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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.
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.
Auf. Only their ends you have respected; stop'd
our ears against the general suit of Rome:
CIUS, with Attendants, all in mourning.
Let it be virtuous, to be obstinate.
Virg. My Lord and husband !
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
-You gods! I pray,
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
[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
Meal for Meas:
Your knees to me? to your corrected fon?
Vol. Thou art my warrior,
Cor. The noble filter of Poplicola,
[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
Vol. Your knee, firrah.
Vol. Even he, your wife, this Lady, and myself, Are suitors to you.
Cor. I beseech you, peace :