 | The Invader of His Country : Or, The Fatal Resentment |  |
ACT II.
SCENE I.
Enter Volumnia, and Virgilia.Vol.
Fie, my Virgilia, leave these doleful Murmurs;
Dreams are but idle Vapours without Meaning.
Virg.
Ay, but for five successive Nights this Vision
At dead of Night has visited my Slumbers;
For five successive Nights I've seen my Lord
Supriz'd, surrounded, murder'd by the Volscians.
Vol.
The meer Delusions of your Melancholy.
But, after all, suppose Presage divine
Did by these Visions break your restless Slumbers,
Should they perswade you to throw off the Roman,
And to appear dejected and desponding!
This is just counter to the Gods Design;
Why shou'd at any time divine Prediction
Descend, t' inform us of our future Fate?
Is it, that by foreseeing we can shun
Th' Eternal Dictates of Almighty Will?
Or, that the Powers take barbarous Delight,
To plague the Minds of miserable Mortals,
By vain Fore-knowledge of avoidless Ills?
No sure; 'tis that our Souls without surprise
May be prepared to meet the worst of Fate,
That we secure may view its ghastfull'st Terrors,
Stem with undaunted Breasts a Flood of Evils,
And may, in short, behave our selves like Romans,
And like the darling Offspring of the Gods.
You are the awful Parent of my Marcius
Do you not love your Son?
Vol.
Yes, with a Love, as tender, and as true,
As softest Mothers love their darling Children:
For which of them can show a Son like Marcius
To justifie her Fondness? Such a Son
As my luxuriant, wanton Fancy form'd,
Such as my boldest, warmest Wishes pray'd for;
Exactly such a one the Gods have sent me.
Yet such a Child, and such an only Child,
So cherish'd, so belov'd, (for all true Love
Is always regulated by th' Advantage
Of the beloved Object, not its own;)
E're yet the Down his tender Cheek adorn'd,
While Youthful Beauty drew all Eyes upon him,
When, tho' a King should beg a live-long Day,
Some Mothers would not part with him an Hour;
I, knowing Indolent, Inglorious Men
To be but Pictures, the dead Furniture
Of Houses that are Noble, that 'tis Glory
That ends what we begin, and makes the Man;
Convinc'd of this, to a cruel War I sent him,
Where he thro' Manly Dangers hunted Fame,
And Brow-bound with the Oak came back to Rome.
I tell thee, Daughter, my Heart sprung not more
When first I heard there was a Man-child born,
Than when my Boy first prov'd himself a Man.
Virg.
But can you think of his untimely Death,
And not feel Horror at the dreadful Thought?
Vol.
No; at that Thought great Nature takes th' Alarm;
Yes, at that Thought, those very piercing Terrors,
Those shadd'wing Horrors, which torment your Breast;
Begin to swell and tyrannize in mine,
But strait with Roman Spirit I subdue them;
And still remain the Mistress of my Soul.
My Comfort is, that if my Marcius dies,
The noble Services he does for Rome,
Virg.
I have a doleful, and a boding Heart.
Vol.
I an auspicious, and a sprightly one,
And rather think that mine's inspir'd from Heaven.
Methinks I hither hear your Husband's Drums:
I see, I see him pluck Aufidius down;
While all the routed Volscians fly amain,
As Hunters from the roaring Lion fly,
And leave their General to my Marcius' Rage.
And thus methinks I see him Stamp, and thus
I hear him to our Romans cry aloud,
Come on, ye Cowards; ye were got in Fear,
Tho' ye were born in Rome: his Bloody Brow
With Iron Hand then wiping, on he goes,
Like to a Harvest Man, that's task'd to mow
Or all, or lose his Hire.
Virg.
His Bloody Brow! Oh Heavens!
Vol.
Away, you Fool; it more becomes a Man,
Than gilded Trophies, and triumphant Chariots.
The Breasts of Hecuba appear'd not lovelier,
When in her charming Bloom she suckled Hector;
Than Hector's Forehead, when it spouted Blood,
In the contention against stern Achilles.
Virg.
Heav'n guard my Lord from fell Aufidius' Rage.
Vol.
