Enter Titus Lartius, with his power, from the Here is the steed, we the caparison: Hadst thou beheld Mar. Pray now, no more: my mother, Who has a charter to extol her blood, As When she does praise me, grieves me. I have done, have done; that's what I can; induc'd As you have been; that's for my country: you He, that has but effected his good will, Hath overta'en mine act. Com. You shall not be The grave of your deserving; Rome must know What you have done,) before our army hear me. 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, Before the common distribution, at Your only choice. Mar. I thank you, general; [A long flourish. They all cry, Marcius! Marcius! cast up their caps and lances: Cominius and Lartius, stand bare. Mar. May these same instruments, which you profane, Never sound more! When drums and trumpets shall Or foil'd some debile wretch, which, without note, Here's many else have done,-you shout me forth In acclamations hyperbolical; As if I lov'd my little should be dieted In praises sauc'd with lies. Too modest are you; Com. More cruel to your good report, than grateful To us that give you truly: by your patience, If 'gainst yourself you be incens'd, we'll put you (Like one that means his proper harm,) in mana cles, Then reason safely with you.-Therefore, be it known, As to us, to all the world, that Caius Marcius With all the applause and clamour of the host, The addition nobly ever! [Flourish. Trumpets sound, and drums. All. Caius Marcius Coriolanus! Cor. I will go wash; And when my face is fair, you shall perceive Whether I blush, or no: Howbeit, I thank you: I mean to stride your steed; and, at all times, To undercrest your good addition, To the fairness of my power. Com. So, to our tent: Where, ere we do repose us, we will write To Rome of our success,-You, Titus Lartius, The best, with whom we may articulate, Tit. I shall, my lord. Cor. The gods begin to mock me. I that now Refus'd most princely gifts, am bound to beg Of my lord general. Com. Take it 'tis yours.—What is't? Cor. I sometime lay, here in Corioli, At a poor man's house; he us'd me kindly: He cry'd 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. O, well begg'd! Be free, as is the wind. Deliver him, Titus. Cor. By Jupiter, forgot: I am weary; yea, my memory is tir’d.— Com. Go we to our tent; The blood upon your visage dries: 'tis time [Exeunt. SCENE X. 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 deliver'd back on good condition. Auf. Condition?— I would, I were a Roman; for I cannot, I' the part that is at mercy? Five times, Marcius, me; 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, D He is mine, or I am his: Mine emulation Hath not that honour in't, it had; for where (True sword to sword,) I'll potch at him some way; Or wrath, or craft, may get him. 1 Sol. He's the devil. Auf. Bolder, though not so subtle: My valour's poison'd, With only suffering stain by him; for him Wash my fierce hand in his heart. Go you to the city; Learn, how 'tis held; and what they are, that must Be hostages for Rome. I 1 Sol. Will not you go? Auf. I am attended at the cypress grove: pray you, ('Tis south the city mills,) bring me word thither |