DOING OUR DUTY MERITS NOT PRAISE.

Pray, now, no more: my mother,

Who has a charter* to extol her blood,

When she does praise me, grieves me. I have done,
As you have done; that's what I can; induc'd
As you have been; that's for my country:
He, that has but effected his good will,

Hath overta'en mine act.

AUFIDIUS'S HATRED TO CORIOLANUS.

Nor sleep, nor sanctuary,

Being naked, sick: nor fane, nor Capitol,
The prayers of priests, nor times of sacrifice,
Embarquements all of fury, shall lift

up
Their rotten privilege and custom 'gainst
My hate to Marcius: where I find him, were it
At home, upon my brother's guard†, even there
Against the hospitable canon, would I
Wash my fierce hand in his heart.

ACT II.

POPULARITY.

All tongues speak of him, and the bleared sights Are spectacled to see him: Your prattling nurse Into a rapture lets her baby cry,

While she chats him: the kitchen malkin§ pins
Her richest lockram|| 'bout her reechy¶ neck,
Clambering the walls to eye him: stalls, bulks, win-
dows,

Are smother'd up, leads fill'd, and ridges hors'd
With variable complexions; all agreeing

* Privilege. + My brother posted to protect him.
§ Maid.
|| Best linen.

Fit.

Soiled with sweat and smoke.

In earnestness to see him: seld*-shown flamenst
Do press among the popular throngs, and puff
To win a vulgar station: our veil'd dames
Commit the war of white and damask, in
Their nicely-gawded§ cheeks, to the wanton spoil
Of Phoebus' burning kisses: such a pother,
As if that whatsoever god, who leads him,
Were slily crept into his human powers,
And gave him graceful posture.

COMINIUS'S PRAISE OF CORIOLANUS IN THE SEnate.

I shall lack voice: the deeds of Coriolanus
Should not be utter'd feebly.—It is held,
That valour is the chiefest virtue, and
Most dignifies the haver||: if it be,
The man I speak of cannot in the world
Be singly counterpois'd. At sixteen years,
When Tarquin made a head for Rome, he fought
Beyond the mark of others: our then dictator,
Whom with all praise I point at, saw him fight,
When with his Amazonian chin¶ he drove
The bristled** lips before him: he bestrid
An o'er-press'd Roman, and i'the consul's view
Slew three opposers: Tarquin's self he met,
And struck him on his knee: in that day's feats,
When he might act the woman in the scenett,
He prov'd best man i'the field, and for his meed‡‡
Was brow-bound with the oak. His pupil age
Man entered thus, he waxed like a sea;

And, in the brunt of seventeen battles since,
He lurch'd§§ all swords o' the garland. For this last,

Priests.
Possessor.

Common standing-place.
Without a beard.

++Smooth-faced enough to act a woman's part.
§§ Won.

Before and in Corioli, let me say,

I cannot speak him home: He stopp'd the fliers;
And, by his rare example, made the coward
Turn terror into sport: as waves before
A vessel under sail, so men obey'd,

And fell below his stem: his sword (death's stamp)
Where it did mark, it took; from face to foot
He was a thing of blood, whose every motion*
Was timed with dying cries: alone he enter❜d
The mortal gate o'the city, which he painted
With shunless destiny, aidless came off,
And with a sudden reinforcement struck
Corioli, like a planet: now all's his:
When by and by the din of war 'gan pierce
His ready sense: then straight his doubled spirit
Requicken'd what in flesh was fatigate‡,
And to the battle came he; where he did
Run reeking o'er the lives of men, as if
'Twere a perpetual spoil: and till we call'd
Both field and city ours, he never stood
To ease his breast with panting.

ACT III.

THE MISCHIEF OF ANARCHY.

My soul aches,

To know, when two authorities are up,
Neither supreme, how soon confusion
May enter 'twixt the gap of both, and take
The one by the other.

CHARACTER OF CORIOLANUS.

His nature is too noble for the world:

* Stroke.

+ Followed.

+Wearied.

He would not flatter Neptune for his trident,

Or Jove for his power to thunder. His heart's his mouth:

What his breast forges, that his tongue must vent;
And, being angry, does forget that ever
He heard the name of death.

HONOUR AND POLICY.

I have heard you say,

Honour and policy, like unsever'd friends,
I' the war do grow together: Grant that, and tell me,
In peace, what each of them by th❜other lose,
That they combine not there.

THE METHOD TO GAIN POPULAR FAVOUR.

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 eloquence, 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.

CORIOLANUS'S ABHORRENCE OF FLATTERY.
Well, I must do't:

Away my disposition, and possess me

Some harlot's spirit! My throat of war be turn'd, Which quired with my drum, into a pipe

Small as an eunuch, or the virgin voice
That babies lulls asleep! The smiles of knaves
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 I 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 CORIOLANUS.

At thy choice then:

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 owe thy pride thyself.

CORIOLANUS'S DETESTATION OF THE VULGAR.
You common cry of curs! 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
+ Own.

* Dwell.

+ Pack.

§ Vapour.