"Than Hector's forehead, when it fpit forth blood "At Grecian fwords contending. Tell Valeria, We are fit to bid her welcome. [Exit Gent

Vir. Heav'ns blefs my Lord from fell Aufidius! Vol. He'll beat Aufidius' head below his knee, And tread upon his neck.

Enter Valeria, with an Uber, and a Gentlewoman.

Vol. My Ladies both, good day to you.

Vol. Sweet Madam

Vir. I am glad to see your Lady ship

Val. How do you both? you are manifest housekeepWhat are you fowing here? a fine spot, in good! faith. How does your little fon?

ers.

Vir. I thank your Ladyfhip: well, good Madam. Vol. He had rather fee the fwords, and hear a drum, than look upon his schoolmafter.

Val. O' my word, the father's fon: I'll fwear 'tis a' very pretty boy. "O" my troth, I look'd on him o❞ "Wednesday half an hour together- -h'as fuch a "confirm'd countenance. I faw him run after a gilded "butterfly; and when he caught it, he let it go again, "and after it again; and over and over he comes, and "up again; and caught it again; and whether his fall "enrag'd him, or how 'twas, he did fo fet his teeth; " and did tear it; oh, I warrant how he mammock'd ** it!

Vol. One of's father's moods.

Val. Indeed, la, 'tis a noble child.

Vir. A crack, Madam.

Val. Come, lay afide your ftitchery; I must have you play the idle hufwife with me this afternoon.

Vir. No, good Madam, I will not out of doors.
Val. Not out of doors!

Vol. She fhall, she fhall.

Vir. Indeed, no, by your patience; I'll not over the threshold, till my Lord return from the wars.

Val. Fie, you confine yourself most unreasonably.. Come, you must go vifit the good Lady that lies in. Vir. I will with her fpeedy strength, and visit her with my prayers; but I cannot go thither.

Vol. Why, I pray you?

Vir. 'Tis not to fave labour, nor that I want love. Val. You would be another Penelope; yet they fay, all the yarn fhe spun in Ulyffes's abfence, did but fill Ithaca full of moths. Come, I would your cambrick were fenlible as your finger, that you might leave pricking it for pity. Come, you fhall go with us.

Vir. No, good Madam, pardon me; indeed I will not forth.

Val. In truth, la, go with me, and I'll tell you excellent news of your husband.

Vir. Oh, good Madam, there can be none yet.

Val Verily I do not jeft with you; there came news from him laft night.

Vir. Indeed, Madam

Val. In earnest 'tis true; I heard a fenator speak it. Thus it is- -The Volfcians have an army forth, against whom Cominius the General is gone with one part of our Roman power. Your Lord and Titus Lartius are fet down before their city Corioli; they nothing doubt prevailing, and to make it brief wars. This is true, on my honour; and so I pray go with us. Vir. Give me excufe, good Madam; I will obey you in every thing hereafter.

Vol. Let her alone, Lady, as fhe is now, fhe will but difeafe our better mirth.

Val. In troth I think fhe would. Fare you well then. Come, good fweet Lady. Pr'ythee, Virgilia, turn thy folemnnefs out o' door, and go along with us.

Vir. No: at a word, Madam, indeed I must not. I wish

you much mirth.

Val. Well, then farewel.

[Exeunt,

SCENE VII. Changes to the walls of Corioli.

Enter Marcius, Titus Lartius, with Captains and Soldiers.
To them a Meffenger.

Mar. Yonder comes news: a wager they have met.
Lar. My horfe to your's, no.

Mar. 'Tis done.

Lart. Agreed.

Mar. Say, has our General met the enemy?

Me. They lie in view, but have not spoke as yet.

Lart.

Lart. So, the good horse is mine.

Mar. I'll buy him of you.

Lart. No, I'll not fell, nor give him: lend him you I will

For half an hundred years. Summon the town.

Mar. How far off lies these armies?
Me. Within a mile and half.

Mar. Then fhall we hear their larum, and they ours.
Now, Mars, I pr'ythee, make us quick in work;
That we with Imoking swords may march from hence,
To
'o help our fielded friends! Come, blow the blaft.

They found a parley. Enter two Senators with others on

the walls.

Tullus Aufidius, is he within your walls?

1 Sen. No, nor a man that fears you lefs than he; That's leffer than a little. Hark, our drums

[Drum afar off. Are bringing forth our youth: we'll break our walls, Rather than they fhall pound us up: our gates, Which yet feem fhut, we have but pinn'd with rufhes; They'll open of themfelves. Hark you, far off

There is Aufidius.