He'll beat Aufidius' Head below his Heel,
And tread upon his Neck. Alas, Virgilia!
What makes the Blood come mantling o'er thy Face,
And then departing leave a Death-like Pale?
Why is thy Eye thus fix'd? What mean these Starts,
And these convulsive Tremblings?
Virg.
'Tis he himself! it can be none but he.
That Godlike Form belongs to none but Marcius.
Protect me, and support me, all ye Powers.
Enter Cominius, Coriolanus, and Menenius.
Cor.
The Powers make me their Substitute for that;
'Tis I'll protect thee, and support thee now.
Come to my Heart, to which thou art more dear,
[Cominius entertains Volumnia.
Virg.
Excess of Bliss, which I can never bear,
The mighty Joy, so sudden, so impetuous,
Consumes my Spirits, and devours my Life.
What Power has given thee to my eager Arms?
What God has snatcht thee from the Jaws of Fate,
And hither sent thee on the Wings of Love,
To stop my Hand, and cheer my dying Eyes?
Cor.
The God of War, the God of Victory,
At the request of Love's propitious Goddess.
Virg.
Of Victory? This is too much, ye Gods!
O fierce Convulsions of transporting Joy!
But see, the noblest Mother of the World
Remains too long neglected.
Cor.
I knew not till this Moment she was here,
So much my Eyes and every busy Power
Of my rapt Soul were taken up with thee.
Vol.
[to Com.]
Now pour ten Thousand Blessings on him, Gods!
These are unparallel'd, unheard-of Wonders?
Com.
This is not half the Truth.
Men.
Conquest and Glory evermore like this.
Attend the Godlike Man!
Vol.
O Joy, that lifts Volumnia to the Skies,
And places her among the deathless Gods!
Cor.
Pardon, that I've so long delay'd my Knee;
For you, I know, have knelt to all the Gods
For my Prosperity.
[Kneels.
Vol.
O Marcius, Marcius, O my Son, my Son,
Thou wondrous Prop of a declining State,
Support of Rome, and Glory of thy Race!
Thy joyful Mother's Ornament and Honour,
My worthy Marcius, my Coriolanus!
O rise, thou Turner of Despair to Victory,
Rise, thou sole glorious Conqueror of Corioli.
Cor.
What, my Friend too? My good Menenius here?
Now the Gods crown thee!
'Tis Forty Years since last my Eyes were moist,
But all my Mother comes into them now:
Now welcome, welcome, yes, ten thousand Welcomes!
A Curse begin ev'n at his very Heart,
Who is not glad to see thee.
Enter Messenger.
Mess.
My Lord, your Colleague and th' assembled Senate
Desire your Presence.
Com.
I come;
And, Marcius, you without delay must follow.
Cor.
I will.
Exit Comin.
Volum.
Now all that ever my luxuriant Fancy
Invented, to indulge my fondest Wishes,
Is truly come to pass; there wants but one thing;
You must be Consul now, Coriolanus.
Cor.
Yes, if I can be so, without becoming
The Creature of the despicable Rabble.
Men.
Come to the Capitol; you are expected.
[Exeunt Coriol. and Men.
Vol.
Now where's the dreadful Vision of the Night?
Marcius has been surrounded by the Volscians;
But singly, solely has o'ercome them all.
He with his single Arm subdu'd Corioli;
Then swift as Lightning joyn'd our routed Army:
And rallied them to Conquest and to Glory.
He was the very Soul of their vast Body,
Was all in all, and all in ev'ry part;
Where-e'er he went, before him Fortune flew,
And certain Fate attended on his March,
And Victory upon his dreadful Plume
Sate perch'd, and clapt her joyful Eagle's Wings:
Three times our Marcius singled out Aufidius,
And thrice the Volscian sunk beneath his Thunder,
And bent his Knee, as 'twere in Adoration
Virg.
Ye Gods!
These are transporting, and amazing things!
Hark! how the People shout! Come, let's go gaze
Upon his unpremeditated Triumph.
[Ex.
SCENE II.
The Capitol.Enter Sicinius, and Brutus, two Tribunes of the People.
Brut.
