chosenone80/shak_test · Datasets at Hugging Face

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COMINIUS: Come, sir, along with us.
CORIOLANUS: I would they were barbarians--as they are, Though in Rome litter'd--not Romans--as they are not, Though calved i' the porch o' the Capitol-- MENENIUS: Be gone; Put not your worthy rage into your tongue; One time will owe another.
CORIOLANUS: On fair ground I could beat forty of them.
COMINIUS: I could myself Take up a brace o' the best of them; yea, the two tribunes: But now 'tis odds beyond arithmetic; And manhood is call'd foolery, when it stands Against a falling fabric.
Will you hence, Before the tag return?
whose rage doth rend Like interrupted waters and o'erbear What they are used to bear.
MENENIUS: Pray you, be gone: I'll try whether my old wit be in request With those that have but little: this must be patch'd With cloth of any colour.
COMINIUS: Nay, come away.
A Patrician: This man has marr'd his fortune.
MENENIUS: His nature is too noble for the world: He would not flatter Neptune for his trident, Or Jove for's power to thunder.
His heart's his mouth: What his breast forges, that his tongue must vent; And, being angry, does forget that ever He heard the name of death.
Here's goodly work!
Second Patrician: I would they were abed!
MENENIUS: I would they were in Tiber!
What the vengeance!
Could he not speak 'em fair?
SICINIUS: Where is this viper That would depopulate the city and Be every man himself?
MENENIUS: You worthy tribunes,-- SICINIUS: He shall be thrown down the Tarpeian rock With rigorous hands: he hath resisted law, And therefore law shall scorn him further trial Than the severity of the public power Which he so sets at nought.
First Citizen: He shall well know The noble tribunes are the people's mouths, And we their hands.
Citizens: He shall, sure on't.
MENENIUS: Sir, sir,-- SICINIUS: Peace!
MENENIUS: Do not cry havoc, where you should but hunt With modest warrant.
SICINIUS: Sir, how comes't that you Have holp to make this rescue?
MENENIUS: Hear me speak: As I do know the consul's worthiness, So can I name his faults,-- SICINIUS: Consul!
what consul?
MENENIUS: The consul Coriolanus.
BRUTUS: He consul!
Citizens: No, no, no, no, no.
MENENIUS: If, by the tribunes' leave, and yours, good people, I may be heard, I would crave a word or two; The which shall turn you to no further harm Than so much loss of time.
SICINIUS: Speak briefly then; For we are peremptory to dispatch This viperous traitor: to eject him hence Were but one danger, and to keep him here Our certain death: therefore it is decreed He dies to-night.
MENENIUS: Now the good gods forbid That our renowned Rome, whose gratitude Towards her deserved children is enroll'd In Jove's own book, like an unnatural dam Should now eat up her own!
SICINIUS: He's a disease that must be cut away.
MENENIUS: O, he's a limb that has but a disease; Mortal, to cut it off; to cure it, easy.
What has he done to Rome that's worthy death?
Killing our enemies, the blood he hath lost-- Which, I dare vouch, is more than that he hath, By many an ounce--he dropp'd it for his country; And what is left, to lose it by his country, Were to us all, that do't and suffer it, A brand to the end o' the world.
SICINIUS: This is clean kam.
BRUTUS: Merely awry: when he did love his country, It honour'd him.
MENENIUS: The service of the foot Being once gangrened, is not then respected For what before it was.
BRUTUS: We'll hear no more.
Pursue him to his house, and pluck him thence: Lest his infection, being of catching nature, Spread further.
MENENIUS: One word more, one word.
This tiger-footed rage, when it shall find The harm of unscann'd swiftness, will too late Tie leaden pounds to's heels.
Proceed by process; Lest parties, as he is beloved, break out, And sack great Rome with Romans.
BRUTUS: If it were so,-- SICINIUS: What do ye talk?
Have we not had a taste of his obedience?
Our aediles smote?
ourselves resisted?
Come.
MENENIUS: Consider this: he has been bred i' the wars Since he could draw a sword, and is ill school'd In bolted language; meal and bran together He throws without distinction.
Give me leave, I'll go to him, and undertake to bring him Where he shall answer, by a lawful form, In peace, to his utmost peril.
First Senator: Noble tribunes, It is the humane way: the other course Will prove too bloody, and the end of it Unknown to the beginning.
SICINIUS: Noble Menenius, Be you then as the people's officer.
Masters, lay down your weapons.
BRUTUS: Go not home.
SICINIUS: Meet on the market-place.
We'll attend you there: Where, if you bring not Marcius, we'll proceed In our first way.
MENENIUS: I'll bring him to you.
