Page 2925 - Shakespeare - Vol. 3

Showed thy dear mother any courtesy,
When she, poor hen, fond of no second brood,
Has clucked thee to the wars, and safely home
Loaden with honour. Say my request’s unjust,

And spurn me back. But if it be not so, [165]
Thou art not honest, and the gods will plague thee
That thou restrain’st from me the duty which
To a mother’s part belongs. He turns away.

Down ladies! Let us shame him with our knees.
To his surname Coriolanus ’longs more pride [170]
Than pity to our prayers. Down! An end;

The four kneel.

This is the last. So, we will home to Rome,

And die among our neighbours. Nay, behold’s!
This boy, that cannot tell what he would have
But kneels and holds up hands for fellowship, [175]
Does reason our petition with more strength

Than thou hast to deny’t. Come, let us go.

They rise.

This fellow had a Volscian to his mother;
His wife is in Corioles, and his child
Like him by chance. Yet give us our dispatch. [180]

I am hushed until our city be afire,
And then I’ll speak a little.

CORIOLANUS

Holds her by the hand, silent.

O, mother, mother!
What have you done? Behold, the heavens do ope,
The gods look down, and this unnatural scene [185]
They laugh at. O my mother, mother! O!
You have won a happy victory to Rome.