1. R.
This will I carry to Rome.

2. R.
And I this.

3. R.
A murrain on't! I took this for silver. Enter Marcius, Titus, Officers, &c. and a Trumpet. Alarum afar off.

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,
Ere 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;
Whil'st I, with those that have the spirit, will haste
To help Cominius.

Tit.
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.

Tit.
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.

Tit.
Thou worthiest Marcius!— [Exit Marcius.
Go, sound thy trumpet in the market-place;
Call thither all the officers of the town,
Where they shall know our mind: Away. [Exeunt.

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