Part 70

CORIOLANUS.

For them? I cannot do it to the gods; Must I then do't to them?

VOLUMNIA.

You are too absolute, Though therein you can never be too noble, But when extremities speak.

I pr'ythee now, my son, Go to them with this bonnet in thy hand; And thus far having stretch'd it, (here be with them) Thy knee bussing the stones, (for in such business Action is eloquent, and the eyes of the ignorant More learned than the ears,) waving thy head, Which often, thus, correcting thy stout heart Now humble, as the ripest mulberry, That will not hold the handling. Or, say to them, Thou art their soldier, and being bred in broils Hast not the soft way which, thou dost confess, Were fit for thee to use, as they to claim, In asking their good loves; but thou wilt frame Thyself, forsooth, hereafter theirs, so far As thou hast power and person.

MENENIUS.

This but done, Even as she speaks, why all their hearts were yours For they have pardons, being asked, as free As words to little purpose.

VOLUMNIA.

Pr'ythee now, Go, and be rul'd: although I know thou hadst rather Follow thine enemy in a fiery gulf Than flatter him in a bower.

MENENIUS.

Only fair speech.

COMINIUS.

I think 'twill serve, if he Can thereto frame his spirit.

VOLUMNIA.

He must, and will: Pr'ythee, now say you will, and go about it.

CORIOLANUS.

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 Marcius, they to dust should grind it, And throw it against the wind. To the market-place You have put me now to such a part, which never I shall discharge to the life.

VOLUMNIA.

I pr'ythee now, sweet son, as thou hast said, My praises made thee first a soldier, so To have my praise for this, perform a part Thou hast not done before.

CORIOLANUS.

Well, I must do't: Away, my disposition, and possess me Some harlot's spirit!

* * * *

I will not do't: Lest I surcease to honor mine own truth, And by my body's action, teach my mind A most inherent baseness.

VOLUMNIA.

At thy choice, then: To beg of thee, it is my more dishonor, 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 owe thy pride thyself.

CORIOLANUS.

Pray be content; Mother, I am going to the market place-- Chide me no more.

When the spirit of the mother and the son are brought into immediate collision, he yields before her; the warrior who stemmed alone the whole city of Corioli, who was ready to face "the steep Tarpeian death, or at wild horses' heels,--vagabond exile--flaying," rather than abate one jot of his proud will--shrinks at her rebuke. The haughty, fiery, overbearing temperament of Coriolanus, is drawn in such forcible and striking colors, that nothing can more impress us with the real grandeur and power of Volumnia's character, than his boundless submission to her will--his more than filial tenderness and respect.