1 Rom.

2 Rom.

SCENE V.

Within the Town. A Street.

Enter certain Romans, with Spoils.

This will I carry to Rome.

And I this.

3 Rom. A murrain on 't! I took this for silver.

[Alarum continues still afar off. Enter MARCIUS, and TITUS LARTIUS, with a Trumpet. Mar. See here these movers, that do prize their hours At a crack'd drachm! Cushions, leaden spoons,

To him!

Irons of a doit, doublets that hangmen would
Bury with those that wore them, these base slaves,
Ere yet the fight be done, pack up. Down with them!
And hark, what noise the general makes.
There is the man of my soul's hate, Aufidius,
Piercing our Romans: then, valiant Titus, take
Convenient numbers to make good the city,
Whilst I, with those that have the spirit, will haste
To help Cominius.

My work hath yet not warm'd me.
The blood I drop is rather physical
Than dangerous to me.

I will appear, and fight.

Lart.

Fare you well.

To Aufidius thus

Now the fair goddess, Fortune,

Fall deep in love with thee; and her great charms
Misguide thy opposers' swords! Bold gentleman,
Prosperity be thy page!

Mar.

Thy friend no less

Than those she placeth highest! So, farewell.

Lart. Thou worthiest Marcius! —

Go, sound thy trumpet in the market-place;

[Exit MARCIUS

Call thither all the officers of the town,

Where they shall know our mind. Away!

[Exeunt.

SCENE VI.

Near the Camp of COMINIUS.

Enter COMINIUS and Forces, as in retreat.

Com. Breathe you, my friends. Well fought: we are come off Like Romans, neither foolish in our stands,

Nor cowardly in retire: believe me, Sirs,

We shall be charg'd again. Whiles we have struck,

By interims and conveying gusts, we have heard
The charges of our friends: :- the Roman gods

Lead their successes as we wish our own,

That both our powers, with smiling fronts encountering,
May give you thankful sacrifice!

Enter a Messenger.

Thy news?

Mess. The citizens of Corioli have issued,
And given to Lartius and to Marcius battle:
I saw our party to their trenches driven,
And then I came away.

Com.

Though thou speak'st truth,

Methinks, thou speak'st not well. How long is 't since?
Mess. Above an hour, my lord.

Com. 'T is not a mile; briefly we heard their drums:
How could'st thou in a mile confound an hour,

And bring thy news so late?

Mess.
Spies of the Volsces
Held me in chase, that I was forc'd to wheel
Three or four miles about; else had I, Sir,
Half an hour since brought my report.

That does appear as he were flay'd? O gods!

He has the stamp of Marcius, and I have
Before-time seen him thus.

Mar.

Come I too late?

Com. The shepherd knows not thunder from a tabor, More than I know the sound of Marcius' tongue

From every meaner man.

Mar.

Come I too late?

Com. Ay, if you come not in the blood of others, But mantled in your own.

Mar.

O! let me clip you

In arms as sound, as when I woo'd; in heart
As merry, as when our nuptial day was done,
And tapers burn'd to bedward.

Com.

How is 't with Titus Lartius?

Flower of warriors,

Mar. As with a man busied about decrees: Condemning some to death, and some to exile; Ransoming him, or pitying, threatening the other; Holding Corioli in the name of Rome,

Even like a fawning greyhound in the leash,

To let him slip at will.

Which told me they had beat you to your trenches?
Where is he? Call him hither.

Mar.

He did inform the truth: but for
The common file, (A plague!
The mouse ne'er shunn'd the cat,
From rascals worse than they.

Com.

Let him alone,
our gentlemen,
Tribunes for them?)
as they did budge

But how prevail'd you?

Mar. Will the time serve to tell? I do not think Where is the enemy? Are you lords o' the field?

If not, why cease you till you are so?

Com. Marcius, we have at disadvantage fought,

And did retire to win our purpose.

Mar. How lies their battle? Know you on which side They have plac'd their men of trust?

Com.

As I guess, Marcius,

Their bands i' the vaward are the Antiates,
Of their best trust: o'er them Aufidius,
Their very heart of hope.

Mar.

I do beseech you,

By all the battles wherein we have fought,

By the blood we have shed together, by the vows
We have made to endure friends, that you directly
Set me against Aufidius, and his Antiates;
And that you not delay the present, but,

Filling the air with swords advanc'd and darts,
We prove this very hour.

Com.

Though I could wish

You were conducted to a gentle bath,

And balms applied to you, yet dare I never
Deny your asking. Take your choice of those
That best can aid your

Mar.

action.

Those are they

(As it were sin to doubt) that love this painting
Wherein you see me smear'd; if any fear
Lesser his person than an ill report;

If any think, brave death outweighs bad life,
And that his country 's dearer than himself;
Let him, alone, or so many so minded,
Wave thus, to express his disposition,
And follow Marcius.

[They all shout, and wave their Swords; take him
up in their arms, and cast up their Caps.

O me, alone! Make you a sword of me?
If these shows be not outward, which of you
But is four Volsces? None of you, but is
Able to bear against the great Aufidius

A shield as hard as his. A certain number,

Though thanks to all, must I select from all: the rest
Shall bear the business in some other fight,

As cause will be obey'd. Please you to march;

And four shall quickly draw out my command,

Which men are best inclin'd.

TITUS LARTIUS, having set a Guard upon Corioli, going with Drum and Trumpet toward COMINIUS and CAIUS MARCIUS, enters with a Lieutenant, a Party of Soldiers, and a Scout. Lart. So; let the ports be guarded: keep your duties,

As I have set them down. If I do send, despatch

Those centuries to our aid; the rest will serve

For a short holding: if we lose the field,

We cannot keep the town.

Lieu.

Fear not our care, Sir.

Lart. Hence, and shut your gates upon us. Our guider, come; to the Roman camp conduct us.

SCENE VIII.

[Exeunt.

A Field of Battle between the Roman and the Volscian Camps. Alarum. Enter MARCIUS and AUFIDIUS.

Mar. I'll fight with none but thee; for I do hate thee Worse than a promise-breaker.

Auf.

Not Afric owns a serpent, I abhor

We hate alike:

More than thy fame and envy. Fix thy foot.

Mar. Let the first budger die the other's slave,

And the gods doom him after!

Auf.

Halloo me like a hare.

If I fly, Marcius,

Mar. Within these three hours, Tullus,

Alone I fought in your Corioli walls,

And made what work I pleas'd. 'T is not my blood,