsYou adopt your policy, how is it less or worseThat it shall hold companionship in peaceWith honour as in war, since that to bothIt stands in like request?
Coriolanus
Why force you this?
Volumnia
Because that now it lies you on to speakTo th’ people, not by your own instruction,Nor by th’ matter which your heart prompts you,But with such words that are but rooted inYour tongue, though but bastards and syllablesOf no allowance to your bosom’s truth.Now, this no more dishonours you at allThan to take in a town with gentle words,Which else would put you to your fortune andThe hazard of much blood.I would dissemble with my nature whereMy fortunes and my friends at stake requiredI should do so in honour. I am in thisYour wife, your son, these senators, the nobles;And you will rather show our general loutsHow you can frown than spend a fawn upon ’emFor the inheritance of their loves and safeguardOf 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 lossOf what is past.
Volumnia
I prithee now, my son,Go to them with this bonnet in thy hand,And thus far having stretched it—here be with them—Thy knee bussing the stones—for in such businesAction is eloquence, and the eyes of th’ ignorantMore learned than the ears—waving thy head,Which often thus correcting thy stout heart,Now humble as the ripest mulberryThat will not hold the handling. Or say to themThou art their soldier and, being bred in broils,Hast not the soft way, which thou dost confessWere fit for thee to use, as they to claim,In asking their good loves; but thou wilt frameThyself, forsooth, hereafter theirs, so farAs thou hast power and person.
Menenius
This but doneEven as she speaks, why, their hearts were yours;For they have pardons, being asked, as freeAs words to little purpose.
Volumnia
Prithee now,Go, and be ruled; although I know thou hadst ratherFollow thine enemy in a fiery gulfThan flatter him in a bower.
Enter Cominius.
Here is Cominius.
Cominius
I have been i’ th’ marketplace; and, sir, ’tis fitYou make strong party or defend yourselfBy calmness or by absence. All’s in anger.
Menenius
Only fair speech.
Cominius
I think ’twill serve, if heCan 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 IWith my base tongue give to my noble heartA lie that it must bear? Well, I will do’t.Yet, were there but this single plot to lose,This mould of Martius, they to dust should grind itAnd throw’t against the wind. To th’ marketplace!You have put me now to such a part which neverI shall discharge to th’ life.
Cominius
Come, come, we’ll prompt you.
Volumnia
I prithee now, sweet son, as thou hast saidMy praises made thee first a soldier, so,To have my praise for this, perform a partThou hast not done before.
Coriolanus
Well, I must do’t.Away, my disposition, and possess meSome harlot’s spirit! My throat of war be turned,Which choired with my drum, into a pipeSmall as an eunuch or the virgin voiceThat babies lulls asleep! The smiles of knavesTent in my cheeks, and schoolboys’ tears take upThe glasses of my sight! A beggar’s tongueMake motion through my lips, and my armed knees,Who bowed but in my stirrup, bend like hisThat hath received an alms! I will not do’t,Lest I surcease to honour mine own truthAnd, by my body’s action, teach my mindA most inherent baseness.
Volumnia
At thy choice, then.To beg of thee, it is my more dishonourThan thou of them. Come all to ruin. LetThy mother rather feel thy pride than fearThy dangerous stoutness, for I mock at deathWith 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 marketplace.Chide me no more. I’ll mountebank their loves,Cog their hearts from them, and come home belovedOf 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 doI’ th’ way of flattery further.
Volumnia
Do your will.
Exit Volumnia.
Cominius
Away! The Tribunes do attend you. Arm yourselfTo answer mildly, for they are preparedWith accusations, as I hear, more strongThan are upon you yet.
Coriolanus
The word is “mildly.” Pray you, let us go.Let them accuse me by invention, IWill answer in mine honour.
Menenius
Ay, but mildly.
Coriolanus
Well, mildly be it, then. Mildly.
Exeunt.