Rush o'er my corse to thy belov'd revenge!
Tread on the bleeding breast of her, to whom
Thou ow'st thy life !-Lo, thy first victim.

[She draws a Dagger.

Cor. [Seizing her Hand.] Ha!

What dost thou mean?

Vol. To die, while Rome is free.
Cor. O, set not thus

My treacherous heart in arms against my reason.-
Here, here thy dagger will be well employ'd.-
Pity me, generous Volscians!-You are men.-
Must it then be?-My stifled words refuse
A passage to the throes that wring my heart.
Vol. Nay, if thou yieldest, yield like Coriolanus ;
And what thou dost, do nobly.

Cor. There, 'tis done:

Thine is the triumph, Nature!-Ah, Volumnia,
Rome by thy aid is sav'd,—but thy son lost!
Vol. He never can be lost, who saves his country.
Cor. Ye matrons,-guardians of the Romans'
safety,-

We grant the truce you ask.—
Volscians, we raise the siege.

[CORIOLANUS turns to the ROMAN LADIES, who
retire in the Order they entered.

Auf. "Tis as we wish'd, Volusius.

But mark me well;-one offer more

My honour bids me make to this proud man:
If he reject it,

His blood be on his head.

Volu. Well, I obey.

Cor. I plainly, Tullus, by your looks perceive, You disapprove my conduct.

Auf. I mean not to assail thee with the cla

mour

Of loud reproaches, and the war of words;

But, pride apart, and all that can pervert

The light of steady reason, here to make
A candid, fair proposal.

Cor. Speak, I hear thee.

Auf. I need not tell thee, that I have perform'd My utmost promise. Thou hast been protected; Hast had thy amplest, most ambitious, wish; Thy wounded pride is heal'd, thy dear revenge Completely sated; and, to crown thy fortune, At the same time, thy peace with Rome restor❜d. Thou art no more a Volscian, but a Roman: Return, return; thy duty calls upon thee Still to protect the city thou hast sav'd; It still may be in danger from our arms : Retire I will take care thou may'st with safety. Cor. With safety ?—Heav'ns !—and think'st thou, Coriolanus

Will stoop to thee for safety!-No! my safeguard
Is in myself, a bosom void of blame.--

O, 'tis an act of cowardice and baseness,
To seize the very time my hands are fetter'd
By the strong chain of former obligation,
The safe, sure, moment to insult me.-Gods!
Were I now free, as on that day I was,
When at Corioli I tam'd thy pride,
This had not been.

Auf. Thou speak'st the truth: it had not.
O, for that time again! propitious gods,

If you will bless me, grant it!-Know, for that,
For that dear purpose, I have now propos'd

Thou should'st return: I pray thee, Marcius, do it;
And we shall meet again on nobler terms,

Cor. Till I have clear'd my honour in your council,

And prov'd before them all, to thy confusion,
The falsehood of thy charge; as soon in battle
I would before thee fly, and howl for mercy,
As quit the station they've assign'd me here.

Auf. Thou canst not hope acquittal from the Vol

scians.

Cor. I do :-Nay, more, expect their approbation, Their thanks. I will obtain them such a peace As thou dost never ask; a perfect union Of their whole nation with imperial Rome, In all her privileges, all her rights;

By the just gods, I will.-What would'st thou more? Auf. What would I more, proud Roman? This I would,

Fire the curs'd forest, where these Roman wolves
Haunt and infest their nobler neighbours round them;
Extirpate from the bosom of this land

A false, perfidious people, who, beneath
The mask of freedom, are a combination
Against the liberty of human kind,-

The genuine seed of outlaws and of robbers.

Cor. The seed of gods.-"Tis not for thee, vain
boaster,-

'Tis not for such as thou,- -so often spar'd
By her victorious sword, to speak of Rome,
But with respect, and aweful veneration.—
Whate'er her blots, whate'er her giddy factions,
There is more virtue in one single year

Of Roman story, than your Volscian annals

Can boast through all their creeping, dark, duration. Auf. I thank thy rage:- This full displays the

traitor.

Cor. Traitor!-How now?

Auf. Ay, traitor, Marcius.

Cor. Marcius!

Auf. Ay, Marcius, Caius Marcius: Dost thou think I'll grace thee with that robbery, thy stol'n name Coriolanus, in Corioli ?

You lords, and heads o'the state, perfidiously
He has betray'd your business, and given up,
For certain drops of salt, your city Rome,-
I say, your city,-to his wife and mother;

THE MOOR OF VENICE;

A TRAGEDY,

IN FIVE ACTS;

BY WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE.

AS PERFORMED AT THE THEATRES ROYAL,

DRURY LANE AND COVENT GARDEN.

PRINTED UNDER THE AUTHORITY OF THE MANAGERS

FROM THE PROMPT BOOK.

WITH REMARKS

BY MRS. INCHBALD.

LONDON:

PRINTED FOR LONGMAN, HURST, REES, AND ORME,
PATERNOSTER ROW.