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Auf. 1 need not tell thee, that I have perform'd
My utmost promise. Thou hast been protected;
Hast had thy amplest, most ambitious wish;
Thy wounded pride is heal'd, thy dear revenge
Completely sated; and, to crown thy fortune,
At the same time, thy peace with Rome restor❜d.
Thou art no more a Volscian, but a Roman.
Return, return; thy duty calls upon thee
Still to protect the city thou hast sav'd;
It still may be in danger from our arms.
Retire I will take care thou mayst with safety.
Cor. With safety? Heavens! and think'st thou,
Coriolanus

Will stoop to thee for safety? No! my safeguard
Is in myself, a bosom void of blame-

Gods!

O, 'tis an act of cowardice and baseness,
To seize the very time my hands are fetter'd
By the strong chain of former obligation,
The safe, sure, moment to insult me.
Were I now free, as on that day I was
When at Corioli I tam'd thy pride,
This had not been.

Auf. Thou speak'st the truth; it had not.
O, for that time again! propitious gods,

If you will bless me, grant it! Know, for that,
For that dear purpose, I have now propos'd

Thou should'st return. I pray thee, Marcius, do it:
And we shall meet again on nobler terms.

Cor. Till I have clear'd my honour in your council, And prov'd before them all, to thy confusion, The falsehood of thy charge; as soon in battle I would before thee fly, and howl for mercy, As quit the station they have here assigned me.

[Crosses to R

Auf. Thou can'st not hope acquittal from the Volsci

ans.

Cor. I do nay more, expect their approbation,

Their thanks. I will obtain them such a peace
As thou dost never ask; a perfect union

Of their whole nation with imperial Rome,

In all her privileges, all her rights;

By the just gods, I will. What would'st thou more? Auf. What would I more, proud Roman? This I would

Fire the curst forest where these Roman wolves

Haunt and infest their nobler neighbours round them;

Extirpate from the bosom of this land
A false perfidious people, who, beneath
The mask of freedom, are a combination
Against the liberty of human kind-

The genuine seed of outlaws and of robbers.

Cor. The seed of gods. "Tis not for thee, vain

boaster

"Tis not for such as thou, so often spar'd

By her victorious sword, to speak of Rome,
But with respect, and awful veneration.-
Whate'er her blots, whate'er her giddy factions,
There is more virtue in one single year

Of Roman story, than your Volscian annals
Can boast through all their creeping dark duration.
Auf. I thank thy rage: this full displays the traitor.
Cor. Traitor! how now ?—

Auf. Ay, traitor, Marcius.

Cor. Marcius!

Auf. Ay, Marcius, Caius Marcius; dost thou think I'll grace thee with that robbery, thy stol'n name Coriolanus, in Corioli ?

You lords and heads o'the state, perfidiously
He has betray'd your business, and given up,
For certain drops of salt, your city Rome
(I say, your city,) to his wife and mother:
Breaking his oath and resolution, like
A twist of rotten silk; never admitting
Counsel o'the war; but at his nurse's tears
He whin'd and roar'd away your victory?
That pages blush'd at him, and men of heart
Look'd wond'ring each at other.

Cor. Hear'st thou, Mars?

Auf. Name not the god, thou boy of tears.-
Cor. Measureless liar, thou hast made my heart

Too great for what contains it. Boy!-
Cut me to pieces, Volscians; men and lads,
Stain all your edges on me. Boy!

If you have writ your annals true, 'tis there,
That, like an eagle in a dove-cote, I
Flutter'd your Volscians in Corioli;

Alone I did it. Boy! But let us part;
Lest my rash hand should do a hasty deed
My cooler thought forbids.

Auf. I court

The worst thy sword can do ; while thou from me,
Hast nothing to expect, but sore destruction;

Quit then his hostile camp. Once more I tell thee,
Thou art not here one single hour in safety.

Cor. O, that I had thee in the field,
With six Aufidiuses, or more, thy tribe,

To use my lawful sword

Volu. Insolent villain! [VOLUSIUS and other Volscian Officers draw, and kill CORIOLANUS. Auf. My lords, when you shall know

The great danger

Which this man's life did owe you, you'll rejoice
That he is thus cut off. Please it your honours
To call me to your senate, I'll deliver
Myself your loyal servant, or endure
Your heaviest censure.

My rage is gone,

And I am struck with sorrow.

Bear from hence his body.

Let him be regarded

As the most noble corse, that ever herald

Did follow to his urn.

Beat, beat the drum, that it speak mournfully:

[Muffled drum. Trail your steel pikes. [The army lower their spears and Ensigns.] Though in your city he

Hath widow'd and unchilded many a one,

Which to this hour bewail the injury,
Yet he shall have a noble memory.

[A dead March.

THE END

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