Corioli. A Street. | |
| |
Enter certain Romans, with spoils. | |
| First Rom. This will I carry to Rome. | |
| Sec. Rom. And I this. | 4 |
| Third 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 hours | |
| At a crack’d drach me! Cushions, leaden spoons, | 8 |
| 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! | 12 |
| 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 | 16 |
| To help Cominius. | |
| Lart. Worthy sir, thou bleed’st; | |
| Thy exercise hath been too violent | |
| For a second course of fight. | 20 |
| Mar. 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 | 24 |
| I will appear, and fight. | |
| Lart. Now the fair goddess, Fortune, | |
| Fall deep in love with thee; and her great charms | |
| Misguide thy opposers’ swords! Bold gentleman, | 28 |
| Prosperity be thy page! | |
| Mar. Thy friend no less | |
| Than those she places highest! So, farewell. | |
| Lart. Thou worthiest Marcius!— [Exit MARCIUS. | 32 |
| Go, sound thy trumpet in the market-place; | |
| Call thither all the officers of the town, | |
| Where they shall know our mind. Away! [Exeunt. | |
