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. Oh! let me clip ye In Arms as found, as when I woo'd in Heart; And Tapers burnt to Bedward. Com. Flower of Warriors, how is't with Titus Lartius? Condemning fome to Death, and fome to Exile, Even like a fawning Grey-hound in the Leafh, Com. Where is that Slave 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 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 Battel? Know you on what fide they have plac'd their Men of truft? Com. As I guess, Martins, Their Bands i'th' Vaward are the Ancients Of their best trust: O'er them Aufidius, Their very heart of Hope. Mar. I do befeech you, But all the Battels wherein we have fought, By th' Blood we have fhed together, By th' Vows we have made To endure Friends, that you directly fet me Against Aufidi us, and his Antiats; And that you not delay the prefent, but Filling 7 Filling the Air with Swords advanc'd, and Darts, Com. Though I could wifh You were conducted to a gentle Bath, That most are willing; if any fuch be here, And follow Martius. They all Shout and wave their Swords, take him up in their A Shield as hard as his. A certain number, you fhall Com, March on my Fellows: Make good this oftentation, and Divide in all, with us. [Exeunt. Titus Lartius having fet a Guard upon Coriolus, going with Drum and Trumpet toward Cominius, and Caius Martius, Enters with a Lieutenant, other Soldiers, and a Scout. Lart. So, let the Ports be guarded; keep your Duties As I have fet them down. If I do fend, difpatch Thofe Centuries to our aid, the reft will ferve Lieu. Fear not our Care, Sir. Lart. Hence, and fhut your Gates upon's: Our Guider come, to th' Roman Camp conduct us. [Exit. [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. Anf. We hate alike: Not Africk owns a Serpent I abhor More than thy Fame and Envy; Fix thy Foot. Auf. If I fly, Martius, hollow me like a Hare. 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, [Here they fight, and certain Volfcies come to the aid of 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 the o'er, this thy day's work, Thou'lt not believe thy Deeds: But I'll report it, Where Senators fhall mingle Tears with Smiles; Were great Patricians fhall attend, and fhrug; I'th' end admire; where Ladies fhall be frighted, And gladly quak'd, hear more; where the dull Tribunes, That with the fufty Plebeians, hate thine Honours, Shall fay against their Hearts, we thank the Gods Our Rome hath fuch a Soldier. Yet cam'ft thou to a Morfel of this Feaft, Having fully Din'd before. Enter Titus Lartius with his Power, from the Purfuit. Lart. O General, Here is the Steed, we the Caparifon : Hadft thou beheld Mar. Pray now, no more: My Mother, who has a Charter to extol her Blood, I have done as you have done, that's what I can, Hath overta'en mine A&t. Com. You fhall not be the Grave of your deferving, Rome must know the value of her own: "Twere a Concealment worse than a Theft, To hide your doings, and to filence that, 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 Horfes, At your only choice. Mar. I thank you, General: Bur cannot make my Heart consent to take Along Flourish. They all cry, Martius! Martius! caft up their Caps and Launces: Cominius and Lartius ftand bare. Mar. May these fame Inftruments, which you prophane, Never found more: When Drums and Trumpets (hall I'th' Field prove Flatteros, let Courts and Cities be Made all of falfe-fac'd foothing: When When Steel grows foft, as the Parafites Silk, Com. Too modeft are you: More cruel to your good Report, than grateful 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 shall perceive To th' fairness of my Power. Com. So, to our Tent: Where, e'er we do repofe us, we will write Mar. The Gods begin to mock me; I that but now refus'd moft Princely Gifts, |