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?

Mes.
They lye in view; but have not spoke as yet.

Lart.
So, the good Horse is mine.

Mart.
I'll buy him of you.

Lart.
No, I'll not sell, nor give him: Lend him you, I will,
For half an hundred Years: Summon the Town.

Mar.
How far off lye these Armies?

Mes.
Within a mile and half.

Mar.
Then shall we hear their Larum, and they Ours.
Now Mars, I prithee make us quick in work;
That we with smoaking Swords may march from hence,
To help our fielded Friends. Come, blow the blast. They sound a Parley. Enter two Senators with others on the Walls.
Tullus Aufidius is he within your walls?

1 Senat.
No, nor a Man that fears you less than he,
That's lesser than a little: [Drum afar off.
Hark, our Drums
Are bringing forth our Youth: We'll break our Walls
Rather than they shall pound us up; our Gates,
Which yet seem shut, we have but pinn'd with Rushes,
They'll open of themselves. Hark you far off. [Alarum far off.
There is Aufidius. List, what work he makes
Amongst your cloven Army.

Mar.
Oh, they are at it.

Lart.
Their noise be our instruction. Ladders, ho.

Enter the Volscies.

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 Volscie,
And he shall feel mine Edge. Alarum; the Romans are beat back to their Trenches. Enter Martius.

Mar.
All the contagion of the South, light on you,
You shames of Rome; you Herd of Biles and Plagues,
Plaister you o'er, that you may be abhorr'd
Farther 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, and Martius follows them to the Gates, and is shut in.
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:

1 Sol
Fool-hardiness, not I.

2 Sol.
Nor I.

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

All.
To th' pot, I warrant him. Enter Titus Lartius.

Lart.
What is become of Martius?

All.
Slain, Sir, doubtless.

1 Sol.
Following the fliers at the very Heels,
With them he enters; who upon the sudden
Clapt to their Gates: He is himself alone,
To answer all the City.

Lart.
Oh noble Fellow!
Who sensibly out-dares his senseless Sword,
And when it bows, stands up: Thou art left, Martius—
A Carbuncle intire, as big as thou art,
Were not so rich a Jewel. Thou wast a Soldier
Even to Calvus wish, not fierce and terrible
Only in stroaks, but with thy grim looks, and
The Thunder-like percussion of the Sounds,
Thou mad'st thine Enemies shake, as if the World
Were feverous, and did tremble. Enter Martius bleeding, assaulted by the Enemy.

1 Sol.
Look, Sir.

Lart.
O, 'tis Martius.
Let's fetch him off, or make remain alike. [They fight, and all enter the City. Enter certain Romans with Spoils.

1 Rom.
This will I carry to Rome.

2 Rom.
And I this.

3 Rom.
A Murrain on't, I took this for Silver. [Exeunt. [Alarum continues still afar off. Enter Martius and Titus Lartius, with a Trumpet.

Mar.
See here these Movers, that do prize their Hours
At a crack'd Drachm: Cushions, leaden Spoons,
Irons of a Doit, Doublets that Hangmen would
Bury with those that wore them, these base Slaves,
E'er 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.

Lart.
Worthy Sir, thou bleed'st;
Thy Exercise hath been too violent,
For a second Course of Fight.

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 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!
Prosperity be thy Page.

Mar.
Thy Friend no less,
Than those she placeth highest: So farewel.

Lart.
Thou worthiest Martius,
Go sound thy Trumpet in the Market-place,
Call thither all the Officers o'th' Town,
Where they shall know our Mind. Away. [Exeunt. Enter Cominius Retreating, with Soldiers.

Com.
Breath 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 encountring,
May give you thankful Sacrifice. Thy News? Enter a Messenger.

Mes.
The Citizens of Coriolus have issued,
And given to Lartius and to Martius Battel.
I saw our Party to their Trenches driven,
And then I came away.

Com.
Tho' thou speakest Truth,
Methinks thou speak'st not well. How long is't since?

Mes.
Above an Hour, my Lord

Com.
'Tis not a Mile: Briefly we heard their Drums.
How could'st thou in a Mile confound an Hour,
And bring the News so late?