Let me desire your company: he must come, Or what is worst will follow.
First Senator: Pray you, let's to him.
CORIOLANUS: Let them puff all about mine ears, present me Death on the wheel or at wild horses' heels, Or pile ten hills on the Tarpeian rock, That the precipitation might down stretch Below the beam of sight, yet will I still Be thus to them.
A Patrician: You do the nobler.
CORIOLANUS: I muse my mother Does not approve me further, who was wont To call them woollen vassals, things created To buy and sell with groats, to show bare heads In congregations, to yawn, be still and wonder, When one but of my ordinance stood up To speak of peace or war.
I talk of you: Why did you wish me milder?
would you have me False to my nature?
Rather say I play The man I am.
VOLUMNIA: O, sir, sir, sir, I would have had you put your power well on, Before you had worn it out.
CORIOLANUS: Let go.
VOLUMNIA: You might have been enough the man you are, With striving less to be so; lesser had been The thwartings of your dispositions, if You had not show'd them how ye were disposed Ere they lack'd power to cross you.
CORIOLANUS: Let them hang.
A Patrician: Ay, and burn too.
MENENIUS: Come, come, you have been too rough, something too rough; You must return and mend it.
First Senator: There's no remedy; Unless, by not so doing, our good city Cleave in the midst, and perish.
VOLUMNIA: Pray, be counsell'd: I have a heart as little apt as yours, But yet a brain that leads my use of anger To better vantage.
MENENIUS: Well said, noble woman?
Before he should thus stoop to the herd, but that The violent fit o' the time craves it as physic For the whole state, I would put mine armour on, Which I can scarcely bear.
CORIOLANUS: What must I do?
MENENIUS: Return to the tribunes.
CORIOLANUS: Well, what then?
what then?
MENENIUS: Repent what you have spoke.
CORIOLANUS: For them!
I cannot do it to the gods; Must I then do't to them?
VOLUMNIA: You are too absolute; Though therein you can never be too noble, But when extremities speak.
I have heard you say, Honour and policy, like unsever'd friends, I' the war do grow together: grant that, and tell me, In peace what each of them by the other lose, That they combine not there.
CORIOLANUS: Tush, tush!
MENENIUS: A good demand.
VOLUMNIA: If it be honour in your wars to seem The same you are not, which, for your best ends, You adopt your policy, how is it less or worse, That it shall hold companionship in peace With honour, as in war, since that to both It stands in like request?
CORIOLANUS: Why force you this?
VOLUMNIA: Because that now it lies you on to speak To the people; not by your own instruction, Nor by the matter which your heart prompts you, But with such words that are but rooted in Your tongue, though but bastards and syllables Of no allowance to your bosom's truth.
Now, this no more dishonours you at all Than to take in a town with gentle words, Which else would put you to your fortune and The hazard of much blood.
I would dissemble with my nature where My fortunes and my friends at stake required I should do so in honour: I am in this, Your wife, your son, these senators, the nobles; And you will rather show our general louts How you can frown than spend a fawn upon 'em, For the inheritance of their loves and safeguard Of what that want might ruin.
MENENIUS: Noble lady!
Come, go with us; speak fair: you may salve so, Not what is dangerous present, but the loss Of what is past.
VOLUMNIA: I prithee now, my son, Go to them, with this bonnet in thy hand; And thus far having stretch'd it--here be with them-- Thy knee bussing the stones--for in such business Action is eloquence, and the eyes of the ignorant More learned than the ears--waving thy head, Which often, thus, correcting thy stout heart, Now humble as the ripest mulberry That will not hold the handling: or say to them, Thou art their soldier, and being bred in broils Hast not the soft way which, thou dost confess, Were fit for thee to use as they to claim, In asking their good loves, but thou wilt frame Thyself, forsooth, hereafter theirs, so far As thou hast power and person.
MENENIUS: This but done, Even as she speaks, why, their hearts were yours; For they have pardons, being ask'd, as free As words to little purpose.
VOLUMNIA: Prithee now, Go, and be ruled: although I know thou hadst rather Follow thine enemy in a fiery gulf Than flatter him in a bower.
Here is Cominius.
COMINIUS: I have been i' the market-place; and, sir,'tis fit You make strong party, or defend yourself By calmness or by absence: all's in anger.
MENENIUS: Only fair speech.
COMINIUS: I think 'twill serve, if he Can thereto frame his spirit.

