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There is Aufidius. Lift, what work he makes

Amongst your cloven army.

Mar. Oh, they are at it.

Lar. Their noife be our inftruction! Ladders, ho!

Enter the Volícians.

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 Titus, They do difdain us much beyond our thoughts,

Which makes me fweat with wrath. Come on, my fellows: He that retires, I'll take him for a Volfcian,

And he fhall feel mine edge.

[Alarum; the Romans are beat back to their trenches.

SCENE

Re-enter Martius.

3

VIII.

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

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 stand fast, we'll beat them to their wives,
As they us to our trenches followed.

[Another alarum, and Martius follows them to the gates. So, now the gates are ope: now prove good feconds; 'Tis for the followers fortune widens them:

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

[He enters the gates, and is fhut in.

I Sol.

3 you herds; of boils

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Sol. Fool-hardiness, not I.

2 Sol. Nor I.

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

Enter Titus Lartius.

Lar. What is become of Martius?
All. Slain, Sir, doubtless.

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.

Lar. Oh noble fellow !

Who 'fenfible out-does his fenfelefs fword,
And when it bows, ftands up: thou art left, Martius
A carbuncle entire, as big as thou art,

Were not fo rich a jewel. Thou waft a foldier
Even to 'Cato's wifha, not fierce and terrible
Only in ftroaks, but with thy grim looks, and
The thunder-like percuffions of thy founds,
Thou mad'ft thine enemies fhake, as if the world
Were feaverous, and did tremble.

Enter Martius bleeding, affaulted by the Enemy.

1 Sol. Look, Sir..

Lar. O, 'tis Martius.

Let's fetch him off, or make remain balike.

[They fight, and all enter the City:

Enter certain Romans with Spoils.

1 Rom. This will I carry to Rome.

G 2

2 Rom.

(a) Plutarch in the life of Coriolanus relates this as the opinion of Cato the elder, that a great foldier should 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. Theob. (0) Make remain is an old way of speaking which fignifies but the fame as remain.

fenfibly out-dares... old edit. Thirl. emend.
Calvus'... old edit. Theob. emend.

2 Rom. And I this.

3 Rom. A murrain on't, I took this for filver.

[Alarum continues ftill afar off.

Enter Martius and Titus Lartius, with a trumpet.

Mar. See here thefe movers, that do prize their honours
At a crack'd drachm: cushions, leaden fpoons,
Irons of a doit, doublets that hangmen would

Bury 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 numbers to make good the city,

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

Lar. Worthy Sir, thou bleed'ft.
Thy exercise hath been too violent
For a fecond courfe of fight.

Mar. Sir, praise me not:

Fare you well:

My work hath yet not warm'd me.
The blood I dropt, is rather phyfical
Than'dangerous. T' Aufidius thus I will
Appear, and fight.

Lar. Now the fair Goddess Fortune

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

Mar. Thy friend no lefs,

7/Than to thofe fhe placeth highest fo farewel.

Lar. Thou worthieft Martius,

Go found thy trumpet in the market-place,

Call thither all the officers o' th' town,
Where they fhall know our minds.

[To the trumpet.

Away!

[Exeunt.

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Enter Cominius retreating, with Soldiers.

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 fhall be charg'd again. Whiles we have ftruck,
By interims and conveying gufts we have heard

The charges of our friends.

Ye Roman Gods,

Lead their fucceffes, as we wifh our own,

That both our powers, with fmiling fronts encountring, May give you thankful facrifice! Thy news?

Enter a Messenger.

Mef. The citizens of Corioli have iffued, And given to Lartius and to Martius battel. I faw our party to their trenches driven, And then I came away.

Com. Tho' thou speak'ft truth,

Methinks thou fpeak'ft not well. How long is't fince? Mef. Above an hour, my Lord.

Com. 'Tis not a mile: briefly we heard their drums. How could't thou in a mile confound an hour,

And bring the news fo late?

Mef. Spies of the Volfcians

Held me in chase, that I was forc❜d to wheel
Three or four miles about; elfe had I, Sir,

Half an hour fince brought my report.

Enter Martius.

Com. Who's yonder,

That does appear as he were flea'd? O Gods,

G 3

He

8 The

He has the ftamp of Martius, and I have
Before-time feen him thus.

Mar. Come I too late?

Com. The fhepherd knows not thunder from a tabor, More than I know the found of Martius' tongue From every meaner 9 'man's.`

Mar. Come I too late?

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

Mar. Oh! let me clip ye

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

Com. Flower of warriors,
How is't with Titus Lartius?

Mar. As with a man bufied about decrees;
Condemning fome to death, and fome to exile,
Ranfoming him, or pitying, threatning th' other,
Holding Corioli in the name of Rome,

Even like a fawning grey-hound in the leafh,
To let him flip at will.

Com. Where is that flave.

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

Mar. Let him alone,

He did inform the truth: but for our gentlemen,

The common file, (a plague on't! tribunes for them!)
The mouse ne'er fhunn'd the cat, as they did budge
From rafcals worse than they.

Com. But how prevail'd you?

Mar. Will the time ferve to tell? I do not think

Where is the enemy? are you lords o' th' field ?

If not, why ceafe you 'till you are fo?

Com. Martius, we have at difadvantage fought, And did retire to win our purpose.

Mar. How lies their battle? know you on what fide

They have plac'd their men of truft?

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Com.

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