'Tis true, the Death of Tarquin gave a loose
To this outragious Pride of the Patricians,
Which till that Hour had been restrain'd thro' Fear;
Lest the vex'd People should recall their Monarch,
And rather chuse one Tyrant than Three hundred.
Sicin.
And yet this Marcius, now Coriolanus,
In Pride and Insolence out-does them all.
Brut.
When we were chosen Tribunes, you remember
His Opposition, and his proud Deportment;
And when the People pin'd in the late Dearth,
'Twas he withstood the giving them Relief,
By dealing them Corn gratis.
Sicin.
His new Exploits will scarce abate his Pride,
Nor his new lofty Title.
Brut.
No, nor this mad Reception of the People.
How in tumultuous Crowds they throng to see him,
And view their deadliest Foe with Lovers Eyes!
Blear'd Sights are spectacled to see him pass,
And halting Crutches learn Activity;
And crying Babes into Convulsions fall,
While prattling Nurses chat of none but him:
The Kitchin Malkin pinns her richest Buckram
About her reachy Neck, and up she climbs,
And clings like Ivy to the Walls, to eye him.
Stalls, Windows, Bulks are smother'd up and choak'd,
The Leads of Houses fill'd, and Ridges hors'd
With variable Complexions, all agreeing
That shun the Eyes of Men, and leave Society,
To be quite swallow'd up in Contemplation,
Now labouring cleave the waving Crowd, and puff
To win a vulgar Station; our veil'd Dames
Commit the War of white and fine Carnation
In their nice lovely Cheeks, to be devour'd
By Phœbus' burning Kisses; such a Rage,
And such an universal Eagerness,
As if that whatsoever God who leads him
Were slyly crept into his human Powers,
And gave him graceful Posture.
Sic.
The Senate is resolv'd to chuse him Consul.
Brut.
And the mad People will confirm that Choice.
Sic.
Then our Authority is at an end.
Brut.
And with it Liberty.
Sic.
Our Comfort is,
That he wants Temper to support these Honours;
And all that Pride, with which he threats the State,
Will, like an Engine manag'd without Skill,
Recoil upon himself.
Brut.
That is indeed a comfort.
Sic.
And doubt not, but the giddy changing Vulgar,
Whose Rights are in our keeping, will forget,
With the least Cause, the Glare of these Atchievements;
Which Cause that he will give, I no more doubt,
Than his Presumption and his Insolence.
Brut.
I heard him swear,
Were he to stand for Consul, never would he
Appear i'th' Roman Forum, ne'er put on,
The candid Vesture of Humility:
Nor shewing (as the manner is) his Wounds
To the vile People, beg their stinking Breaths.
Sic.
'Tis right.
Brut.
It was his word.
Oh, he would miss it, rather than obtain it;
But by the Suit of the Nobility,
And of the Gentry to him.
And may his evil Genius prompt him still
To hold that Purpose, and to execute it.
Brut.
You may depend upon it, that he will.
Sic.
It shall be like our Wishes then, Destruction to him.
Brut.
He or our Office must find sure Destruction:
Therefore we must insinuate to the People,
With what malignant Hatred he has vex'd them;
That to his Power he would have made them Mules;
Silenc'd their Pleaders, overturn'd their Freedoms:
Contemning them as Animals, as Beasts,
Incapable of Human Thought or Action;
And to be us'd like Camels in the War,
Who have their Provender for bearing Burdens,
And Blows for sinking under them.
Shout. Enter Citizen.
What's the matter?
Cit.
The conquering Coriolanus comes this way:
I have seen the Deaf Men throng to see him walk,
The Blind to hear him speak; Matrons flung Gloves,
Virgins their Handkerchiefs and Silken Scarfs
Upon him as he pass'd, the Nobles bended
As to Jove's Statue, and the Commons made
A show'r and thunder with their Caps and Shouts,
Such as I never heard before.
Brut.
The Senate is broke up; see, Caius Marcius,
And with him comes Cominius, and Menenius.
Let us begone.
[Exeunt.
Enter Coriolanus, Cominius, and Menenius.
Com.
The Senate have with wonder heard thy Deeds,
And have with one consent, for thy great Services,
Resolv'd to make thee Consul.
