Three or four miles about; else had I, Sir, Enter Martius. Com. Who's yonder, That does appear as he were flea'd? O Gods, 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 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 Com. Flower of warriors, Mar. As with a man bufied about decrees; Even like a fawning grey-hound in the leash, Com. Where is that flave Which told me they had beat you to your trenches? Mar. Let him alone, He did inform the truth: but for our gentlemen, Com. But how prevail'd you? Mar. Will the time ferve to tell? I do not think Com. Martius, we have at difadvantage fought, H 3 Mar Mar. How lyes their battle? know you on what fide They have plac'd their men of trust ? Com. As I guess, Martius, Their bands i' th' vaward are the Antiates By all the battels wherein we have fought, you directly Set me against Aufidius, and his Antiat's ; And that you not delay the prefent, but Com. Though I could wish You were conducted to a gentle bath, Mar. Thofe are they That moft are willing; if any fuch be here Let him, alone, (or many if fo minded) And follow Martius. [They all fhout and wave their fwords, take him up in their arms, and caft up their caps. Oh! me alone, make you a fword of me : Which men are beft inclin'd. Make good this oftentation, and you shall SCENE X. Corioli. [Exeunt. Titus Lartius having fent a guard upon Corioli, going with For a fhort holding; if we lose the field, We cannot keep the town. Lieu. Fear not our care, Sir. Lar. Hence, and fhut your gates upon's: Our guider, come, to th' Roman camp conduct us. [Exeunt. SCENE XI. The Roman Camp. Alarum as in battel. Enter Martius and Aufidius, at feveral doors. Mar. I'll fight with none but thee, for I do hate thee Worfe than a promife-breaker. Auf. We hate alike: Not Africk owns a ferpent I abhor More than thy fame, and envy ; fix thy foot. Mar. Let the first budger die the other's flave, Auf. If I fly, Martius, hollow me like a hare. Alone I fought in your Corioli walls, And made what work I pleas'd: 'tis not my blood, Auf. Wert thou the Hector, That was the whip of your bragg'd progeny, Thou should't not 'fcape me here. [Here they fight, and certain Volícians come to the aid of Aufidius. Martius fights 'till they be driven in breathless. Officious and not valiant! you have sham'd me In your condemned feconding. [Exeunt Mar. and Auf. fighting. Flourish. Flourish. Alarum. A retreat is founded. Enter at one door Cominius with the Romans at another door Martius, with his arm in a scarf. Com. If I fhould tell thee o'er this thy day's work, And, gladly quak'd, hear more; where the dull Tribunes, Shall fay against their hearts, We thank the Gods Our Rome bath fuch a foldier. Yet cam'ft thou to a morfel of this feaft, Having fully din'd before. Enter Titus Lartius with his power from the pursuit. Lar. O General, Here is the fteed, we the caparison : Hadft thou beheld Mar. Pray now, no more: my mother, When she does praife me, grieves me: I have done Com. You fhall not be The grave of your deserving, Rome must know What you have done) before our army hear me. Com. Should they not, Well might they fefter 'gainst ingratitude, And tent themselves with death: Of all the horses, The The treasure in the field atchiev'd, and city, Mar. I thank you, General: But cannot make my heart confent to take [Along flourish. They all cry, Martius! Martius! caft up their caps and lances: Cominius and Lartius ftand bare. Mar. May these same inftruments, which you profane, Never found more! when drums and trumpets shall I'th' field prove flatterers, let camps as cities Be made of falfe-fac'd foothing. When steel grows As if I lov'd my little fhould be dieted Com. Too modeft are you : More cruel to your good report, than grateful With all th' applaufe and clamour of the hoft, Caius Martius Coriolanus. Bear th' addition nobly ever! Flourish. Trumpets found, and drums. Omnes. Caius Martius Coriolanus ! Mar. I will go wash : And when my face is fair, you fhall perceive Whether |