COMINIUS: Come, sir, along with us.

CORIOLANUS: I would they were barbarians--as they are, Though in Rome litter'd--not Romans--as they are not, Though calved i' the porch o' the Capitol-- MENENIUS: Be gone; Put not your worthy rage into your tongue; One time will owe another.

CORIOLANUS: On fair ground I could beat forty of them.

COMINIUS: I could myself Take up a brace o' the best of them; yea, the two tribunes: But now 'tis odds beyond arithmetic; And manhood is call'd foolery, when it stands Against a falling fabric.

Will you hence, Before the tag return?

whose rage doth rend Like interrupted waters and o'erbear What they are used to bear.

MENENIUS: Pray you, be gone: I'll try whether my old wit be in request With those that have but little: this must be patch'd With cloth of any colour.

COMINIUS: Nay, come away.

A Patrician: This man has marr'd his fortune.

MENENIUS: His nature is too noble for the world: He would not flatter Neptune for his trident, Or Jove for's power to thunder.

His heart's his mouth: What his breast forges, that his tongue must vent; And, being angry, does forget that ever He heard the name of death.

Here's goodly work!

Second Patrician: I would they were abed!

MENENIUS: I would they were in Tiber!

What the vengeance!

Could he not speak 'em fair?

SICINIUS: Where is this viper That would depopulate the city and Be every man himself?

MENENIUS: You worthy tribunes,-- SICINIUS: He shall be thrown down the Tarpeian rock With rigorous hands: he hath resisted law, And therefore law shall scorn him further trial Than the severity of the public power Which he so sets at nought.

First Citizen: He shall well know The noble tribunes are the people's mouths, And we their hands.

Citizens: He shall, sure on't.

MENENIUS: Sir, sir,-- SICINIUS: Peace!

MENENIUS: Do not cry havoc, where you should but hunt With modest warrant.

SICINIUS: Sir, how comes't that you Have holp to make this rescue?

MENENIUS: Hear me speak: As I do know the consul's worthiness, So can I name his faults,-- SICINIUS: Consul!

what consul?

MENENIUS: The consul Coriolanus.

BRUTUS: He consul!

Citizens: No, no, no, no, no.

MENENIUS: If, by the tribunes' leave, and yours, good people, I may be heard, I would crave a word or two; The which shall turn you to no further harm Than so much loss of time.

SICINIUS: Speak briefly then; For we are peremptory to dispatch This viperous traitor: to eject him hence Were but one danger, and to keep him here Our certain death: therefore it is decreed He dies to-night.

MENENIUS: Now the good gods forbid That our renowned Rome, whose gratitude Towards her deserved children is enroll'd In Jove's own book, like an unnatural dam Should now eat up her own!

SICINIUS: He's a disease that must be cut away.

MENENIUS: O, he's a limb that has but a disease; Mortal, to cut it off; to cure it, easy.

What has he done to Rome that's worthy death?

Killing our enemies, the blood he hath lost-- Which, I dare vouch, is more than that he hath, By many an ounce--he dropp'd it for his country; And what is left, to lose it by his country, Were to us all, that do't and suffer it, A brand to the end o' the world.

SICINIUS: This is clean kam.

BRUTUS: Merely awry: when he did love his country, It honour'd him.

MENENIUS: The service of the foot Being once gangrened, is not then respected For what before it was.

BRUTUS: We'll hear no more.

Pursue him to his house, and pluck him thence: Lest his infection, being of catching nature, Spread further.

MENENIUS: One word more, one word.

This tiger-footed rage, when it shall find The harm of unscann'd swiftness, will too late Tie leaden pounds to's heels.

Proceed by process; Lest parties, as he is beloved, break out, And sack great Rome with Romans.

BRUTUS: If it were so,-- SICINIUS: What do ye talk?

Have we not had a taste of his obedience?

Our aediles smote?

ourselves resisted?

Come.

MENENIUS: Consider this: he has been bred i' the wars Since he could draw a sword, and is ill school'd In bolted language; meal and bran together He throws without distinction.

Give me leave, I'll go to him, and undertake to bring him Where he shall answer, by a lawful form, In peace, to his utmost peril.

First Senator: Noble tribunes, It is the humane way: the other course Will prove too bloody, and the end of it Unknown to the beginning.

SICINIUS: Noble Menenius, Be you then as the people's officer.

Masters, lay down your weapons.

BRUTUS: Go not home.

SICINIUS: Meet on the market-place.

