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Oʻlder in pra'ctice, a'bler than yours'elf,
To make condi'tions.
Bru., Go' to ; you are not, Casʼsius.
Cas. 'I am'.
Bru. I say you ar'e not.
Cas. Urge me no m'ore, I shall forget myself-
Have mind upon your h'ealth-temp't me/ no far'ther.
Bru. Awa'y, sligʻht man !
Cas. Is't poʻssible ?
Bru. Hear me, for I will sp'eak.
Must I give way and roo'm/ to your rash ch'oler ?
Shall I be frigʻhted/ when a mad'man stares ?
Cas. O go'ds ! ye gʻods ! must I endu're all thios ?
Bru. All th'is ? a'y/mor'e.-Fr'et/ till your proud heart bre'ak! Go, tell your slaves how ch'oleric-you-are, And make your boʻndmen trem'ble. Must I bu’dge ? Must I obse'rve you ? must I stand and crou'ch/ Under your testy h'umour ? By the gʻods, You shall dige'st the venom of
you sple'en, Though it do sp'lit you: fo'r/ from this day foʻrth I'll use you for my mirth, yea for my laughter, When you are wa'spish.
Cas. Is' it come to th'is ?
Bru. You sa’y, yo'u are a better soʻldier :
Let it appea'r so; make your vaunting tru’e,
And it shall pleas'e-me we'll. For mine own part,
I shall be glad to lea'rn of n'oble me'n.
Cas. You wr'ong me e'very-way-you wroʻng me, Br’utus ;
I said an el'der soldier, not a be°tter;
Did I say beʼtter ?
Bru. If you did, I car'e not.
Cas. When Cæsar li’ved, h'e durst not thus have mo'ved me.
Bru. Pea'ce, peace ; you durst not so have tempted hiom.
Cas. I' durst'-not!
Cas. Wha't ? durst not tem'pt him ?
Bru. For your li°fe/ you dur'st-not.
Cas. Do not presume too muc'h upon my love ;
I m'ay-do/ what I shall be so'rry-for.
Bru. You ha've done th’at/ you should be so'rry for.
There is no terror, Cas'sius, in your thr’eats ;
Fo'r/ I am armed so strong in ho'nesty,
That they pass by'-me/ as the idle win'd,
Pronounced with conscious su.
Which I respe'ct-not. I did send'-to-you
For certain sums of go'ld, which you
(For I can raise no money by vi ́le-means.)
I had rather c'oin
And dro'p my blo‘od/ for dra'chmas, than to wri'ng/
From the hard hands of pea'sants/ their vile tr’ash
By an'y indirection. I did send
you for go'ld/ to pay my le'gions,
Which you den‘ied me: was that done like Caossius ?
Should I have answered Caius Cassius s'o;
When Ma'rcus Brutus/ grows so cov'etous,
To lock such ra’scal coun'ters/ from hi's fri'ends,
Be re'ady, go'ds, (with a'll your thunder-bo'lts!) periority
Dash'-him to pie'ces !
Cas. I denied
no't. Bru. You di'd.
Cas. I did no't-he' was but a fo'ol
That brought my an'swer ba'ck.—Brut’us/ hath rived my
he'art. A fri'end/ should bear a friend's infir`mities, But Br^utus/ makes mione/ grea'ter than they ar^e.
Bru. I do not— till you prac'tise them on me.
Cas. You lo've me 'not. (Interrogatively.)
Bru. I do not like
fa'ults. Cas. A frie'ndly-eye/ could never see such fa'ults.
Bru. A flatterer's-would-not, though they do appear
As huge as high Oly'mpus.
Cas. Come, A'ntony, and young Octavius, co'me!
Revenge yourselves alo'ne on Cassius,
Fo'r/ Casʼsius is a-we'ary of the wo'rld;
Ha’ted/ by one he lov'es; bra’ved/ by his bro'ther;
Cheʼcked) as a bon'dman; all his fa'ults obser'ved, *
S'et in a not'e-book, lea'rned and con'ned by ro'te,
To cast into my teeth. O! I could weep
My spi'rit/ from mine e'yes ! - There is my dag'ger,
And he ́re/ my naked breast — withi'n, a hea'rt
Dea'rer/ than Plu’tus' min'e, richer/ than goʻld !
If thou needest a Rooman's, take it for th.
I', that denied thee gold, will give my heʻart :
Strike/ as thou didst at Cæ'sar ; for I know,
When thou didst hate hi'm woʻrst, thou lo'vedst him be^tter/
Than e'ver thou lovedst Caossius.
Bru. Sheathe your dagger :
Be an'gry when you wi'll, it shall ha've scope;
D'o what you wi'll, disho'nour/ shall be hu'mour.
O Ca’ssius! you are yo‘ked with a laʼmb,
That carries an'ger/ as the flint bears fire',
Wh'ich, much-enforced, shows a hasty spa'rk,
And straight is c'old again'.
Cas. Hath Cassius lived,
To be but mir'th and lau'ghter to his Br’utus,
When gri'ef, and blood ill-tem pered, vex'eth-him?
Bru. When I spoke th'at, I was ill-te'mpered too'.
confe'ss so mu'ch ?
ha'nd. Bru. And my he art too'. Cas. O Br'utus !Bru. What's the matter ?
Cas. Have you not love enou'gh/ to be’ar-with-me, When that rash hu'mour/ which my
ga've me Ma'kes me forgʻetful ?
