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Than pity note how much...-- Therefore, be gone; Mine ears against your suits are stronger than Your gates against iny force. Yet, for I loved thee, Take this along; I writ it for thy fake,

[Gives him a Letter. And would have sent it. Another word, Menenius, I will not hear thee speak.-----This man, Aufidius, Was my beloved in Rome; yet thou behold'It... Auj: You keep a constant temper. [Exeunt.

Manent the Guard, and MENENIUS.
i ll'atch. Now, Sir, is your name Menenius?

2 Watch. 'Tis a spell, you fee, of much power: you know the way home again.

I Watch. Do you hear how we are fhent for keeping your greatness back?

2 Watch. What cause, do you think, I have to fwoon?

Men. I neither care for the world, nor your general: for such things as you, I can scarce think there's any, y'are fo flight. He, that hath a will to die hy himself, fears it not from another: let your general do his worst. For you, be what you are, long; and your misery encrease with your age! I say to you, as I was said to, away !---- [Exit.

Than pity: note how much-] We cannot defire a more signal instance of the indolent Nupidity of our editors. Forgetfulness might poifun in not remembering a conversation of friendship; but how could it, in such an action, be faid to pity too? The pointing is absurd, and the sentiment confequently funk into norfense. As I have regulated the stops, both Dr Thiriby and Mr Warburton law with me, they ought to be regulated. I have still ventured beyond my ingenious friends, in changing poisor into prison, which adds an antithesis, by which the sense leems clearer and more natural, viz. that forgetfulness Mall rather keep it a secret that we have been familiar, than pity shall disclose how much we have been fo.

1 Watch. A noble fellow, I warrant him.

2 Warch. The worthy fellow is our general. He's the rock, the oak not to be wind- haken.

[Exeunt Watch
Cor. We will before the walls of Rome to-morrow
Set down our holt. My partner in this action,
You must report to th’ Volscian Lords how plainly
I've borne this busineis.

Auf. Only their ends you have respected; stop'd

our ears against the general suit of Rome:
Never admitted private whisper, no,
Not with such friends that thought them fure of
Gor. This last old man,

Whom with a crack'd heart I have sent to Rome,
Loved me above the measure of a father :
Nay, godded me, indeed. Their latest refuge
Was to send him: for whvse old love I have
(Tho' I Thewed fourly to him) once more offered
The firit conditions; (which they did refuse,
And cannot now accept): to grace him only,
That tlought he could do more: a very little
I've yielded to. Fresh embaffy, and suits,
Nor from the state, nor private friends, hereafter ,
Will I lend ear to.----Ha! what shout is this !

[Shout within.
Shall I be tempted to infringe my vow,
In the same time 'tis made? I will not-----

CIUS, with Attendants, all in mourning.
My wife comes foremost, then the honoured mould
Wherein this trunk was fram’d, and in her hand
The grandchild to her blood. But out, affection!
All bond and privilege of Nature break!

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Let it be virtuous, to be obstinate.
What is that curt'sy worth? or those dove's eyes,
Which can make gods forsworn? I melt, and am not
Of stronger earth than others: my mother bows,
As if Olympus to a mole-hill should
In fupplication nod; and my young boy
Hath an aspect of intercession, which
Great Nature cries ----Deny not. Let the Volscians
Plough Rome, and harrow Italy; I'll never
Be fuch a gofling to obey instinct; but stand
As if a man were author of himself,
And knew no other kin.

Virg. My Lord and husband !
Cor. Those eyes are not the same I wore in Rome,
Virg. The forrow, that delivers us thus changed,


think so. Cor. Like a dull actor now, I have forgot my part, and I am out, Even to a full disgrace. Beit of my flesh, Forgive my tyranny; but do not say, For that, forgive our Romans ----O a kiss Long as my exile, sweet as my revenge! Now, by the jealous queen of heaven, that kiss I carried from thee, dear; and my true lip Hath virgined it e'er fince.. ----(39) You gods! I

prace ;


-You gods! I pray,
And the most n.ble mother of the world

Leave unfalute:,] An old corruption must have possessed this passage, for two reafons. In the first place, whoever consults this speech will find that he is talking fondly to his wife, and not pray. ing 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 i his; Coriolanus, having been lavith in his tendernesses and raptures to his wife, bethinks himself on the sudden, that his fonduess to her had made him guilty of ill manners in the

And the most noble mother of the world
Leave unfaluted: fink, my knee, i' th' earth;

[Kneels. Of thy deep duty more impression shew Than that of common fons.

Vol. O stand up bless'd! Whilst with no softer cufhion than the flint I kneel before thee, and unproperly [Kneels. Shew duty as iniftaken all the while, Between the child and parent.

Cor, What is this? neglect of his mother; and therefore correcting himself, upon Teflexion cries;

- You gods, T 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 so refined, though more masculine in Shakespeare's days; and therefore (notwithstanding the present fuppofed xaropwvia) when he is most ferious he frequently makes use of the word. A little after, in this very scene, Volumnia says:

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

Silence that fellow; I would he had some cause
To pratile for him felf.

Meal for Meas:
-O my sweet,
I prattle out of fashion, and I doat
In mine own comfort.

I amended the pasage in question, in the appendix to niy
Shakespeare Restored, and Mi Pope has thought fit to cor-
rect it from thence, in his last edition.
Vol. XI.


Your knees to me? to your corrected fon?
*Then let the pebbles on the hungry beach
Fillop the stars : then let the mutinous winds
Strike the proud cedars 'gainst the fiery fun :
Murd’ring impossibility, to make
What cannot be, flight work.

Vol. Thou art my warrior,
1. holp to frame thee. Do you know this Lady?

Cor. The noble filter of Poplicola,
The moon of Rome; chaste as the isicle,
That's curdled by the frost from purest snow,
And hangs on Dian's temple: dear Valeria!
Vol. This is a poor epitome of yours,

[Shewing young Marcius. Which by th' interpretation of full time May shew like all yourself.

Cor. The god of foldiers, With the consent of supreme Jove, inform Thy thoughts with nobleness, that thou mayest

*To shame unvulnerable, and stick i'th' wars
Like a great sea-mark, standing every flaw,
And saving those that eye thee !

Vol. Your knee, firrah.
Cor. That's my brave boy.

Vol. Even he, your wife, this Lady, and myself, Are suitors to you.

Cor. I beseech you, peace :
Or, if you'd ask, remember this before ;
The thing I have forsworn to grant may never
Be held by you denial. Do not bid me
Dismiss my soldiers, or capitulate
Again with Rome's mechanics. Tell me not
Wherein I seem unnatural: desire not
Tallay my rages and revenges, with
Your colder reasons.

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