Page 2921 - Shakespeare - Vol. 3

She kneels.

CORIOLANUS
What’s this?
Your knees to me? To your corrected son?

He raises her.

Then let the pebbles on the hungry beach

Fillip the stars. Then let the mutinous winds
Strike the proud cedars ’gainst the fiery sun, [60]
Murdering impossibility, to make
What cannot be slight work.

VOLUMNIA
Thou art my warrior;

I holp to frame thee. Do you know this lady?

CORIOLANUS

The noble sister of Publicola,
The moon of Rome, chaste as the icicle [65]
That’s curdied by the frost from purest snow

And hangs on Dian’s temple − dear Valeria!

VOLUMNIA

(indicating young Martius) This is a poor epitome of yours,
Which by th’interpretation of full time
May show like all yourself.

CORIOLANUS
The god of soldiers, [70]
With the consent of supreme Jove, inform

Thy thoughts with nobleness, that thou mayst prove
To shame unvulnerable, and stick i’th’wars
Like a great sea-mark, standing every flaw

And saving those that eye thee!