Mes.
Spies of the Volscies
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. Enter Martius.

Com.
Who's yonder,
That does appear as he were Flea'd? O Gods,
He has the stamp of Martius, and I have
Before time seen him thus.

Mar.
Come I too late?

Com.
The Shepherd knows not Thunder from a Tabor,
More than I know the Sound of Martius's Tongue

From every meaner Man.

Mar.
Come I too late?

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

Mar.
Oh! 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 burnt to Bedward.

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, threatning th' other;
Holding Coriolus in the name of Rome,
Even like a fawning Grey-hound 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? Call him hither.

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

Mar.

How lies their Battel? Know you on what side they have plac'd their Men of trust.

Com.
As I guess, Martius,
Their Bands i'th' Vaward are the Ancients
Of their best trust: O'er them Aufidius,
Their very heart of Hope.

Mar.
I do beseech you,
By all the Battels wherein we have fought,
By th' Blood we have shed together,
By th' Vows we have made
To endure Friends, that you directly set me
Against Aufidius, and his Antiats;
And that you not delay the present, but

Filling the Air with Swords advanc'd, and Darts,
We prove this very hour.—

Com.
Though 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,
(As it were sin to doubt) that love this Painting
Wherein you see me smear'd; if any fear
Less for his Person, than an ill Report:
If any think, brave Death out-weighs bad Life,
And that his Country's dearer than himself,
Let him alone, (or, so many so minded)
Wave thus to express his disposition,
And follow Martius. They all Shout and wave their Swords, take him up in their Arms, and cast up their Caps.
Oh! me alone, make you a Sword of me:
If these shews be not outward, which of you
But is four Volscies? None of you, but is
Able to bear against the great Aufidius,
A Shield as hard as his. A certain number,
(Tho' thanks to all) must I select from all:
The rest shall bear the business in some other Fight
As cause will be obey'd: Please you to March,
And four shall quickly draw out my Command,
Which Men are best inclin'd.

Com.
March on my Fellows:
Make good this ostentation, and you shall
Divide in all, with us. [Exeunt. Titus Lartius having set a Guard upon Coriolus, going with Drum and Trumpet toward Cominius, and Caius Martius, Enters with a Lieutenant, other Soldiers, and a Scout.

Lart.
So, let the Ports be guarded; keep your Duties
As I have set them down. If I do send, dispatch
Those Centuries to our aid, the rest will serve
For a short holding; if we lose the Field,
We cannot keep the Town.

Lieu.
Fear not our Care, Sir.

Lart.
Hence, and shut your Gates upon's:
Our Guider come, to th' Roman Camp conduct us. [Exit. [Alarum as in Battel. Enter Martius and Aufidius, at several Doors.

Mar.
I'll fight with none but thee, for I do hate thee
Worse than a Promise-breaker.

Auf.
We hate alike:
Not Africk owns a Serpent I abhor
More than thy Fame and Envy; Fix thy Foot.

Mar.
Let the first Budger die the other's Slave,
And the Gods doom him after.

Auf.
If I fly, Martius, hollow me like a Hare.

Mar.
Within these three Hours, Tullus,
Alone I fought in your Coriolus Walls,
And made what work I pleas'd: 'Tis not my Blood,
Wherein thou see'st me mask'd; for thy Revenge
Wrench up thy power to th' highest.

Auf.
Wert thou the Hector,
That was the Whip of your bragg'd Progeny,
Thou should'st not 'scape me here. [Here they fight, and certain Volscies come to the aid of Aufid. Martius fights 'till they be driven in breathless.
Officious and not Valiant!—you have sham'd me
In your condemned Seconds. Flourish. Alarum. A Retreat is sounded. Enter at one Door Cominius, with the Romans: At another Door Martius, with his Arm in a Scarf.

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 great Patricians shall attend, and shrug;
I'th' end admire; where Ladies shall be frighted,
And gladly quak'd, hear more; 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.
Yet cam'st thou to a Morsel of this Feast,
Having fully Din'd before.

Enter Titus Lartius with his Power, from the Pursuit.

Lart.
O General,
Here is the Steed, we the Caparison:
Hadst thou beheld—

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:
He that has but effected his good Will,
Hath overta'en mine Act.

