He that retires, I'll take him for a Volsce,

And he shall feel mine edge.

Alarum, and exeunt Romans and Volsces, fighting. The Romans are beaten back to their Trenches.

MARCIUS enraged.

Re-enter

Mar. All the contagion of the south light on you, You shames of Rome! you herd of-Boils and plagues Plaster you o'er, that you may be abhorr'd

Farther than seen, and one infect another
Against the wind a mile! You souls of geese,
That bear the shapes of men, how have you run
From slaves 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 follow9.

Another Alarum. The Volsces and Romans re-enter, and the Fight is renewed. The Volsces retire into Corioli, 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.

Re-enter Marcius enraged.] The stage-direction of the old copy is, "Enter Marcius cursing."

As they us to our trenches FOLLOW.] The folio has follows-a mere typographical error. The ordinary reading is in the past tense, followed; but it is evident that it should be in the present.

Enter TITUS LARTIUS.

Lart. What is become of Marcius?

All.

Slain, sir, doubtless.

1 Sol. Following the fliers at the very heels,
With them he enters; who, upon the sudden,
Clapp'd-to their gates: he is himself alone,
To answer all the city.

Lart.

O noble fellow!

Who sensibly outdares his senseless sword,

And, when it bows, stands up. Thou art left, Marcius 10:

A carbuncle entire, as big as thou art,

Were not so rich a jewel. Thou wast a soldier
Even to Cato's wish', not fierce and terrible
Only in strokes; but, with thy grim looks, and
The thunder-like percussion of thy sounds,

Thou mad'st thine enemies shake, as if the world
Were feverous, and did tremble.

Re-enter MARCIUS, bleeding, assaulted by the Enemy.

1 Sol.

Lart.

Look, sir!

O'tis Marcius!

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

[They fight, and all enter the City.

10 Thou art LEFT, Marcius:] Possibly we ought to read lost for " left,"very easy misprint, when in MS. both the s and the ƒ were carried below the line. "Thou art left," however, affords a very clear sense.

1 Even to CATO's wish,] In the old copy it stands, "Even to Calues wish; but it is clearly a misprint, and Theobald pointed out the passage in North's Plutarch, from which Shakespeare took, not only the thought, but almost the very words of the text. "He was even such another as Cato would have a souldier and a captaine be; not only terrible and fierce to laye about him, but to make the enemie afeard with the sound of his voyce, and grimnes of his countenance." Edit. 1579, p. 240.

SCENE V.

Within the Town. A Street.

Enter certain Romans, with Spoils.

1 Rom. This will I carry to Rome.

2 Rom. And I this.

3 Rom. A murrain on't! I took this for silver.

[Alarum continues still afar off.

Enter MARCIUS, and TITUS LARTIUS, with a Trumpet.

Mar. See here these movers, that do prize their

hours 2

At a crack'd drachm! Cushions, leaden spoons,
Irons of a doit, doublets that hangmen would

Bury with those that wore them, these base slaves,
Ere yet the fight be done, pack up.-Down with
them!-

And hark, what noise the general makes.-To him!
There is the man of my soul's hate, Aufidius,
Piercing our Romans: then, valiant Titus, take
Convenient numbers to make good the city,

Whilst I, with those that have the spirit, will haste
To help Cominius.

Lart.

Worthy sir, thou bleed'st;

Thy exercise hath been too violent
For a second course of fight.

Mar.

Sir, praise me not;

My work hath yet not warm'd me.
The blood I drop is rather physical

Fare you well.

2 - that do prize their hours] So the old copies: Pope changed "hours" to honours; but Steevens showed, by a reference to North's Plutarch, that Coriolanus reproached the Romans with losing their time in collecting spoil:-" He cried out to them that it was no time now to looke after spoyle," &c.

Than dangerous to me.

I will appear, and fight.

To Aufidius thus

Lart.
Now the fair goddess, Fortune,
Fall deep in love with thee; and her great charms
Misguide thy opposers' swords! Bold gentleman,
Prosperity be thy page!

Mar.
Thy friend no less
Than those she placeth highest! So, farewell.

[Exit MARCIUS.

Lart. Thou worthiest Marcius !-
Go, sound thy trumpet in the market-place;
Call thither all the officers of the town,

Where they shall know our mind. Away! [Exeunt.

SCENE VI.

Near the Camp of COMINIUS.

Enter COMINIUS and Forces, as in retreat.

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 shall be charg'd again. Whiles we have struck, By interims and conveying gusts, we have heard

The charges of our friends:-the Roman gods

Lead their successes as we wish our own,

That both our powers, with smiling fronts encountering,

May give you thankful sacrifice!—

Enter a Messenger.

Thy news?

Mess. The citizens of Corioli have issued,

And given to Lartius and to Marcius battle:

VOL. VI.

M

I saw our party to their trenches driven,
And then I came away.

Com.

Though thou speak'st truth,

Methinks, thou speak'st not well. How long is't

since?

Mess. Above an hour, my lord.

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

And bring thy news so late?

Spies of the Volsces

Mess.
Held me in chase, that I was forc'd to wheel
Three or four miles about; else had I, sir,
Half an hour since brought my report.

Com.

Enter MARCIUS.

Who's yonder,

That does appear as he were flay'd? O gods!
He has the stamp of Marcius, and I have
Before-time seen him thus.

Mar.

Come I too late?

Com. The shepherd knows not thunder from a tabor, More than I know the sound of Marcius' tongue

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.

O! let me clip you

In arms as sound, as when I woo'd; in heart
As merry, as when our nuptial day was done,

And tapers burn'd to bedward.

Com.

How is't with Titus Lartius?

Flower of warriors,

Mar. As with a man busied about decrees: Condemning some to death, and some to exile; Ransoming him, or pitying, threatening the other; Holding Corioli in the name of Rome,