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 anything—

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 naught from Rome in private.

⌈He sits⌉

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 barr‘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 neo

The country, our dear nurse, or else thy person,

Our comfort in the country. 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 thorough 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.

VIRGILIA Ay, and mine,

That brought you forth this boy to keep your name

Living to time.

YOUNG MARTIUS 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.

⌈He rises and turns away⌉

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 showed’, the Romans

‘This we received’, 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 repetition will be dogged with curses,

Whose chronicle thus writ: ‘The man was noble,

But with his last attempt he wiped it out,

Destroyed his country, and his name remains

To th’ ensuing age abhorred.’ 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

Showed thy dear mother any courtesy,

When she, poor hen, fond of no second brood,

Has clucked thee to the wars and safely home,

Loaden with honour. Say my request’s unjust,

And spurn me back. But if it be 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.

The ladies and Young Martius kneel

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.