Cor. Like a dull actor now,

I have forgot my part, and I am out,
Even to a full disgrace. Beft of my flesh,
Forgive my tyranny; but do not fay,
For that, forgive our Romans.-O a kifs
Long as my exile, fweet as my revenge!
Now, by the jealous Queen of heav'n, that kifs
I carried from thee, dear; and my true lip
Hath virgin'd it e'er fince.-You gods! I prate; (39)

And the most noble mother of the world
Leave unfaluted.]

And

An old corruption must have poffeffed this paffage, for two reasons. In the first place, whoever confults this fpeech, will find, that he is talking fondly to his wife, and not praying to the gods at all. Secondly, if he were employed in his devotions, no apology would be wanting for leaving his mother unfaluted. The poet's intention was certainly this. Coriolanus, having been lavish in his tenderneffes and raptures to his wife, bethinks himself on the fudden, that his fondnefs to her had made him guilty of ill manners in the neglect of his mother; and, therefore correcting himself upon reflection, cries;

-You gods! I prate;

Prate, 'tis true, is a term now ill-founding to us, because it is taken only, as the grammarians call it, in malam partem. Our language was not fo refin'd, though more mafculine, in Shakespeare's days; and therefore (notwithstanding the prefent fuppofed nanopavia,) when he is moft ferious, he frequently makes ufe of the word. A little after, in this very fcene, Volumnia fays;

-yet here he lets me prate, Like one i' th' ftocks.

K. John.

If I talk to him, with his innocent prate
He will awake my mercy.

Hamlet.

And if thou prate of mountains, let them throw
Millions of acres on us.

Nor is it infrequent with him to employ the diminutive of this term,

--But I prattle

Something too wildly, and my father's precepts

I do forget.

Tempest.

Meaf. for Meaf.

Othello.

And the most noble mother of the world

Leave unfaluted: fink, my knee, i' th' earth; [kneels,
Of thy deep duty more impreffion fhew
Than that of common fons.

Vol. O stand up bleft!

Whilft with no fofter cufhion than the flint

I kneel before thee, and unproperly
Shew duty as mistaken all the while,
Between the child and parent.

Cor. What is this?

Your knees to me? to your corrected fon?
Then let the pebbles on the hungry beach
Fillop the ftars: then, let the mutinous winds
Strike the proud cedars 'gainft the fiery fun:
Murd'ring impoffibility, to make

What cannot be, flight work.

Vol. Thou art my warrior,

I holp to frame thee. Do you know this Lady?
Cor. The noble fifter of Poplicola,

The moon of Rome; chafte as the ificle,
That's curdled by the froft from pureft fnow,
And hangs on Dian's temple: dear Valeria!-
Vol. This is a poor epitome of

yours,

[kneels.

[bewing young Marcius

Which by the interpretation of full time

May fhew like all yourself.

Cor. The god of foldiers,

With the confent of fupreme Jove, inform

Thy thoughts with nobleness, that thou may't prove
To fhame unvulnerable, and stick i' th' wars

Like a great fea-mark, ftanding every flaw,

And faving thofe that eye thee!

Vol. Your knee, firrah.

Cor. That's my brave boy.

Vol. Even he, your wife, this Lady, and myself,

Are fuitors to you.

Cor. I beseech you, peace:

I amended the paffage in question, in the appendix to my SHAKESPEARE reftor'd; and Mr. Pope has thought fit to correct it from thence, in his last edition.

Or,

Or, if you'd afk, remember this before;
The thing, I have forfworn to grant, may never
Be held by your denial. Do not bid me
Difmifs my foldiers, or capitulate

Again with Rome's mechanicks. Tell me not,
Wherein I feem unnatural: defire not
T'allay my rages and revenges, with
Your colder reafons.