[Alarum far off.

Lift, what work he makes

Among your cloven army.

Dar. Oh, they are at it!

Lart. Their noise be our inftruction. Ladders, ho! Enter the Volfcians.

Mar. They fear us not, but iffue forth their city. Now put your fhields before your hearts, and fight With hearts more proof than fhields. Advance, brave They do difdain us much beyond our thoughts; [Titus, Which makes me fweat with wrath. Come on, my felHe that retires, I'll take him for a Volfcian, [lows; And he fhall feel mine edge.

[Alarum; the Romans beat back to their trenches.

SCENE VIII. Re-enter Marcius.

Mar. All the contagion of the fouth light on you, You fhames of Rome, you !herds of boils and Plaister you o'er, that you may be adhorr'd [plagues

Farther

Farther than feen, and one infect another

Against the wind a mile !

-You fouls of geefe,

That bear the fhapes of men, how have you run
From flaves, that apes would beat? Pluto and hell!
All hurt behind, backs red, and faces pale,

With flight, and agued fear! mend, and charge home,
Or, by the fires of heaven, I'll leave the foe,
And make my wars on you: look to't, come on;
If you'll ftand fast we'll beat them to their wives,
As they us to our trenches followed.

Another alarum, and Marcius follows them to the gates. So now the gates are ope; now prove good seconds; 'Tis for the followers Fortune widens them,

Not for the fliers: mark me, and do the like.

[He enters the gates and is shut in.

I Sol. Fool-hardiness, not I.

2 Sol. Nor I.

3 Sol. See, they have shut him in. [Alarum continues. All. To th' pot, I warrant him

Enter Titus Lartius.

Lart. What is become of Marcius?
All. Slain, Sir, doubtlefs.

1 Sol. Following the fliers at the very heels,
With them he enters; who, upon the fudden,
Clapt to their gates; he is himself alone,
To answer all the city.

Lart. Oh, noble fellow !

Who, fenfible, outdoes his senseless sword;

And, when it bows, stands up :"thou art left, Marcius

A carbuncle entire, as big as thou art,

Were not fo rich a jewel. Thou waft a foldier
Even to Cato's wifh †, not fierce and terrible-
Only in ftrokes, but with thy grim looks, and
The thunder-like percuffion of thy founds,'
Thou mad'st thine enemies fhake, as if the world
Were feverous, and did tremble.

Enter

+ Plutarch, in the life of Coriolanus, relates this as the opinion of Cato the elder that dir fhould carry terror in his looks and tone of voice: and the poet here, by following the hiftorian inadvertently, is fallen into a great chronological impropriety.

Enter Marcius bleeding, affaulted by the

1 Sol. Look, Sir.

Lart. O, 'tis Marcius.

Let's fetch him off, or make remain † alike.

enemy.

[They fight, and all enter the city,

Inter certain Romans with spoils.

Rom. This will I carry to Rome.

2 Rom. And I this.

3 Rem. A murrian on't, I took this for filver.

[Alarum continues fill afar off.

Enter Marcius and Titus Lartius, with a trumpet.

Mar. See here thefe movers, that do prize their hoAt a crack'd drachm: cufhions, leaden fpoons, [nours Irons of a doit, doublets that hangmen would

Pury

with thofe that wore them, these base flaves,
Ere yet the fight be done, pack up; down with them;
And hark, what noife the General makes !—to him
There is the man of my foul's hate, Aufidius,
Piercing our Romans: then, valiant Titus, take
Convenient number to make good the city;

Whilft I, with those that have the fpirit, will hafte
To help Cominius. /

Lart. Worthy Sir, thou bleed'ft;
Thy exercife hath been too violent
For a fecond course of fight.

Mar. Sir, praise me not:

My work hath yet not warm'd me.

Fare you

well:

The blood I drop is rather physical

Than dangerous to me.

T' Aufidius thus I will appear, and fight.

Lart. Now the fair goddess Fortune

Fall deep in love with thee, and her great charms
Mifguide thy opposers' fwords! bold gentleman!
Profperity be thy page!

Mar. Thy friend no lefs,

Than those the placeth higheft! So, farewel.
Lart. Thou worthieft Marcius,-

Go found thy trumpet in the market-place;

[To the Trumet.

tall

† An old way of speaking, fignifying but the fame as remain.