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Val. Humanity.
Van. Oh! patience!

Val. Can you disown a truth confessed by all?
A praise, a glory known in barbarous climes?
Far as our legions march, they carry knowledge,
The arts, the laws, the discipline of life.

Our conquests are indulgencies, and we
Not masters, but protectors of mankind.

Van. Prevaricating, false-most courteous tyrants;Romans! Rare patterns of humanity!

Came you then thus far through waves to conquer,
To waste, to plunder out of mere compassion?
Is it humanity that prompts you on

To ravage the whole earth, to burn, destroy?
To raise the cry of widows and of orphans?
To lead in bonds the generous free-born princes,
Who spurn, who fight against your tyranny?
Happy for us, and happy for you spoilers,
Had your humanity ne'er reach'd our world-
It is a virtue-(so it seems you call it)
A Roman virtue that has cost you dear:
And dearer shall it cost if Vanoc lives.-
Or if we die, we shall leave those behind us
Who know the worth of British liberty.

Philips.

3.-Corin and Emma's Hospitality.-Thomson. Emma. SHEPHERD, 'tis he. Beneath yon aged oak, All on the flowery turf he lays him down.

Corin. Soft: let us not disturb him. Gentle Emma,

My pity waits with reverence on his fortune.
Modest of carriage, and of speech most gracious,
As if some saint, or angel in disguise,

Had graced our lowly cottage with his presence,
He steals, I know not how, into the heart,

And makes it pant to serve him. Trust me, Emma,
He is no common man.

Em. Some lord, perhaps,

Or valiant chief, that from our deadly foe,
The haughty, cruel, unbelieving Dane,

Seeks shelter here.

Cor. And shelter he shall find.

Who loves his country, is my friend and brother.
Behold him well. Fair virtue in his aspect,

Even through the homely russet that conceals him,
Shines forth, and proves him noble. Seest thou, Emma,
Yon western clouds? The sun they strive to hide
Yet darts his beams around.

Em. Your thought is mine;

He is not what his present fortunes speak him.
But, ah! the raging foe is all around us:
We dare not keep him here.

Cor. Content thee, wife:

This island is of strength. Nature's own hand
Hath planted round a deep defence of woods,
The sounding ash, the mighty oak; each tree
A sheltering grove; and chok'd up all between
With wild encumbrance of perplexing thorns,
And horrid brakes. Beyond this woody verge,
Two rivers broad and rapid hem us in.

Along their channel spreads the gulphy pool,
And trembling quagmire, whose deceitful green
Betrays the foot it tempts. One path alone
Winds to this plain, so roughly difficult,
This single arm, poor shepherd as I am,
Could well dispute it with twice twenty Danes.
Em. Yet think, my Corin, on the stern decree
Of that proud foe: "Who harbours or relieves
"An English captain, dies the death of traitors:
"But who his haunt discovers, shall be safe,
“And high rewarded.”

Cor. Now, just Heaven forbid,

A British man should ever count for gain
What villany must earn. No: are we poor?
Be honesty our riches. Are we mean,

And humbly born? The true heart makes us noble:
These hands can toil, can sow the ground, and reap
For thee and thy sweet babes. Our daily labour
Is daily wealth; it finds us bread and raiment :
Could Danish gold give more? And for the death
These tyrants threaten, let me rather meet it,
Than e'er betray my guest.

Em. Alas the while,

That loyal faith is fled from hall and bower
To dwell with village swains!

Cor. Ah look! behold.

Where, like some goodly tree by wintry winds
Torn from the roots and withering, our sad guest
Lies on the ground diffus'd.

Em. I weep to see it.

Cor. Thou hast a heart sweet pity loves to dwell in.
Dry up thy tears; and lean on this just hope:
If yet to do away his country's shame,

To serve her bravely on some blest occasion,
If for these ends this stranger sought our cottage,
The heavenly hosts are hovering here unseen,
To watch and to protect him. But oh! when-
My heart burns for it-shall I see the hour
Of vengeance on these Danish infidels,
That war with Heaven and us?

Em. Alas, my love!

These passions are not for the poor man's state.
To Heaven, and to the rulers of the land,

Leave such ambitious thoughts. Be warn'd, my Corin,

And think our little all depends on thee.

Alfred.

4.-Coriolanus and Aufidius.—Shakespeare. Cor. I PLAINLY, Tullus, by your looks perceive, You disapprove my conduct.

Auf. I mean not to assail thee with the clamour
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 ?-Heavens !-and think'st thou,
Coriolanus

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

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 shouldst 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 Volscians. Cor. I do:-Nay, more, expect their approbation, Their thanks. I will obtain them such a peace As thou durst 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 wouldst 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 awful 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;
Breaking his oath and resolution, like
A twist of rotten silk; never admitting
Counsel o' the war: but at his nurse's tears
He whin'd and roar'd away your victory;
That pages blush'd at him, and men of heart
Look'd wondering at each other.

Cor. Hear'st thou, Mars?

Auf Name not the god, thou boy of tears.
Cor. Measureless liar, thou hast made my heart
Too great for what contains it.-Boy!-
Cut me to pieces, Volscians; men and lads,
Stain all your edges on me.-Boy!-

If you have writ your annals true, 'tis there,
That, like an eagle in a dovecot, I

Flutter'd your Volscians in Corioli;
Alone I did it :-Boy!-But let us part;
Lest my rash hand should do a hasty deed
My cooler thought forbids.

Auf. I court

The worst thy sword can do; while thou from me
Hast nothing to expect, but sore destruction;

Hh

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