with a trumpet.]
MARCIUS.
See here these movers that do prize their hours
At a crack’d drachma! 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.
LARTIUS.
Worthy sir, thou bleed’st;
Thy exercise hath been too violent
For a second course of fight.
MARCIUS.
Sir, praise me not;
My work hath yet not warm’d me: fare you well;
The blood I drop is rather physical
Than dangerous to me: to Aufidius thus
I will appear, and fight.
LARTIUS.
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!
MARCIUS.
Thy friend no less
Than those she placeth highest!—So farewell.
LARTIUS.
Thou worthiest Marcius!—
[Exit MARCIUS.]
Go, sound thy trumpet in the marketplace;
Call thither all the officers o’ the town,
Where they shall know our mind: away!
[Exeunt.]
SCENE VI. Near the camp of COMINIUS.
[Enter COMINIUS and Foreces, retreating.]
COMINIUS.
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?
MESSENGER.
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.
COMINIUS.
Though thou speak’st truth,
Methinks thou speak’st not well. How long is’t since?
MESSENGER.
Above an hour, my lord.
COMINIUS.
‘Tis not a mile; briefly we heard their drums:
How couldst thou in a mile confound an hour,
And bring thy news so late?
MESSENGER.
Spies of the Volsces
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.
COMINIUS.
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.
MARCIUS.
[Within.] Come I too late?
COMINIUS.
The shepherd knows not thunder from a tabor
More than I know the sound of Marcius’ tongue
From every meaner man.
[Enter MARCIUS.]
MARCIUS.
Come I too late?
COMINIUS.
Ay, if you come not in the blood of others,
But mantled in your own.
MARCIUS.
O! let me clip ye
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.
COMINIUS.
Flower of warriors,
How is’t with Titus Lartius?
MARCIUS.
As with a man busied about decrees:
Condemning some to death and some to exile;
Ransoming him or pitying, threat’ning the other;
Holding Corioli in the name of Rome,
