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adjectives answer army Aufidius banished bear better blood body BRUTUS called carry cause charge Citizens comes Cominius common consul Coriolanus Corioli death deeds deserved enemy Enter Exeunt Explain expressions eyes face fear feelings fight force fortune friends gates give gods half hand hath head hear heart hence honour Italy Latin leave less live look lords lose Marcius matter means Menenius mother nature never noble nouns once patricians peace play plebeians pray prefix present pride Roman Rome SCENE Second senators Serv SICINIUS side soldier speak stand sword tell thee thing Third thou tongue town tribunes true turn verbs voices Volsces Volscian wars wife wish worthy wounds
Page 137 - Cut me to pieces, Volsces ; men and lads, Stain all your edges on me. — Boy ! False hound ! If you have writ your annals true, 'tis there, That, like an eagle in a dovecote, I Flutter'd your Volscians in Corioli : Alone I did it. — Boy ! Auf.
Page 8 - Who deserves greatness Deserves your hate ; and your affections are A sick man's appetite, who desires most that Which would increase his evil He that depends Upon your favours swims with fins of lead And hews down oaks with rushes. Hang ye! Trust ye! With every minute you do change a mind, And call him noble that was now your hate, Him vile that was your garland.
Page 129 - I'll speak a little. Cor. [Holds her by the hand, silent, then speaks.] O mother, mother ! What have you done ? Behold, the heavens do ope, The gods look down, and this unnatural scene They laugh at. O, my mother, mother ! O ! You have won a happy victory to Rome ; But, for your son, — believe it, O, believe it! — Most dangerously you have with him prevail'd, If not most mortal to him.
Page 183 - You common cry of curs ! whose breath I hate > As reek o' the rotten fens, whose loves I prize As the dead carcasses of unburied men That do corrupt my air, I banish you ; And here remain with your uncertainty ! Let every feeble...
Page 87 - You common cry of curs! whose breath I hate As reek o' the rotten fens, whose loves I prize As the dead carcasses of unburied men That do corrupt my air, I banish you; And here remain with your uncertainty! Let every feeble rumour shake your hearts!
Page 8 - Deserves your hate : and your affections are A sick man's appetite, who desires most that Which would increase his evil. He that depends Upon your favours, swims with fins of lead, And hews down oaks with rushes. Hang ye ! Trust ye? With every minute you do change a mind; And call him noble, that was now your hate, Him vile, that was your garland.