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Tent* in my cheeks; and school-boys' 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 receiv'd an alms ! -I will not doʻt: Lest I surcease to honour mine own truth, And, by my body's action, teach my mind A most inherent baseness. VOLUMNIA'S RESOLUTION ON THE PRIDE OF

CORIOLANUS. 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 owet thy pride thyself.

CORIOLANUS'S DETESTATION OF THE VULGAR. You common cryf of curse! whose breath I hate As reekş o’ the rotten fens, whose loves I prize As the dead carcasses of unburied men That do corrupt my air, I banish you; And here remain with your uncertainty! Let every feeble rumour shake your hearts! Your enemies, with nodding of their plumes, Fan you into despair; have the power still To banish your defenders; till, at length, Your ignorance (which finds not till it feels,) Making not reservation of yourselves, (Still your own foes,) deliver Abated || captives, to some nation That won you without blows!

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you, as most

You were us'd
To say, extremity was the trier of spirits:
That common chances common men could bear;

* Dwell. † Own. Pack. $ Vapour. || Subdued.

That, when the sea was calm, all boats alike
Show'd mastership in floating: fortune's blows,
When most struck home, being gentle wounded,


A noble cunning: you were us'd to load me
With precepts, that would make invincible
The heart that conn'd them.


O, world, thy slippery turns! Friends now fast

Whose double bosoms seem to wear one heart,
Whose hours, whose bed, whose meal, and exercise,
Are still together, who twin, as 'twere in love
Unseparable, shall within this hour,
On a dissention of a doit,* break out
To bitterest enmity: So fellest foes,
Whose passions and whose plots have broke their

To take the one the other, by some chance,
Some trick not worth an egg, shall grow dear friends,
And interjoin their issues.

Let me twine
Mine arms about that body, where against
My grained ash an hundred times hath broke,
And scard the moon with splinters. Here I clipt
The anvil of my sword; and do contest
As hotly and as nobly with thy love,
As ever in ambitious strength I did
Contend against thy valour. Know thou first,
I loved the maid I married; never man
Sigh'd truer breath: but that I see thee here,
Thou noble thing! more dances my wrapt heart,
Than when I first my wedded mistress saw
Bestride my threshold. Why, thou Mars! I tell


We have a power on foot; and I had purpose
Once more to hew thy target from thy brawn,
Or lose mine arm forët: Thou hast beat me out

A small coin. + Embrace. Arm. $ Full.

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Twelve several times, and I have nightly since
Dreamt of encounters 'twixt thyself and me;
We have been down together in my sleep,
Unbuckling helms, fisting each other's throat,
And wak'd half dead with nothing.


ACT V. THE SEASON OF SOLICITATION. He was not taken well: he had not din’d: The veins unfill'd, our blood is cold, and then We pout upon the morning, are unapt To give or to forgive; but when we have stuff'd These pipes and these conveyances of our blood With wine and feeding, we have suppler souls Than in our priest-like fasts: therefore I'll watch

him Till he be dieted to my request.

My wife comes foremost; then the honour'd mould Wherein th 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 courtsey worth, or those doves? eyes, Which can make gods forsworn?-I melt, and am

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 Volces
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.

Like a dull actor now,
I have forgot my part, and I am out,
Even to a full disgrace. Best of my flesh,

* A young goose.

Forgive my tyranny; but do not say,
For that, Forgive our Romans.-0, 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’ the earth;
Of thy deep duty more impression show
Than that of common sons.


The noble sister of Publicola,
The moon of Rome; chaste as the icicle,
That's cruded by the frost from purest snow,
And hangs on Dian's temple: Dear Valeria!

The god of soldiers,
With the consent of supreme Jove, inform
Thy thoughts with nobleness; that thou may'st prov:
To shame unvulnerable, and stick i’the wars
Like a great sea mark, standing every flaw,t
And saving those that eye



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 com

forts, 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 barrist us Our prayers to the gods, which is a comfort

That all but we enjoy.


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We must find
An evident calamity, 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 cannot 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.


Ne'er through an arch so hurried the blown tide, As the recomforted through the gates. Why, hark

you: The trumpets, sackbuts, psalteries, and

fifes, Tabors and cymbals, and the shouting Romans, Make the sun dance.



Imo. THOU shouldst have made him
As little as a crow, or less, ere left
To after-eye him.

Madam, so I did.
Imo. I would have broke mine eye-strings; crack'd

them, but To look


him: till the diminution Of space had pointed him sharp as my

needle: Nay, follow'd him, till he had melted from The smallness of a gnat to air; and then Have turn’d mine eye, and wept.-But, good. Pisanio, When shall we hear from him?

• Conclude.

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