Volumnia of CORIOLANUS

[V,3,3599]
Should we be silent and not speak, our raiment 
And state of bodies would bewray what life 
We have led since thy exile. Think with thyself 
How more unfortunate than all living women 
Are we come hither: since that thy sight, 
which should 
Make our eyes flow with joy, hearts dance 
with comforts, 
Constrains them weep and shake with fear and sorrow; 
Making the mother, wife and child to see 
The son, the husband and the father tearing 
His country's bowels out. And to poor we 
Thine enmity's most capital: thou barr'st us 
Our prayers to the gods, which is a comfort 
That all but we enjoy; for how can we, 
Alas, how can we for our country pray. 
Whereto we are bound, together with thy victory, 
Whereto we are bound? alack, or we must lose 
The country, our dear nurse, or else thy person, 
Our comfort in the country. We must find 
An evident calamity, though we had 
Our wish, which side should win: for either thou 
Must, as a foreign recreant, be led 
With manacles thorough our streets, or else 
triumphantly tread on thy country's ruin, 
And bear the palm for having bravely shed 
Thy wife and children's blood. For myself, son, 
I purpose not to wait on fortune till 
These wars determine: if I cannot persuade thee 
Rather to show a noble grace to both parts 
Than seek the end of one, thou shalt no sooner 
March to assault thy country than to tread— 
Trust to't, thou shalt not—on thy mother's womb, 
That brought thee to this world.

[V,3,3642]
Nay, go not from us thus. 
If it were so that our request did tend 
To save the Romans, thereby to destroy 
The Volsces whom you serve, you might condemn us, 
As poisonous of your honour: no; our suit 
Is that you reconcile them: while the Volsces 
May say 'This mercy we have show'd;' the Romans, 
'This we received;' and each in either side 
Give the all-hail to thee and cry 'Be blest 
For making up this peace!' Thou know'st, great son, 
The end of war's uncertain, but this certain, 
That, if thou conquer Rome, the benefit 
Which thou shalt thereby reap is such a name, 
Whose repetition will be dogg'd with curses; 
Whose chronicle thus writ: 'The man was noble, 
But with his last attempt he wiped it out; 
Destroy'd his country, and his name remains 
To the ensuing age abhorr'd.' Speak to me, son: 
Thou hast affected the fine strains of honour, 
To imitate the graces of the gods; 
To tear with thunder the wide cheeks o' the air, 
And yet to charge thy sulphur with a bolt 
That should but rive an oak. Why dost not speak? 
Think'st thou it honourable for a noble man 
Still to remember wrongs? Daughter, speak you: 
He cares not for your weeping. Speak thou, boy: 
Perhaps thy childishness will move him more 
Than can our reasons. There's no man in the world 
More bound to 's mother; yet here he lets me prate 
Like one i' the stocks. Thou hast never in thy life 
Show'd thy dear mother any courtesy, 
When she, poor hen, fond of no second brood, 
Has cluck'd thee to the wars and safely home, 
Loaden with honour. Say my request's unjust, 
And spurn me back: but if it be not so, 
Thou art not honest; and the gods will plague thee, 
That thou restrain'st from me the duty which 
To a mother's part belongs. He turns away: 
Down, ladies; let us shame him with our knees. 
To his surname Coriolanus 'longs more pride 
Than pity to our prayers. Down: an end; 
This is the last: so we will home to Rome, 
And die among our neighbours. Nay, behold 's: 
This boy, that cannot tell what he would have 
But kneels and holds up bands for fellowship, 
Does reason our petition with more strength 
Than thou hast to deny 't. Come, let us go: 
This fellow had a Volscian to his mother; 
His wife is in Corioli and his child 
Like him by chance. Yet give us our dispatch: 
I am hush'd until our city be a-fire, 
And then I'll speak a little.


Selected from William Shakespeare's CORIOLANUS
Source from http://www.opensourceshakespeare.org/