And made what work I pleas'd: 'tis not my blood,
Wherein thou see'st me mask'd; for thy revenge,
Wrench up thy power to th' highest.

Auf. Wert thou the Hector,
That was the whip of your bragg'd Progeny,
Thou should'st not 'scape me here.

[Here they fight, and certain Volscians come to the
aid of Aufidius. Marcius fights, 'till they be
driven in breathless.

Officious, and not valliant! - you have sham'd me In your condemned Seconds.

Flourish. Alarm. A retreat is founded. Enter at one door, Cominius with the Romans; at another door, Marcius, with his arm in a scarf.

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' th' end, admire; where ladies shall be frighted, And, gladly quak'd, 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 foldier!

Yet cam'st thou to a morsel of this feaft,

Having fully din'd before.

Enter Titus Lartius with his Power, from the pursuit.
Lart. O General,

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,
When she does praise me, grieves me:

I have done as you have done; that's, what I can : Induc'd, as you have been; that's for my Country;

He, that has but effected his good will,

Hath overta'en mine ac.

Com. You shall not be

The Grave 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 filence that,
Which, to the spire and top of praises vouch'd,
Would feem but modeft: 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 remembred.

Com. Should they not,

Well might they fester 'gainst ingratitude,
And tent themselves with death: Of all the horfes,
Whereof we have ta'en good, and good store, of all
The treasure in the field atchiev'd, and city,
We render you the tenth, to be ta'en forth,
Before the common diftribution, at
Your only choice.

Mar. I thank you, General:
But cannot make my heart consent to take
A bribe, to pay my fword: I do refuse it,
And stand upon my common part with those
That have beheld the doing.

A long flourish. They all cry, Marcius, Marcius!
caft up their caps and launces: Cominius and
Lartius stand bare.

[fane,

Mar. May these same instruments, which you proNever found more! when drums and trumpets shall * I' th' field prove flatterers, let camps, as cities,

* I, th' field, prove flatterers, let Courts and Cities

Be made all of falfe-fac'd foothing.

When Steel grows foft as the parafite's Silk,

Let him be made an overture for the wars :- All here is mifer

ably corrupt and disjointed. We should read the whole thus,

Ith field, prove flatterers, let Camps, as Cities,

Be made of falfe-fac'd foothing! When Steel grows

Soft as the Parafile's Silk, let Hymns be made

An overture for th Wars!

Warb.

Be

Be made of false-fac'd foothing! When steel grows
Soft as the parafite's filk, let Hymns be made
An overture for th' wars !-No more, I say;
For that I have not wash'd my Nose that bled,
Or foil'd fome 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.

Com. Too modest are you :
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 manacles;
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,
With all th' applause and clamour of the Host,
Caius Marcius Coriolanus. Bear th' addition nobly
ever. [Flourish. Trumpets found and drums.

Omnes. Caius Marcius Coriolanus!

Mar. 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 time
To undercrest your good Addition,
To th' 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,
Must to Corioli back; send us to Rome
The best, with whom we may articulate,
For their own good, and ours.

Lart. I shall, my lord.

Mar. The Gods begin to mock me:

I, that but now refus'd most princely gifts,
Am bound to beg of my lord General.

Com. Take't, 'tis yours: what is't?
Mar. I fometime lay here in Corioli,
At a poor man's house: he us'd me kindly.
He cry'd to me: I saw him prifoner:
But then Aufidius was within my view,

And wrath o'erwhelm'd my pity: I request you
To give my poor Hoft Freedom.

Com. O well begg'd!

Were he the butcher of my fon, he should
Be free as is the wind: deliver him, Titus.
Lart. Marcius, his name?

Mar. By Jupiter, forgot:-

I am weary; yea, my memory is tir'd:

Have we no wine hete?

Com. Go we to our tent;

The blood upon your visage dries; 'tis time
It should be look'd to: come.

SCENE

[Exeunt.

ΧΙΙ.

Changes to the Camp of the Volfci.

A Flourish. Cornet. Enter Tullus Aufidius bloody,

Auf. T

with two or three Soldiers.

HE town is ta'en.

Sol. 'Twill be deliver'd back on good

condition.

Auf Condition!

I would, I were a Roman; for I cannot,

Being a Volfcian, be that I am.

Condition?

What good condition can a treaty find

I'th' part that is at mercy? Five times, Marcius,
I have fought with thee, so often haft thou beat me:

And would'st do so, should we encounter

As often as we eat. By th' Elements,

If e'er again I meet him beard to beard,

He's

He's 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 potch at him fome way,

Or wrath, or craft may get him.

Sol. He's the Devil.

Auf. Bolder, tho' not so subtle: my valour (poi

fon'd,

With only fuffering flain by him) for him
Shall fly out of itself: not fleep nor sanctuary,
Being naked, fick, nor fane, nor Capitol,
The prayers of priests, nor times of facrifice,
Enbarrments all of fury, shall lift up
Their rotten privilege and costom 'gainst
My hate to Marcius. Where I find him, were it
At home, upon my brother's guard, even there,
Against the hospitable Canon, would I

Wash my fierce hand in's heart. Go you to th' city;
Learn, how 'tis held: and what they are, that must
Be hostages for Rome.

Sol. Will not you go?

Auf. I am attended 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.

Sol. I shall, Sir.

[Exeunt.