Com.
You shall not be the Grave of your deserving,
Rome must know the value of her own:
'T were a Concealment worse than a Theft,
No less than a Traducement,
To hide your doings, and to silence that,
Which to the spire and top of Praises vouch'd,
Would seem but modest: 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 have 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 only choice.

Mar.
I thank you, General:
But cannot make my Heart consent to take
A Bribe, to pay my Sword: I do refuse it,
And stand upon my common part with those,
That have beheld the doing. A long Flourish. They all cry, Martius! Martius! cast up their Caps and Launces: Cominius and Liartius stand bare.

Mar.
May these same Instruments, which you prophane,
Never sound more: When Drums and Trumpets shall
I'th' Field prove Flatterers, let Courts and Cities be
Made of all of false-fac'd soothing:

When Steel grows soft, as the Parasites Silk,
Let him be made an Overture for th' Wars:
No more, I say, for that I have not wash'd
My Nose that bled, or foil'd some debile 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 to your good Report, than grateful
To us, that give you truly: By your Patience,
If against your self you be incens'd, we'll put you
(Like one that means his proper harm) in Manacles,
Then Reason safely with you: Therefore be it known,
As to us, to all the World, that Caius Martius
Wears this War's Garland: In token of the which,
My noble Steed, known to the Camp, I give to him,
With all his trim belonging, and from this time,
For what he did before Coriolus, call him,
With all th' applause and clamour of the Host,
Caius Martius Coriolanus. Bear th' addition Nobly ever. Flourish. Trumpets sound, and Drums.

Omnes.
Caius Martius Coriolanus!

Mar.
I will go wash:
And when my Face is fair, you shall perceive
Whether I blush, or no. Howbeit, I thank you.
I mean to stride your Steed, and at all times
To under-crest your good Addition,
To th' fairness of my Power.

Com.
So, to our Tent:
Where, e'er we do repose us, we will write
To Rome of our Success: You Titus Lartius
Must to Coriolus back; send us to Rome
The best, with whom we may articulate,
For their own good, and ours.

Lart.
I shall, my Lord.

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 Corolius,
At a poor Man's House: He us'd me kindly.
He cry'd to me: I saw him Prisoner:
But then Aufidius was in 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: Deliver him, Titus.

Lart.
Martius, his Name.

Mar.
By Jupiter, forgot:
I am weary; yea, my Memr'y 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. [Exeunt. A Flourish. Cornets. Enter Tullus Aufidius bloody, with two or three Soldiers.

Auf.
The Town is ta'en.

Sol.
'Twill be deliver'd back on good Condition.

Auf.
Condition!
I would I were a Roman, for I cannot,
Being a Volscie, be, that I am. Condition?
What good Condition can a Treaty find
I'th' part that is at Mercy? Five times, Martius,
I have fought with thee; so often hast thou beat me:
And would'st do so, I think, should we encounter
As often as we Eat. By the Elements,
If e'er again I meet him Beard to Beard,
He's mine, or I am his: Mine Emulation
Hath not that Honour in't it had: For where
I thought to crush him in an equal Force,
True Sword to Sword; I'll potch at him some way,
Or Wrath, or Craft may get him.

Sol.
He's the Devil.

Auf.
Bolder, tho' not so subtle: My Valour's poison'd,
With only suffering Stain by him: For him
Shall flie out of it self; nor Sleep, nor Sanctuary,
Being Naked, Sick, nor Fane, nor Capitol,
The Prayers of Priests, nor time of Sacrifice:

Embarkments all of fury, shall lift up
Their rotten Privilege, and Custom 'gainst
My hate to Martius. Where I find him, were it
At home, upon my Brother's Guard, even there
Against the Hospitable Canon, would I
Wash my fierce Hand in's Heart. Go you to the City,
Learn how 'tis held, and what they are that must
Be Hostages for Rome.

Sol.
Will not you go?

Auf.
I am attended at the Cypress Grove. I pray you
('Tis South the City Mill) bring me word thither
How the World goes, that to the pace of it
I may spur on my Journey.

Sol.
I shall, Sir. [Exeunt.

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