Vol. Oh, no more; no more:

You've faid, you will not grant us any thing:
For we have nothing else to afk, but that
Which you deny already: yet we will afk,
That if we fail in our request, the blame
May hang upon your hardness; therefore hear us.
Cor. Aufidius, and you Volfcians, mark; for we'll
Hear nought from Rome in private.-Your request?
Vol. Should we be filent and not fpeak, our raiment
And ftate of bodies would bewray what life
We've lead fince thy exile. Think with thyfelf,
How more unfort'nate than all living women

Are we come hither; fince thy fight, which fhould Make our eyes flow with joy, hearts dance with comforts,

Conftrains them weep, and thake with fear and forrow;
Making the mother, wife, and child to fee
The fon, the hufband, and the father tearing
His country's bowels out and to poor we,
Thine enmity's moft capital; thou barr'ft us
Our prayers to the gods, which is a comfort
That all but we enjoy. For how can we,
Alas! how can we, for our country pray,
Whereto we're bound? together with thy victory,
Whereto we're bound? Alack! or we must lofe
The country, our dear nurse; or else thy perfon,
Our comfort in the country. We must find
An eminent calamity, though we had
Our wish, which fide fhou'd win.
Muft, as a foreign recreant, be led
With manacles along our streets; or elfe

For either thon

Triumphantly tread on thy country's ruin,
And bear the palm, for having bravely shed
Thy wife and children's blood. For myself, fon,
I purpose not to wait on fortune, 'till

Thefe wars determine if I can't perfuade thee
Rather to fhew a noble grace to both parts,
Than feek the end of one; thou shalt no fooner
March to affault thy country, than to tread,
(Truft to't, thou shalt not) on thy mother's womb,
That brought thee to this world.

Virg. Ay, and mine too,

That brought you forth this boy, to keep your name
Living to time.

Boy. He fhall not tread on me;

I'll run away till I'm bigger, but then I'll fight.
Cor. Not of a woman's tenderness to be,
Requires, nor child, nor woman's face, to fee:
I've fat too long.-

Vol. Nay, go not from us thus:

If it were fo, that our request did tend
To fave the Romans, thereby to destroy,

The Volfcians whom you ferve, you might condemn us,
As poisonous of your honour. No; our fuit

Is, that you reconcile them: while the Volfcians
May fay, This mercy we have fhew'd; the Romans,
This we receiv'd; and each in either fide

Give the all-hail to thee, and cry, Be bleft

For making up this peace! Thou know'ft, great fon,
The end of war's uncertain; but this certain,
That if thou conquer Rome, the benefit,
Which thou shalt thereby reap, is fuch a name,
Whose repetition will be dogg'd with curfes :
Whose chronicle thus writ, the man was noble-
But with his laft attempt he wip'd it out,

Deftroy'd his country, and his name remains

To th' enfuing age, abhorr'd.' Speak to me, son: Thou hast affected the first strains of honour, To imitate the graces of the gods;

To tear with thunder the wide cheeks o' th' air,

And

And yet to charge thy fulphur with a bolt, (40)
That should but rive an oak. Why doft not speak?
Think't thou it honourable for a noble man
Still to remember wrongs Daughter, fpeak you :
He cares not for your weeping. Speak thou, boy;
Perhaps thy childifhnefs will move him more

Than can our reafons. There's no man in the world
More bound to's mother, yet here he lets me prate
Like one i' th' ftocks. Thou'ft never in thy life
Shew'd thy dear mother any courtesy:

When fhe, (poor hen) fond of no fecond brood,
Has cluck'd thee to the wars, and fafely home,
Loaden with honour. Say, my request 's unjust,
And fpurn me back: but if it be not fo,

Thou art not honeft, and the gods will plague thee,
That thou reftrain'ft from me the duty, which
To a mother's part belongs.-He turns away:
Down, Ladies; let us fhame him with our knees.
To's fir-name Coriolanus 'longs more pride,
Than pity to our prayers. Down; and end;
This is the laft. So we will home to Rome,
And die among our neighbours: nay, behold us.
This boy, that cannot tell what he would have,
But kneels, and holds up hands for fellowship,
Does reason our petition with more ftrength
Than thou haft to deny't. Come, let us go:
This fellow had a Voljcian to his mother: (41)
His wife is in Corioli, and this child

(40) And yet to change thy fulphur with a bolt,

That should but rive an oak.]

All the printed copies concur in this reading, but I have certainly reftored the true word. Vid. the 14th note on this play. (41) This fellow bad a Volfcian to his mother;

His wife is in Corioli; and his child

Like bim by chance; But tho' his wife was in Corioli, might not his child, nevertheless, be like him? The minute alteration I have made, I am perfuaded, restores the true reading. Volumnia would hint, that Coriolanus by his ftern behaviour had loft all familyregards, and did not remember that he had any child. I am not his mother, (fays the) his wife is in Corioli, and this child, whom we bring with us, (young Marcius) is not his child, but only bears his refemblance.by chance.