Anon you must bespeak the Peoples Voice.
Cor.
I do beseech you,
Let me o'erleap that Custom, for I cannot
Put on the Gown, stand naked, and entreat them,
For my Wounds sake, to give their Suffrages:
From this be pleas'd that I may be excepted.
Know, Sir, the Peoples Voices are their Rights,
Nor will they bate one jot of Ceremony.
Men.
He shall not put them to it.
Go, pray Sir, and adapt you to the Custom,
And take, as all your Predecessors have done,
The Honour with the Form.
Cor.
It is a Part which I shall blush in acting;
And what might well be taken from the People.
To brag unto them, Thus I did, and thus;
Shew them th' unaking Scars which I shou'd hide,
As if I had receiv'd them for the Hire
Of their Breath only.
Men.
Come, come, no more; you must resolve to do it:
So to our Noble Consul we wish Joy,
And all access of Honour.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.
The Roman Forum.Enter several of Coriolanus his Party.
1 Cit.
Come, come, Is there no false Brother among
us? Are you all resolv'd to vote for Coriolanus?
All.
All, all.
2 Cit.
If he does require our Voices, we ought not
to deny him.
3 Cit.
We may, Sir, if we will.
4 Cit.
We have a Power in our selves to do it; but
'tis a Power that we have no Power to do. For if
he shew us his Wounds, and tell us his Deeds, we are
to put our Tongues into these Wounds, and speak for
them. So if he tell us his noble Deeds, we are likewise
to tell him our noble acceptance of them. Ingratitude
is monstrous, and for the Multitude to be
ungrateful, were to make a Monster of the Multitude;
selves to be monstrous Members.
1 Cit.
And to make us no better thought of, a little
help will serve: For when we stood up about the
Corn, he himself stuck not to call us the many-headed
Multitude.
3 Cit.
We have been call'd so by many, not that
our Heads are some Brown, some Black, some Auborn,
and some Bald, but that our Wits are so diversely
colour'd. And truly I think, that if all our Wits
were to go out of one Skull, they would fly East,
West, North, and South, and to every part of the Compass.
2 Cit.
Think you so? Which Way do you judge
my Wit would fly?
3 Cit.
Thy Wit will not so soon out as another's,
'tis strongly wedg'd up in a Blockhead. Yet if it
were once out, it would neither fly, nor run, nor
walk, no nor creep: It would directly tend to its
center of Gravity, and sink plumb down, with as much
alacrity as a Millstone.
Enter several of Sempronius his Party.
All Sem.
A Sempronius! A Sempronius!
All Cor.
A Coriolanus! A Coriolanus!
All Sem.
No Purse-proud Patrician! no Contemner
of the People.
All Cor.
No Cuckold-making Patrician! no Denier
of his own Hand.
1 Sem.
Why, who denied his own Hand?
2 Cor.
Why Sempronius, Sempronius.
2 Sem.
Why here's an impudent Slander, my Masters,
when all the World knows that he can neither
write nor read; by the same token that he and I had
the same Education.
2 Cor.
A rare Fellow for a Consul truly!
[All Coriolanus's Party laugh.
2 Sem.
Ay marry is he, and to be valued for his
natural parts. His Father saw, that he had such prodigious
parts, that it would be in vain to teach him
for any Man's Wit but his own; and so, my Masters,
a Sempronius, a Sempronius!
1 Cor.
No Box and Dice Man! No Hap-Hazarder!
[All C. laugh and flout.
Look you, Sirs, we will not chuse a Man for Consul,
who will be sure to make Chance his Deputy-Governor.
He who has ruin'd his own Estate by Hazard, is hardly
like to secure ours by Conduct.
[All C. laugh.
And so I say no Sempronius.
2 Semp.
No Subverter of the Peoples Liberties, no
Coriolanus.
1 Cor.
Yes, Coriolanus is like to subvert our Liberties,
because he is the only Man who has kept out young
Tarquin; and Sempronius is like to secure these Liberties,
because he has been all along in a Plot for the
bringing him in. And in what manner for the bringing
him in? Why wielding in his unconditional Arm
a Spunge instead of a Scepter, with which, when the
Boy is dispos'd to be frolicksome, he may run about in
Moon-light and rub out Milk-scores.
