Cedar

Coriolanus, [5.3.56-62]. Coriolanus. “What’s this?/l Your knees to me? To your corrected son?/ Then let the pebbles on the hungry beach/ Fillip the stars! Then let the mutinous winds/ Strike the proud cedars ‘gainst the fiery sun,/ Murd’ring impossibility, to make/ What cannot be, slight work.”