SCENE V.
Enter two Servants.
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.
-- 527 --
Both.
Wherefore? wherefore?
3 Ser.
Why, here's he that was wont to thwack
our General, Caius Marcius.
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 nocht
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.
-- 528 --
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.
&wlquo;1 Ser.
&wlquo;Ay, and it makes men hate one another.&wrquo;
&wlquo;3 Ser.
&wlquo;Reason; 7 notebecause they then less need one
another: the wars, for my mony. I hope, to see
Romans as cheap as Volscians.&wrquo;
They are rising, they are rising.
Both.
In, in, in, in.
[Exeunt.
Alexander Pope [1747], The works of Shakespear in eight volumes. The Genuine Text (collated with all the former Editions, and then corrected and emended) is here settled: Being restored from the Blunders of the first Editors, and the Interpolations of the two Last: with A Comment and Notes, Critical and Explanatory. By Mr. Pope and Mr. Warburton (Printed for J. and P. Knapton, [and] S. Birt [etc.], London) [word count] [S11301].