All Cor.
Ha, ha, ha! Liberty and Property! Liberty
and Property! no Sempronius, no Spunger.
1 Semp.
Hark you me, Sanga! Here you bawl out
Liberty and Property! You owe me fifty Sesterces.
1 Cor.
Well, Sir! Well, Sir!
1 Semp.
And if you don't either vote for Sempronius,
or pay me immediately, I will forthwith take
both your Chattels and your Carcase into Salva Custodia;
and there's Liberty and Property for you, you
Dog.
All Semp.
Ha, ha, ha.
All Cor.
What, does he threaten? Knock him down!
knock him down!
1 Semp.
Nay then,—The Temples of our Gods, the
Temples of our Gods are in danger!
All Semp.
The Temples of our Gods, the Temples of
our Gods are in danger!
Very fine! This Sempronius is a blessed Person
indeed! he Games, he Cheats, he Swears, he Drinks,
he Drabs; and yet whenever this Scoundrel is out of
Place, all things are upon the brink of Ruin forsooth,
our Temples are about to be turn'd Topsy-turvy, and
the Gods to stand upon their Heads; as if nothing but
profligate Vice could be the firm Support of Religion,
or that the Gods were too weak to defend themselves
without such Bully Backs to their Seconds.
1 Semp.
Religion is like to come into mighty Repute
indeed, when Fellows are about to come into play,
who are so proud and so sawcy that they scorn to pull
off their Hats to the Gods.
1 Cor.
You lie, you Rogue, you lie, there are no
such coming into play. Our Gods are like to be finely
help'd up, by Sempronius's bringing young Tarquin in.
Sempronius and he have been travelling, with a murrain
to them; they have been in Ægypt together, and now
we must exchange our own for Ægyptian Gods;
Apollo must give Place to a Leek, Mercury to an Onion,
and Jove himself to a Clove of Garlick. Blessed Gods
are these Ægyptian Divinities! which they who worship
devour; and which have so strong an Influence
on their Votaries, that while a Man has his Gods in
his Guts, he is unfit to breath in human Society.
All Cor.
No Sempronius! No God-Eater!
1 Cor.
Look you, my Masters, don't let these People
tell Sempronius, that we did not shew our Breeding
to them; give them a general Huzza at parting, and
each of them in particular a lusty thwack o'er the
Shoulders.
All Cor.
Huzza!
1 Cor.
But here comes Coriolanus, and in the Gown
of Humility: Let us observe his Behaviour a little.
Enter Coriolanus and Menenius.
Men.
Come, come for shame; it will be thought meer Arrogance,
T' expect the very Customs of your Country
To do what all our noblest Romans have done.
Cor.
What must I say, Sir
A plague upon it, I can never bring
My Tongue to such a pace. Look, Sir, my Wounds,
I got them in my Country's Service, when
Some certain of your Brethren roar'd, and ran
From the noise of our own Drums.
Men.
O all the Gods! You must not speak of that:
You must desire they would think upon you.
Cor.
Think upon me! Hang them!
Rather forget me, as they have done Virtue,
And every thing that's worthy.
Men.
Come, come; pray speak to them in handsome
manner, and marr not your own Fortune. I must
leave you.
[Exit.
1 Cit.
Now let us passing one by one salute him,
And be saluted by him, and desired
To give our Voices.
And now a Wager on the handsom'st Bow.
Cor.
O Jove, what part am I about to play!
Here comes the beastly Crew, all Beasts alike,
Yet each a different Brute; now for their Bows,
Which will be different in them as their Looks,
Their Leers, their Sneers, their Goggles and Grimaces.
Shocking Respect! Civility offensive!
Ridiculous variety of Awkwardness!
[The Citizens pass by Coriolanus, each making a singular awkward Bow, and a different ridiculous Grimace.
Cor.
You know the cause of my standing here?
Your Voice?
2 Cit.
'Tis yours noble Sir.
Cor.
And yours?
3 Cit.
Ay, ay, Sir.
Cor.
And yours?
4 Cit.
Were it as big as Stentor's, it were yours, Sir.
