Imatges de pàgina

Those centuries to our aid; the rest will serve
For a short holding: If we lose the field,
We cannot keep the town.

Fear not our care, sir.
Lart. Hence, and shut your gates upon us.-
Our guider, come; to the Roman camp conduct us.



A field of battle between the Roman and Volcian Camps.

Alarum. Enter MARCIUS and AUFIDIUS.

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Mar. I'll fight with none but thee; for I do hate

Worse than a promise-breaker.

We hate alike;
Not Africk owns a serpent, I abhor
More than thy fame and envy: Fix thy foot.

Mar. Let the first budger die the other's slave,
And the gods doom him after!

If I fly, Marcius,
Halloo me like a hare.

Within these three hours, Tullus,
Alone I fought in your Corioli walls,
And made what work I pleas'd: 'Tis not my blood,
Wherein thou seest me mask'd; for thy revenge,
Wrench up thy power to the highest.

Wert thou the Hector,

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That was the whip of your bragg'd 14 progeny,
Thou should'st not scape me here.-

[They fight, and certain Volces conie

to the aid of Aufidius. Officious, and not valiant-you have sham'd me your condemned seconds.

[Exeunt fighting, driven in by Marcius,


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The Roman Camp

Alarum. A Retreat is sounded. Flourish. Enter at

one side, COMINIUS, and Romans; at the other 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 Tri

bunes, That, with the fusty plebeians, hate thine honours, Shall say, against their hearts,-We thank the gods, Our Rome hath such a soldier ! Yet cam'st thou to a morsel of this feast, Having fully din'd before.

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Drawn by Loutherbourg P.A.

London Reblisha by Geo Tearsley Nor."14.1303.

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Enter Titus LARTIUS, with his power, from the

pursuit. Lart.

O general,
Here is the steed, we the caparison 15 :
Hadst thou beheld

Pray now, no more: my mother,
Who has a charter to extol her blood,
When she does praise me, grieves me. I have done,
you have done; that's what I can;


have been; that's for my country:
He, that has but effected his good will,
Hath overta'en mine act.

You shall not be

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, 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,

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