Mar.
Yonder comes news:—A wager, they have met.

Lart.
My horse to yours, no.

Mar.
'Tis done.

Lart.
Agreed.

Mar.
Say, has our general met the enemy?

Mess.
They lie in view; but have not spoke as yet.

Lart.
So, the good horse is mine.

Mar.
I'll buy him of you.

Lart.
No, I'll nor sell, nor give him: lend you him, I will,
For half a hundred years.—Summon the town.

Mar.
How far off lie these armies?

Mess.
Within this mile and half^{3 note}.

Mar.
Then shall we hear their 'larum, and they ours.
Now, Mars, I pr'ythee, make us quick in work;
That we with smoking swords may march from hence,
To help our fielded friends^{4 note}!—Come, blow thy blast. They sound a Parley. Enter, on the Walls, some Senators, and Others.
Tullus Aufidius, is he within your walls?

1 Sen.
No, nor a man that fears you less than he,
That's lesser than a little^{5 note}

Mar.
O, they are at it!

Lart.
Their noise be our instruction.—Ladders, ho! The Volces enter and pass over the Stage.

Mar.
They fear us not, but issue forth their city.
Now put your shields before your hearts, and fight
With hearts more proof than shields.—Advance, brave Titus:
They do disdain us much beyond our thoughts,
Which makes me sweat with wrath.—Come, on my fellows;
He that retires, I'll take him for a Volce,
And he shall feel mine edge. Alarum, and exeunt Romans and Volces, fighting. The Romans are beaten back to their Trenches. Re-enter Marcius^{6 note}.

Mar.
All the contagion of the south light on you,
You shames of Rome! you herd of—Boils and plagues^{7 note}

Plaster you o'er; that you may be abhorr'd
Further than seen, and one infect another
Against the wind a mile! You souls of geese,
That bear the shapes of men, how have you run
From slaves that apes would beat? Pluto and hell!
All hurt behind; backs red, and faces pale
With flight and agued fear! Mend, and charge home,
Or, by the fires of heaven, I'll leave the foe,
And make my wars on you: look to't: Come on;
If you'll stand fast, we'll beat them to their wives,
As they us to our trenches followed. Another Alarum. The Volces and Romans re-enter, and the Fight is renewed. The Volces retire into Corioli, and Marcius follows them to the Gates.
So, now the gates are ope:—Now prove good seconds:
'Tis for the followers fortune widens them,
Not for the fliers: mark me, and do the like. [He enters the Gates, and is shut in.

1 Sol.
Fool-hardiness; not I.

2 Sol.
Nor I.

3 Sol.
See, they have shut him in. [Alarum continues.

All.
To the pot I warrant him. Enter Titus Lartius.

Lart.
What is become of Marcius?

All.
Slain, sir, doubtless.

1 Sol.
Following the fliers at the very heels,
With them he enters: who, upon the sudden,

Clapp'd-to their gates; he is himself alone,
To answer all the city.

Lart.
O noble fellow!
Who, sensible, outdares^{8 note}

The thunder-like percussion of thy sounds,
Thou mad'st thine enemies shake, as if the world
Were feverous, and did tremble^{2 note}


. Re-enter Marcius, bleeding, assaulted by the Enemy.

1 Sol.
Look, sir.

Lart.
O 'tis Marcius:
Let's fetch him off, or make remain^{3 note} alike. [They fight, and all enter the City.

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