Bru. Yes', Cas'sius, and from hencef'orth, (When you are over-ea'rnest/ with your Br’utus,) He'll think your mother chi'des, and lea've-you so'.
CORIOLANUS AND TULLUS AUFIDIUS.
Cor. I PLAINLY, T'ullus, by your loʻoks/ perc'eive
Auf. I mean not to asssail thee) with the cla'mour
Of loud repro'ches and the wa'r of words;
B’ut (pr'ide apa'rt, and a'll/ that can pervert
The ligʻht of steady r'eason) he're to make
A c'andid, fa'ir-proposal.
Cor. Spe’ak, I he'ar thee.
Auf. I need not tell thee, that I have perfo‘rmed
My utmost pr'omise. Th’ou hast been prote'cted ;
Hast had thy am plest, most ambi'tious-wish;
Thy wounded pr'ide/ is hea'led, thy dear reven'ge/
Completely sa'ted ; a’nd (to cro'wn thy fortune,)
At the sa'me-time, thy peace with R'ome/ rest'ored.
Thou art no more a Voʻlscian, but a Ro'man :
Return, retur'n ; thy duty/ calls up'on-thee
Still to prote'ct-the-city/ thou hast sa'ved ;
It still may be in danger/ from our a'rms :
Reti're: I will take care thou m'ay’st/ with sa'fety.
Cor. With s'afety ?- Do'st think Coriola'nus
Will stoop to th°ee/ for s'afety ? — No: m^y saf'eguard
Is in my'self, a boʻsom/ vo'id of bla'me
O', 'tis an act of co'wardice and ba'seness,
To s'eize the
hands are f'ettered/
By the strong chain of foʻrmer-obligation,
(The s'afe, su're-moment/ to in'sult me.) – Gods !
Wer'e I now fr'ee, (as on that day I w'as
When at Cori'oli I tamed your p'ride)
Thi's had not be'en.
Auf Thou speakest the tr’uth : it ha'd not.
O, for that time aga'in! Propitious god's,
If you will bl’ess-me, gra’nt it! Kn'ow, for thʼat,
For thoat/ de ar-purpose, I have now proposed
Thou should’st retu'rn: I pray thee, Ma’rcius, d'o it ;
And we shall meet aga'in/ on no'bler-terms.
Cor. Till I have cleared
ho'nour/ in your co’uncil,
And proved before them a'll, to thy conf'usion,
The falsehood of thy charge; as soon in battle
Would I fly befo're thee, and ho'wl for meʼrcy,
As quit the sta'tion, they've assi'gned-me he're.
Auf. Thou canst not hope acquit'tal/ from the Voʻlscians.
Cor. I d'o:-Nay, m'ore, expect their approbʼation,
Their thaînks. I will obtain you su'ch a p'eace
As y'e* durst/ nev'er-a'sk; a perfect u’nion
Of your whole na'tion/ with imperial Ro'me,
* The trifling alterations in this dialogue, as in “ thou” for ye, is agreeable to Mr. Kemble's reading of “ Coriolanus."
In all her pri’vileges, all her rigʻhts;
By the just gʻods, I wi'll.—Wha't would'st thou mo're ?
Auf. What would I moore, proud Ro'man ? Th'is I wo'uld-
Fire the cursed fo'rest, where these Roman w'olves
Ha'unt and inf'est their noʻbler-neighbours/ rou’nd them;
Extirpate/ from the bosom of this la'nd
A fa’lse, perfid'ious-people, wh’o (beneath
The ma'sk of fre'edom) are a combination
Against the li'berty of hu'man-kind;
The genuine seed of ou’tlaws and of ro'bbers.
Cor. The se'ed of gods.— 'Tis not for th’ee, vain bo'aster, -
'Tis not for su'ch as thoou,—(so often spared
By her victorious sw'ord) to speak of Ro'me,
B'ut with resp'ect, and a'wful venera'tion.-
Whate'er her blo'ts, whate'er her giddy fa'ctions,
There is more v'irtue/ in one single-year
Of Roman-story, than your Vo'lscian-annals
Can b'oast/ through all their cre'eping, daạrk-duration.
Auf. I thank thy rage : This full displa'ys the tra'itor.
Cor. Traoitor'!-H'ow no'w ?
Auf. Ay, traitor, Marcius.
Auf. A'y, Mar'cius, C'aius Ma'rcius: Dost thou think
I'll grace thee with that robbery, thy sto'len-name,
Coriol'anus, in Co'rioli ?
Yo'u/ lor'ds, and he'ads of the state, perfidiously
He has betra'yed your business, and gi'ven-up,
(For certain drops of s’alt,) your c'ity Ro'me,
I say, yoʻur city,— to his wi'fe and mo'ther ;
Breaking his oath and r'esolution, like
À tw'ist of rot'ten-silk ; never admitting
Cou'nsel of the w'ar: b'ut/ at his nurse's te’ars/
He wh'ined and ro'ared-away/ your v'ictory;
That/ pa'ges blu'shed-at-him, and me'n of he'art
Looked wo’ndering e'ach at o'ther.
Cor. He'arest thou, M'ars ?
Auf. Na'me not the go'd, thou b’oy of teʻars.
Cor. Mea'sureless-liar, he has made my
Too gr’eat/ for what contains it.—Booy!—f'alse sla‘ve !
Cu't me/ to pieces, Vo'lsces : me'n and l'ads,
Stain all your edges on-me.-Booy!-Sir!
If you have wri't your annals true, 'tis the re,