1 Ser.

Here's a strange alteration.

2 Ser.

By my hand, I had thought to have strucken him with a cudgel, and yet my mind gave me, his clothes made a false report of him.

1 Ser.

What an arm he has! he turn'd me about with his finger and his thumb, as one would set up a top.

2 Ser.

Nay, I knew by his face that there was something in him. He had, Sir, a kind of face, methought—I cannot tell how to term it.

1 Ser.

He had so: looking, as it were—would I were hanged but I thought there was more in him than I could think.

2 Ser.

So did I, I'll be sworn: he is simply the rarest man i'th' world.

1 Ser.

I think he is; but a greater soldier than he, you wot one.

2 Ser.

Who, my master?

1 Ser.

Nay, it's no matter for that.

2 Ser.

Worth six on him.

1 Ser.

Nay, not so neither; but I take him to be the greater soldier.

2 Ser.

Faith, look you, one cannot tell how to say that; for the defence of a town, our general is excellent.

1 Ser.

Ay, and for an assault too.

Enter a third Servant.

3 Ser.

Oh slaves, I can tell you news; news, you rascals.

Both.

What, what, what? let's partake.

3 Ser.

I would not be a Roman, of all nations; I had as lieve be a condemn'd man.

Both.

Wherefore? wherefore?

3 Ser.

Why here's he that was wont to thwack our General, Caius Martius.

1 Ser.

Why do you say, thwack our General?

3 Ser.

I do not say thwack our General, but he was always good enough for him.

2 Ser.

Come, we are fellows and friends; he was ever too hard for him, I have heard him say so himself.

1 Ser.

He was too hard for him directly, to say the troth on't: before Corioli, he scotcht him and notcht him like a carbonado.

2 Ser.

And, had he been cannibally given, he might have broil'd and eaten him too.

1 Ser.

But more of thy news.

3 Ser.

Why he is so made on here within, as if he were son and heir to Mars: set at upper end o'th' table; no question ask'd him by any of the Senators, but they stand bald before him. Our General himself makes a mistress of him, sanctifies himself with's hands, and turns up the white o'th' eye to his discourse. But the bottom of the news is, our General is cut i'th' middle, and but one half of what he was yesterday. For the other has half, by the intreaty and grant of the whole table. He'll go, he says, and sowle the porter of Rome gates by th' ears. He will mow down all before him, and leave his passage poll'd.

2 Ser.

And he's as like to do't as any man I can imagine.

3 Ser.

Do't! he will do't: for look you, Sir, he has as many friends as enemies; which friends, Sir, as it were durst not (look

you, Sir) shew themselves (as we term it) his friends, whilst he's in directitude.

1 Ser.

Directitude! what's that?

3 Ser.

But when they shall see, Sir, his crest up again and the man in blood, they will out of their burroughs (like conies after rain) and revel all with him.

1 Ser.

But when goes this forward?

3 Ser.

To-morrow, to-day, presently, you shall have the drum struck up this afternoon: 'tis as it were a parcel of their feast, and to be executed ere they wipe their lips.

2 Ser.

Why then we shall have a stirring world again: this peace is worth nothing, but to rust iron, encrease tailors, and breed ballad-makers,

1 Ser.

Let me have war, say I, it exceeds peace, as far as day does night, it's sprightly, waking, audible, and full of vent. Peace is a very apoplexy, lethargy, mull'd, deaf, sleepy, insensible, a getter of more bastard children than war's a destroyer of men.

2 Ser.

'Tis so, and as war in some sort may be said to be a ravisher, so it cannot be denied, but peace is a great maker of cuckolds.

1 Ser.

Ay, and it makes men hate one another.

3 Ser.

Reason, because they then less need one another: the wars for my mony. I hope to see Romans as cheap as Volscians. They are rising, they are rising.

Both.

In, in, in, in.

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