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George Sewell [1723–5], The works of Shakespear in six [seven] volumes. Collated and Corrected by the former Editions, By Mr. Pope ([Vol. 7] Printed by J. Darby, for A. Bettesworth [and] F. Fayram [etc.], London) [word count] [S11101].
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SCENE IX. The Roman Camp. Enter Cominius retreating, with Soldiers.

Com.
Breathe 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 Corioli 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 speak'st truth,
Methinks thou speak'st not well. How long is't since?

-- 111 --

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 Volscians
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' 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 Corioli in the name of Rome,
Even like a fawning grey-hound in the leash,
To let him slip at will.

-- 112 --

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 † noteAntiates
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 w'ave shed together, by the vows
W'ave made to endure friends, that you directly
Set me against Aufidius, and his Antiates;
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.

-- 113 --

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 b notethan an ill report:
If any think brave death out-weighs bad life,
And that his country's dearer than himself,
c noteLet him, alone, (or many if so minded)
Wave thus, t'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 Volscians? 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.

-- 114 --

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George Sewell [1723–5], The works of Shakespear in six [seven] volumes. Collated and Corrected by the former Editions, By Mr. Pope ([Vol. 7] Printed by J. Darby, for A. Bettesworth [and] F. Fayram [etc.], London) [word count] [S11101].
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