We'll attend you there: Where, if you bring not Marcius, we'll proceed In our first way.

MENENIUS: I'll bring him to you.

Let me desire your company: he must come, Or what is worst will follow.

First Senator: Pray you, let's to him.

CORIOLANUS: Let them puff all about mine ears, present me Death on the wheel or at wild horses' heels, Or pile ten hills on the Tarpeian rock, That the precipitation might down stretch Below the beam of sight, yet will I still Be thus to them.

A Patrician: You do the nobler.

CORIOLANUS: I muse my mother Does not approve me further, who was wont To call them woollen vassals, things created To buy and sell with groats, to show bare heads In congregations, to yawn, be still and wonder, When one but of my ordinance stood up To speak of peace or war.

I talk of you: Why did you wish me milder?

would you have me False to my nature?

Rather say I play The man I am.

VOLUMNIA: O, sir, sir, sir, I would have had you put your power well on, Before you had worn it out.

CORIOLANUS: Let go.

VOLUMNIA: You might have been enough the man you are, With striving less to be so; lesser had been The thwartings of your dispositions, if You had not show'd them how ye were disposed Ere they lack'd power to cross you.

CORIOLANUS: Let them hang.

A Patrician: Ay, and burn too.

MENENIUS: Come, come, you have been too rough, something too rough; You must return and mend it.

First Senator: There's no remedy; Unless, by not so doing, our good city Cleave in the midst, and perish.

VOLUMNIA: Pray, be counsell'd: I have a heart as little apt as yours, But yet a brain that leads my use of anger To better vantage.

MENENIUS: Well said, noble woman?

Before he should thus stoop to the herd, but that The violent fit o' the time craves it as physic For the whole state, I would put mine armour on, Which I can scarcely bear.

CORIOLANUS: What must I do?

MENENIUS: Return to the tribunes.

CORIOLANUS: Well, what then?

what then?

MENENIUS: Repent what you have spoke.

CORIOLANUS: For them!

I cannot do it to the gods; Must I then do't to them?

VOLUMNIA: You are too absolute; Though therein you can never be too noble, But when extremities speak.

I have heard you say, Honour and policy, like unsever'd friends, I' the war do grow together: grant that, and tell me, In peace what each of them by the other lose, That they combine not there.

CORIOLANUS: Tush, tush!

MENENIUS: A good demand.

VOLUMNIA: If it be honour in your wars to seem The same you are not, which, for your best ends, You adopt your policy, how is it less or worse, That it shall hold companionship in peace With honour, as in war, since that to both It stands in like request?

CORIOLANUS: Why force you this?

VOLUMNIA: Because that now it lies you on to speak To the people; not by your own instruction, Nor by the matter which your heart prompts you, But with such words that are but rooted in Your tongue, though but bastards and syllables Of no allowance to your bosom's truth.

Now, this no more dishonours you at all Than to take in a town with gentle words, Which else would put you to your fortune and The hazard of much blood.

I would dissemble with my nature where My fortunes and my friends at stake required I should do so in honour: I am in this, Your wife, your son, these senators, the nobles; And you will rather show our general louts How you can frown than spend a fawn upon 'em, For the inheritance of their loves and safeguard Of what that want might ruin.

MENENIUS: Noble lady!

Come, go with us; speak fair: you may salve so, Not what is dangerous present, but the loss Of what is past.

VOLUMNIA: I prithee now, my son, Go to them, with this bonnet in thy hand; And thus far having stretch'd it--here be with them-- Thy knee bussing the stones--for in such business Action is eloquence, and the eyes of the ignorant More learned than the ears--waving thy head, Which often, thus, correcting thy stout heart, Now humble as the ripest mulberry That will not hold the handling: or say to them, Thou art their soldier, and being bred in broils Hast not the soft way which, thou dost confess, Were fit for thee to use as they to claim, In asking their good loves, but thou wilt frame Thyself, forsooth, hereafter theirs, so far As thou hast power and person.

MENENIUS: This but done, Even as she speaks, why, their hearts were yours; For they have pardons, being ask'd, as free As words to little purpose.

VOLUMNIA: Prithee now, Go, and be ruled: although I know thou hadst rather Follow thine enemy in a fiery gulf Than flatter him in a bower.

Here is Cominius.

COMINIUS: I have been i' the market-place; and, sir,'tis fit You make strong party, or defend yourself By calmness or by absence: all's in anger.

MENENIUS: Only fair speech.

COMINIUS: I think 'twill serve, if he Can thereto frame his spirit.