SCENE IX. The Roman camp. Alarum. A retreat is sounded. Flourish. Enter at one side, Cominius, and Romans; at the ather side, Marcius, with his arm in a scarf, and other Romans. Com. If I should tell thee o'er this thy day's work, Thou❜lt not believe thy deeds: but I'll report it, Where senators shall mingle tears with smiles; Where great patricians shall attend, and shrug, I'the end, admire; where ladies shall be frighted, And, gladly quak'd*, hear more; where the dull tribunes, That, with the fusty plebeians, hate thine honours, Yet cam'st thou to a morsel of this feast, Enter Titus Lartius, with his power †, from the pursuit. Lar. O general, Here is the steed, we the caparison : Hadst thou beheld- Mar. Pray now, no more: my mother, Who has a charter to extol her blood, When she does praise me, grieves me. I have done, Com. You shall not be The grave of your deserving; Rome must know The value of her own: 'twere a concealment Worse than a theft, no less than a traducement, To hide your doings; and to silence that, Which, to the spire and top of praises vouch'd, * Thrown into grateful trepidation. + Forces. ‡ Privilege. Would seem but modest: Therefore, I beseech you, (In sign of what you are, not to reward What you have done,) before our army hear me. Mar. I have some wounds upon me, and they smart To hear themselves remember'd. Com. Should they not, Well might they fester 'gainst ingratitude, And tent themselves with death. Of all the horses, (Whereof we have ta'en good, and good store,) of all The treasure, in this field achiev'd, and city, Your only choice. Mar. [A long flourish. They all cry, Marcius! Mar. May these same instruments, which you profane, Never sound more! When drums and trumpets shall I'the field prove flatterers, let courts and cities be note, Here's many else have done,-you shout me forth In acclamations hyperbolical; As if I loved my little should be dieted In praises sauced with lies. Com. VOL. VIII. Too modest are you; * Weak, feeble. L More cruel to your good report, than grateful To us that give you truly by your patience, If 'gainst yourself you be incens'd, we'll put you (Like one that means his proper* harm,) in manacles, Then reason safely with you.-Therefore, be it known, As to us, to all the world, that Caius Marcius With all the applause and clamour of the host, Bear the addition nobly ever! [Flourish. Trumpets sound, and drums. All. Caius Marcius Coriolanus! Cor. I will go. wash ; And when my face is fair, you shall perceive To the fairness of my power. The best, with whom we may articulate §, Lar. I shall, my lord. Cor. The gods begin to mock me. I that now Refus'd most princely gifts, am bound to beg Of my lord general. Com. Take it 'tis yours.-What is't? Cor. I sometime lay, here in Corioli, At a poor man's house; he us'd me kindly : He cried to me; I saw him prisoner; But then Aufidius was within my view, * Own. Chief men. : + Add more by doing his best. And wrath o'erwhelm'd my pity: I request you Com. O, well begg'd! Were he the butcher of my son, he should Cor. By Jupiter, forgot : Go we to our tent: I am weary; yea, my memory is tir❜d. Com. The blood upon your visage dries: 'tis time SCENE X. The camp of the Volces. [Exeunt. A flourish. Cornets. Enter Tullus Aufidius, bloody, with two or three Soldiers. Auf. The town is ta'en! 1 Sol. 'Twill be deliver'd back on good condition. Auf. Condition? I would, I were a Roman; for I cannot, I'the part that is at mercy? Five times, Marcius, If e'er again I meet him beard to beard, (True sword to sword,) I'll potch+ at him some way; Or wrath, or craft, may get him. 1 Sol. He's the devil. Auf. Bolder, though not so subtle: My valour's poison'd, * Whereas. + Poke, push. With only suffering stain by him; for him Wash my fierce hand in his heart. Go you to the city; Learn, how 'tis held; and what they are, that must Be hostages for Rome. 1 Sol. Will not you go? Auf. I am attended + at the cypress grove: I pray you, ("Tis south the city mills,) bring me word thither How the world goes; that to the pace of it I may spur on my journey. 1 Sol. I shall, sir. [Exeunt. ACT II. SCENE I. Rome. A public place. Enter Menenius, Sicinius, and Brutus. Men. The augurer tells me, we shall have news to-night. Bru. Good, or bad? Men. Not according to the prayer of the people, for they love not Marcius. Sic. Nature teaches beasts to know their friends. Men. Pray you, who does the wolf love? Sic. The lamb. Men. Ay, to devour him; as the hungry plebeians would the noble Marcius. Bru. He's a lamb, indeed, that baes like a bear. + Waited for. My brother posted to protect him. |