Imatges de pàgina
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They do disdain us much beyond our thoughts, Which makes me sweat with wrath.-Come, on my

fellows;

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

And he shall feel mine edge.

Alarum, and exeunt Romans and Volces, fighting. The Romans are beaten back to their trenches.

MARCIUS.

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
Further 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 followed.

Another Alarum. The Volces and Romans re-enter,
and the fight is renewed. The Volces retire into
Corioli, and MARCIUS follows them to the gates.
So, now the gates are ope:-Now prove good se
conds:

'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.

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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, sensible, outdares his senseless sword,

And, when it bows, stands up!! Thou art left, Mar cius:

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.

'Tis Marcius:

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

[They fight, and all enter the city.

SCENE V.

Within the town. A Street.

Enter certain Romans, with spoils.

1 Rom. This will I carry to Rome.

2 Kom. 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

11 hours

At a crack'd dram! 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

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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.

(

1

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: Fare you

The blood I drop is rather physical

Than dangerous to me: To Aufidius thus

I will appear, and fight.

Lart.

well.

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.

Than those she placeth highest! So, farewell.

Thy friend no less

[Exit Marcius.

[Exeunt.

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.

SCENE VI.

Near the Camp of Cominius.

Enter COMINIUS and forces, retreating.

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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 encount'ring,

Enter a Messenger.

May give you thankful sacrifice!-Thy news?
Mess. The citizens of Corioli have issued,
And given to Lartius and to Marcius battle:
I saw our party to their trenches driven,
And then I came away.

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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?

Mess.

Spies of the Volces

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 thús.

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's.

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