Auf.
Illustrious stranger—for thy high demeanour
Bespeaks thee such—who art thou? what is thy name?

Mar.
A name unmusical to Volscian ears,
And harsh in sound to thine.—Dost thou not know me?

Auf.
Thy face
Bears a command in't: though thy tackle's torn,
Thou shew'st a noble vessel; what's thy name?

Mar.
My name is Caius Marcius, who hath done
To thee particularly, and to all the Volscians,
Great hurt and mischief; thereto witness may
My sirname, Coriolanus.
The cruelty and envy of the people,
Permitted by our dastard Nobles,
Have whoop'd me out of Rome. Now this extremity
Hath brought me to thy hearth. If thou hast
A heart of wreak in thee, that will revenge
Thine own particular wrongs, and stop those maims
Of shame seen through thy country, speed thee straight

And make my misery serve thy turn: so use it;
For I will fight
Against my canker'd country, with the spleen
Of all the under fiends. But if so be
Thou dar'st not this, and that to prove more fortunes
Thou'rt tir'd; then, in a word, I also am,
Longer to live, most weary; and present
My throat to thee,
Which not to cut, would shew thee but a fool,
Since I have ever followed thee with hate,
Drawn tuns of blood out of thy country's breast,
And cannot live, but to thy shame, unless
It be to do thee service.

Auf.
Oh, Marcius, Marcius,
Each word thou'st spoke hath weeded from my heart
A root of ancient envy. Let me twine
Mine arms about that body, where against
My grained ash an hundred times hath broke
And scar'd the moon with splinters: here I clip
The anvil of my sword, and do contest
As hotly and as nobly with thy love,
As ever in ambitious strength I did
Contend against thy valour.

Mar.
You bless me, gods!

Auf.
Therefore, most absolute Sir, if thou wilt have
The leading of thine own revenges, take
One half of my commission, and set down,

As best thou art experienced, since thou know'st
Thy country's strength and weakness, thine own ways;
Whether to knock against the gates of Rome,
Or rudely visit them in parts remote,
To fright them, ere destroy. But come, come in,
Let me commend thee first to those that shall
Say yea to thy desires. A thousand welcomes,
And more a friend, than e'er an enemy:
Yet, Marcius, that was much. Your hand; most welcome! [Exeunt.

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