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And, gladly quak'dı, hear more; where the dull
Tribunes, 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 dined before.
Enter Titus Lartius, with his powert, from the
Pray now, no more : my mother,
You shall pot be of your deserving ; Rome must know The value of her owo: '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 seein 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. Con.
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
• Thrown into grateful trepidation.
The treasure, in this field achiev'd, and city,
I thank you, general;
cius! cast up their caps and lances: Co.
minius and Lartius stand bare. Mar. May these same instruments, which you
profane, Never sound more! When drums and trumpets shall l'the field prove flatterers, let courts and cities be Made all of false fac'd soothing: When steel grows Soft as the parasite's silk, let him be made An overture for the wars! No more, I say; For that I have not wash'd my nose that bled, Or foil'd some debile* wretch,—which, without vote, Here's many else have done,- you shout me forth In acclamations hyperbolical; As if I loved my little should be dieted In praises sauced with lies. Com.
Too modest are you; More cruel to your good report, than grateful To us that give you truly: by your patience, If’gaiust yourself you be incens'd, we'll put you (Like one that means his propert harm), in mana.
cles, Then reason safely with you. Therefore, be it
known, As to us, to all the world, that Caius Marcius Wears this war's garland : in token of the which, My noble steed, known to the camp, I give him, With all his trim belonging; and, from this time,
For what he did before Corioli, call him,
(Flourish. Trumpets sound, and drums. All. Caius Aiarcias Coriolanus !
Cor. I will go wash;
So, to our tent:
I shall, my lord.
Take it: 'tis yours.--What is't? Cor. I sometime lay, here in Corioli, At a poor man's house; be us'd me kindly: He cried to me; I saw him prisoner; But then Aufidius was within my view, And wrath o'erwhelm'd my pity: I request you To give my poor host freedom. Com.
(), well begg'd! Were he the butcher of my son, he should Be free, as is the wind. Deliver him, Titus.
Lart. Marcius, his name?
By Jupiter, forgot:
* Add more by doing his best.
Go we to our tent: The blood upon your visage dries : 'tis time It should be look'd to: come.
The camp of the Volces.
A flourish. Cornets. Enter Tullus Aufidius,
bloody, with two or three Soldiers.
Auf. The town is ta'en ! 1 Sol. 'Twill be delivered back on good condition.
Auf. Condition ?I would, I were a Roman; for I cannot, Being a Volce, be that I am.-Condition ! What good condition can a treaty find I'the part that is at mercy? Five times, Marcius, I have fought with thee; so often hast thou beat nie; And would'st do so, I think, should we encounter As often as we eat.- By the elements, If e'er again I meet him beard to beard, He is mine, or I am his : Mine emulation Hath not that honour in't, it had; for where* I thought to crush him in an equal force (True sword to sword), I'll potcht at him some way; Or wrath, or craft, may get hin. 1 Sol.
He's the devil. Auf. Bolder, though not so subtle: My valeur's
Their rotten privilege and custom 'gainst
city; Learn, how 'tis held; and what they are, that must Be hostages for Rome. 1 Sol.
will not you go? Auf. I am attendedt at the cypress grove: I pray you ("Tis south the city mills), bring me word thither How the world goes; that to the pace
of it I may spur on my journey. 1 Sol.
I shall, sir.
SCENE I. Rome. A public place.
Enter Menevius, Sicinius, and Brutus.
Men. The augurer tells me, we shall have news to night.
Bru. Good, or bad ?
Men. Not according to the prayer of the people, for they love not Marcius.
Sic. Nature teaches beasts to know their friends.
Men. Ay, to devour him; as the hungry plebeiaus would the noble Marcius.
Bru. He's a lamb, indeed, that baes like a bear. Men. He's a bear, indeed, that lives like a lamb.
* My brother posted to protect him.