Com.
Breath you, my friends—well fought, we are come off
Like Romans, neither foolish in our stand,
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—Ye Roman Gods!
Lead their successes as we wish our own! Enter a Roman Officer.
Thy news.

Offi.
The citizens of Corioli have issued,
And given to Marcius battle:
I saw our party to the trenches driv'n,
And came in haste away.

Com.
How long is't since?

Offi.
About an hour, my lord. Spies of the Volci
Held me in chace, that I was forc'd to wheel
Three or four miles about; else had I, sir,

Half an hour since brought my report.

Com.
Who's yonder
That does appear as he were flay'd? O Gods!
He has the stamp of Marcius. Marcius without.

Mar.
Come I too late?

Com.
The shepherd knows not thunder from a tabor,
More than I know the sound of Marcius' tongue
From every meaner man's. Enter Marcius.

Mar.
Come I too late?

Com.
Ay, if you come not in the blood of others,
But mantled in your own.

Mar.
O, let me clip you
In arms as sound, as when I woo'd; in heart
As merry, as when our nuptial day was done,
And tapers burnt to bedwards.

Com.
Flower of Warriors!
How is't with Titus Lartius?

Mar.
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,
Even like a fawning greyhound in the leash,
To let him slip at will.

Com.
Where is that slave,
Which told me they had beat you to your trenches.
Where is he?

[Roman officer comes forward, Two soldiers go to seize him.]

Mar.
Let him alone,
He did inform the truth—But for our gentlemen
The common file (a Plague! tribunes for them!)
The mouse, ne'er shunn'd the cat, as they did budge
From rascals worse than they.

Com.
But how prevail'd you?

Mar.
Will the time serve to tell! I do not think—
Where is the enemy? Are you lords o' th' field?
If not, why cease you till you are so?

Com.
Marcius, we have at disadvantage fought,
And did retire to win our purpose.

Mar.
How lies their battle? Know you on what side
They have plac'd their men of trust?

Com.
As I guess, Marcius,
Their bands i' th' Vaward are the Antiates,
Of their best trust: o'er them Aufidius,
Their very heart of hope.

Mar.
I do beseech you,
By all the battles wherein we have fought,
By the blood we have shed together,
That you directly
Lead me against Aufidius.

Com.
Tho' I could wish
You were conducted to a gentle bath,
And balms applied to you, yet dare I never

Deny your asking; take your choice of those
That best can aid your action.

Mar.
Those are they,
That most are willing—if any such be here,
That love this painting
Wherein you see me snear'd; if any fear
Lesser his person than an ill report;
If any think brave death outweighs bad life;
And that his country's dearer than himself;
Let him, alone, or so many, so minded,
Wave thus, to express his disposition [Soldiers shout and wave their swords,
If these shews be not outward, which of you
But is four Volces—come—follow Marcius! [Exeunt. Loud florish. Battle behind. A retreat sounded. Enter Marcius, Cominius, Roman Officer and Soldiers.

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 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 soldier.

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.

Com.
You shall not be
The grave of your deserving; Rome must know
The value of her own;
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 horses,
Whereof we've 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 distribution,
At your own choice.

Mar.
I thank you general:
But cannot make my heart consent ro take
A bribe to pay my sword: I do refuse it. [A flourish,
May these same instruments, which you profane,
Never found more! when drums and trumpets shall
I'th' field prove flatterers, let camps as cities
Be made of false-fac'd soothing. [Flourish.
No more, I say;
For that I have not wash'd my nose that bled,

Or foil'd some feeble 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 in your good report, than grateful
To us, that give you truly: therefore be it known;
As to us, to all the world, that Caius Marcius
Wears this war's garland:
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.

Mar.
I will go wash:
And when my faee is fair, you shall perceive
Whether I blush or no. Howbeit, I thank you.

Com.
So, to our tent:
Where, ere we do repose us, we will write
To Rome of our success.

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 sometime lay here in Corioli,
And 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'er-whelm'd my pity: I request you
To give my poor host freedom.

Com.
O well begg'd!
Were he the butcher of my son, he should
Be free as is the wind: his name?

Mar.
By Jupiter, forgot:
I'm weary; yea, my memory is tir'd:
Have we no wine here?

Com.
Go we to our tent;
The blood upon your visage dries; 'tis time
It should be look'd to: come. [A march. [Exeunt. End of the First Act.

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