Cor.
And yours?
My Voice, my Lungs, and my Midriff, all are
at your Service, noble Sir.
Cor.
And yours?
6 Cit.
Ay, by all means, Sir.
Cor.
And yours?
7 Cit.
Give you Joy, Sir.
Cor.
And yours?
8 Cit.
You shall ha't, worthy Sir
Cor.
Worthy Voices.
And yours?
9 Cit.
Mine, Sir, I must be paid for.
Cor.
Your Price?
9 Cit.
To ask it kindly.
Cor.
Kindly, Sir, pray let me have it.
9 Cit.
You have Wounds to shew.
Cor.
Which shall be yours in private.
Your Voice, Sir? What say you?
9 Cit.
Oh! Dear Sir, you have it freely.
Cor.
Rare Voices! Sweet Voices! Delicate Voices!
I have your Alms. Adieu!
2 Cit.
But this is something odd.
3 Cit.
Foolish enough, Neighbour!
4 Cit.
Very whimsical, by Jupiter!
5 Cit.
Were it do again—! But 'tis no Matter.
Come let's withdraw a little, and make room for more.
Cor.
Here comes a single Voice, and by his Mien
A Tooth-Drawer, or Corn-Cutter at the best.
Death! Must I beg of him too?
1 Cit.
I have not stood by, and observed for nothing.
He has flouted all my Companions, and I suppose I am
to expect the like usage in my turn; which to prevent
by Hercules, I'll try to mortify this haughty, doughty
Heroe.
Cor.
You know what I come for, Sir.
1 Cit.
O Gemini! Not I, by Hercules, Sir!
I know nothing of the Matter, Sir.
Cor.
How! Not know my Business?
1 Cit.
Have you Business with me, Sir? Pray what
may your Name be?
My Name, Sirrah?
1 Cit.
Nay, don't be angry, don't be angry, Sir.
Some People are not willing to tell their Names. There
may be Reasons, Reasons for that. But pray, Sir, what
Country-man are you? When I know your Country,
perhaps I may know what you come for. Are you
an Etrurian, a Campanian, or a Volscian?
Cor.
A Volscian, you Raskal?
1 Cit.
Ay, Sir, so I say, Sir, a Volscian; if you are a
Volscian, look you, you come for Cure. You have
received some Contusions, from some Roman Bastinado's,
and so having heard of my Fame, do you see, for a
most skilful Operator. There's no more to be said,
I'll do your Business, Friend, I will, by Hercules.
Cor.
By Jove, you Raskal, I'll do yours.
1 Cit.
Help! Help! Murder! Murder!
What a Logerhead was I,
[Cit runs, Cor. follows beating him.
For setting my notable Head-piece
Against the Great Toe of this Brawner!
[Exit 1 Cit. Enter two others.
Cor.
Here come more Voices. Sirs, your Voices, Voices.
10 Cit.
You have deserved nobly of your Country.
11 Cit.
You have received many Wounds for it.
Cor.
I will not seal your Knowledge with the sight
of them. I will make much of your Voices, and so
trouble you no farther.
Both.
The Gods give you Joy, Sir, heartily.
Cor.
Most sweet Voices. Here are more of them.
Your Voices? For your Voices I have fought, watched
for your Voices, for your Voices, bear of Wounds two
Dozen and odd; Battles thrice six I have seen or heard
of. For your Voices have done many things, some more,
some less. Your Voices! Indeed I would be Consul.
9 Cit.
And he shall be Consul. He has done nobly,
and cannot go without any honest Man's Voice.
10 Cit.
Therefore let him be Consul. The Gods
give him Joy, and make him good Friend to the People.
Amen, Amen! God save thee, noble Consul.
Cor.
Worthy Voices! Sweet Voices! Delicate
Voices!
Enter Menenius, with Brutus and Sicinius.
Men.
You have stood th' appointed time, and now the Tribunes
Endue you with the People's Voice, it follows
That you, invested in th' official Marks,
Anon do meet the Senate.
Cor.
Is this done?
Sici.
The Custom of Request you have discharg'd,
The People do admit you, and are summon'd
To meet anon, t' approve the Choice they have made.
