Coriolanus

He sits in his state, as a thing made for Alexander. What he bids be done is finish’d with his bidding. He wants nothing of a god but eternity and a heaven to throne in.

I paint him in the character. Mark what mercy his mother shall bring from him. There is no more mercy in him than there is milk in a male tiger, that shall our poor city find. And all this is long of you.

The people will remain uncertain whilst ’Twixt you there’s difference; but the fall of either Makes the survivor heir of all.

Though in this city he Hath widowed and unchilded many a one, Which to this hour bewail the injury, Yet he shall have a noble memory.”

When he walks, he moves like an engine, and the ground shrinks before his treading. He is able to pierce a corslet with his eye, talks like a knell, and his hum is a battery.

And, sir, it is no little thing to make Mine eyes to sweat compassion. But, good sir, What peace you’ll make, advise me. For my part, I’ll not to Rome, I’ll back with you, and pray you Stand to me in this cause.

For myself, son, I purpose not to wait on fortune till These wars determine.

Fresh embassies and suits, Nor from the state nor private friends, hereafter Will I lend ear to.

Let the Volsces 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.

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.

Then let the pibbles on the hungry beach Fillip the stars; then let the mutinous winds Strike the proud cedars ’gainst the fiery sun, Murd’ring impossibility, to make What cannot be, slight work.

BRU. You know the very road into his kindness, And cannot lose your way. MEN. Good faith, I’ll prove him, Speed how it will. I shall ere long have knowledge Of my success.

But what o’ that? Go you that banish’d him A mile before his tent, fall down, and knee The way into his mercy. Nay, if he coy’d To hear Cominius speak, I’ll keep at home.

Can you think to blow out the intended fire your city is ready to flame in, with such weak breath as this? No, you are deceiv’d; therefore back to Rome, and prepare for your execution.

He that hath a will to die by himself fears it not from another. Let your general do his worst. For you, be that you are, long; and your misery increase with your age! I say to you, as I was said to, “Away!

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;

I tell thee, fellow, Thy general is my lover. I have been The book of his good acts, whence men have read His fame unparallel’d, happily amplified;

The worthy fellow is our general. He’s the rock, the oak not to be wind-shaken.

and they follow him Against us brats with no less confidence Than boys pursuing summer butterflies, Or butchers killing flies.

Ay, and you’ll look pale Before you find it other. All the regions Do smilingly revolt, and who resists Are mock’d for valiant ignorance, And perish constant fools.

Cannot be? We have record that very well it can, And three examples of the like hath been Within my age.

f? He is their god; he leads them like a thing Made by some other deity than Nature, That shapes man better;

Go, masters, get you home, be not dismay’d. These are a side that would be glad to have This true which they so seem to fear. Go home, And show no sign of fear.

So our virtues Lie in th’ interpretation of the time, And power, unto itself most commendable, Hath not a tomb so evident as a chair T’ extol what it hath done.

The tribunes are no soldiers, and their people Will be as rash in the repeal, as hasty To expel him thence. I think he’ll be to Rome As is the osprey to the fish, who takes it By sovereignty of nature.

We hear not of him, neither need we fear him; His remedies are tame—the present peace And quietness of the people, which before Were in wild hurry.

But come in, Let me commend thee first to those that shall Say yea to thy desires. A thousand welcomes! And more a friend than e’er an enemy;

If he slay me, He does fair justice; if he give me way, I’ll do his country service.

If, Tullus, Not yet thou know’st me, and, seeing me, dost not Think me for the man I am, necessity Commands me name myself.

Know thou first, I lov’d the maid I married; never man Sigh’d truer breath; but that I see thee here, Thou noble thing, more dances my rapt heart Than when I first my wedded mistress saw Bestride my threshold.

Let me have war, say I, it exceeds peace as far as day does night; it’s sprightly, waking, audible, and full of vent. Peace is a very apoplexy, lethargy, mull’d, deaf, sleepy, insensible, a getter of more bastard children than war’s a destroyer of men.

so, fellest foes, Whose passions and whose plots have broke their sleep To take the one the other, by some chance, Some trick not worth an egg, shall grow dear friends And interjoin their issues.

Tis I that made thy widows; many an heir Of these fair edifices ’fore my wars Have I heard groan and drop. Then know me not, Lest that thy wives with spits and boys with stones In puny battle slay me.

I would he had continued to his country As he began, and not unknit himself The noble knot he made.

I would he had”? ’Twas you incens’d the rabble; Cats, that can judge as fitly of his worth As I can of those mysteries which heaven Will not have earth to know.

NIC. I am joyful to hear of their readiness, and am the man, I think, that shall set them in present action. So, sir, heartily well met, and most glad of your company. ADR. You take my part from me, sir, I have the most cause to be glad of yours.

Now we have shown our power, Let us seem humbler after it is done Than when it was a-doing.

Take my prayers with you. I would the gods had nothing else to do But to confirm my curses! Could I meet ’em But once a day, it would unclog my heart Of what lies heavy to’t.

Believe’t not lightly—though I go alone, Like to a lonely dragon, that his fen Makes fear’d and talk’d of more than seen—your son Will or exceed the common or be caught With cautelous baits and practice.

But with a grain a day, I would not buy Their mercy at the price of one fair word, Nor check my courage for what they can give, To have’t with saying “Good morrow.

Despising, For you, the city, thus I turn my back; There is a world elsewhere.

fortune’s blows When most strook home, being gentle wounded craves A noble cunning.

That’s worthily As any ear can hear. Come, let’s not weep. If I could shake off but one seven years From these old arms and legs, by the good gods I’ld with thee every foot.

Thou old and true Menenius, Thy tears are salter than a younger man’s, And venomous to thine eyes.

You common cry of curs, whose breath I hate As reek a’ th’ rotten fens, whose loves I prize As the dead carcasses of unburied men That do corrupt my air

You were us’d To say extremities was the trier of spirits, That common chances common men could bear, That when the sea was calm all boats alike Show’d mastership in floating;

Because that now it lies you on to speak To th’ people; not by your own instruction, Nor by th’ matter which your heart prompts you, But with such words that are but roted in Your tongue, though but bastards, and syllables Of no allowance, to your bosom’s truth.

Must I go show them my unbarb’d sconce? Must I With my base tongue give to 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 Martius, they to dust should grind it And throw’t against the wind.

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 belov’d Of all the trades in Rome.

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 dispos’d Ere they lack’d power to cross you.