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 do't: Lest 1 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
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 cry of curse! whose breath I hate As reeks 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 you, as most Abated|| captives, to some nation That won you without blows!
PRECEPT AGAINST ILL FORTUNE.
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.
ON COMMON FRIENDSHIPS.
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
MARTIAL FRIENDSHIP.
Mine arms about that body, where against
My grained ash an hundred times hath broke, And scar'd 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 for't: Thou hast beat me outs
Asmall coin. † Embrace. Arm. § Full.
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.
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
Till he be dieted to my request.
OBSTINATE RESOLUTION..
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 court'sey 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
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,
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' 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!
CORIOLANUS'S PRAYER FOR HIS SON,
The god of soldiers,
With the consent of supreme Jove, inform Thy thoughts with nobleness; that thou may'st prove To shame unvulnerable, and stick i' the wars Like a great sea mark, standing every flaw,† And saving those that eye thee!
VOLUMNIA'S PATHETIC SPEECH TO HER SON
How more unfortunate than all living women Are we come hither: since that thy sight, which
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 barr'st us Our prayers to the gods, which is a comfort That all but we enjoy.
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.
Imo. I would have broke mine eye-strings; crack'd
To look upon 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?
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