Cor.
Where? At the Senate-house?
Sici.
There, Coriolanus.
Cor.
May I change these Garments?
Sici.
You may, Sir.
Cor.
I'll do't without delay; and when once more
I know my self, I'll meet th'assembled Senate.
Men.
I'll keep you Company. Will you along?
Brut.
We here expect the People.
[Exe. Cor. Men.
Sic.
Fare you well.
He has it now; and by his Looks, methinks,
'Tis warm at's Heart.
Brut.
With a proud Heart he wore his humble Weeds.
Will you dismiss the People?
Enter the Plebeians.
Sic.
How now, my Masters! have you chose this Man?
2 Cit.
He has our Voices, Sir.
Brut.
We pray the Gods he may deserve your Loves.
2 Cit.
Amen, Sir: In my poor unworthy Judgment
He mock'd us, when be begg'd our Voices.
3 Cit.
Yes, certainly, he flouted us downright.
4 Cit.
No, 'tis his way of Speech; he did not mock us.
2 Cit.
Not one among us, save your self, but says
He us'd us scornfully: He should have shewn us
His Marks of Merit, and his Wounds receiv'd
In fighting for his Country.
Why, did he not?
All.
No, no, no Man saw them.
3 Cit.
He said he had Wounds
Which he wou'd shew in private.
And with his Hand, thus waving it in scorn,
I would be Consul, says he; aged Custom
But by your Voices will not so permit me;
Your Voices therefore: When we granted that,
He said, I thank you for your Voices, thank you
For your most sweet Voices, your most delicate Voices,
Your most worthy Voices; now you have left your Voices,
You may take ev'ry thing else that belongs to you
Out of my sight. Was not this mockery?
Brut.
Did you perceive,
He did solicite you in frank Contempt,
When he did want your Loves; and do you think
That his Contempt will not be grinding to you
When he hath Power to crush? Why had your Bodies
No Souls among you? Or had you Tongues to cry
Against the Rule and Dictate of your Reason?
Sic.
Have you so oft e'er now deny'd the Asker,
And now on him who did not ask, but mock'd,
Bestow'd your slighted Voices?
3 Cit.
He's not confirm'd; we may deny him yet.
2 Cit.
And will deny him;
I'll have five hundred Voices of that sound.
1 Cit.
I twice five hundred, and their Friends to help them.
Brut.
Get you hence instantly, and tell those Friends
They have chosen a Consul, that will from them take
Their Liberties, and make their Voices vile
As those of Dogs, that are as often beat
For Barking, as they are for that purpose kept.
Sic.
Assemble all, and on a safer Judgment
Revoke your ignorant choice; enforce his Pride,
And his inveterate Hatred, and forget not
With what contempt he wore the humble Weed.
Dazzled and blinded by his glaring Service,
Did not discern his Insolent Deportment,
Which he most gibingly, ungravely fashion'd,
According to th' invenom'd Hate he bears you.
Brut.
But lay the fault of that on us your Tribunes;
Say, that we labour'd to remove all Scandals
That lay betwixt the Consulship and him.
Sic.
Yes, say you chose him more by our Command,
Than by the Dictates of your own Affections:
And presently, when you have got your numbers
Together, to the Capitol repair.
All.
We will so; almost all repent their choice.
Away, away, away.
[Exeunt Plebeians.
Brut.
Ay, now the Winds are up, and the Waves roar,
And we the Rabble wisely have enrag'd,
To be reveng'd of this Coriolanus;
Whom we must ruine, or our selves be lost.
This proud Patrician threats our new-born Pow'r,
Which either yet we must retain, or die.
So much we have enrag'd the haughty Senate,
By heading that Sedition of the People,
Which forc'd the Fathers to create us Tribunes;
And Tribunes we must be, or must be nothing.
Sic.
Then let us to the Capitol;
There let us to the best advantage guide
This Madness of the roaring Multitude,
And calm our selves; let's rule the Storm we have rais'd,
Calm as the Ruler of the raging Main,
Incensing his mad Billows to devour
Some bold Blasphemer who defies his Pow'r.
| The Invader of His Country : Or, The Fatal Resentment | |