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Val. Indeed la, 'tis a noble child.

Vir. A crack, Madam.

Val. Come, lay afide your stitchery; I must have you play the idle hufwife with me this afternoon.

Vir. No, good Madam, I will not out of doors.

Val. Not out of doors!

Vol. She fhall, fhe fhall.

Vir. Indeed no, by your patience; I'll not over the threshold, 'till my Lord return from the wars.

Val, Fie, you confine your felf unreasonably: Come, you must go vifit the good Lady that lyes in.

Vir. I will with her fpeedy ftrength, and vifit her with my prayers, but I cannot go thither.

Vol. Why, I pray you?

Vir. 'Tis not to fave labour, nor that I want love.

Val. You would be another Penelope; yet they fay, all the yarn fhe fpun in Ulyffes's abfence, did but fill Ithaca full of moths. Come, I would your cambrick were fenfible as your finger, that you might leave pricking it for pity. Come, you fhall go with us.

Vir. No, good Madam, pardon me, indeed I will not forth.

Val. In truth la, go with me, and I'll tell you excellent news of your husband.

Vir. Oh, good Madam, there can be none yet.

Val. Verily I do not jeft with you; there came news from him last night.

Vir. Indeed, Madam

Val. In earneft it's true, I heard a fenator speak it. Thus it is the Volfcians have an army forth, against whom Cominius the General is gone, with one part of our Roman power. Your Lord and Titus Lartius are fet down before their city Corioli; they nothing doubt prevailing, and to make it brief wars. This is true, on my honour;

and fo, I pray, go with us.

Vir. Give me excufe, good Madam, I will obey you in every thing hereafter.

Vol. Let her alone, Lady; as fhe is now, fhe will but difeafe our better mirth.

Val. In troth, I think the would: fare you well then.


Come, good fweet Lady. Pr'ythee, Virgilia, turn thy folemnnefs out o' door, and go along with us.

Vir. No: at a word, Madam; indeed I muft not. I wifh you much mirth.

Val. Well, then farewel.

SCENE VII. The Walls of Corioli.


Enter Martius, Titus Lartius, with Captains and Soldiers:
To them a Melenger.

Mar. Yonder comes news: a wager they have met.
Lar. My horfe to yours, no.

Mar. 'Tis done.

Lar. Agreed.

Mar. Say, has our General met the enemy?
Mef. They lye in view; but have not spoke as yet.
Lar. So, the good horfe is mine.

Mar. I'll buy him of you.

Lar. No, I'll not fell, nor give him: lend him you I will, for half an hundred years or fo :

Summon the town.

Mar. How far off lye these armies ?
Mef. Within a mile and half.

Mar. Then fhall we hear their 'larum, and they ours.
Now, Mars, I pr'ythee make us quick in work;
That we with fmoaking fwords may march from hence,
To help our fielded friends. Come, blow the blast.
They found a parley. Enter two Senators with others
on the walls.

Tullus Aufidius is he within your wall ?

1 Sen. No, nor a man that fears you less than he, That's leffer than a little hark, cur drums [Drum afar off. Are bringing forth our youth: we'll break our walls Rather than they fhall pound us up; our gates,

Which yet feem fhut, we have but pinn'd with rushes, They'll open of themfelves. Hark you, far off

[Aiarum far off There is Aufidius. Lift, what work he makes Amongst your cloven army.

Mar. Oh, they are at it.

Lar. Their noife be our inftruction! Ladders, ho!



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Enter the Volfcians.

Mar. They fear us not, but ifiue forth their city. New put your fhields before your hearts, and fight With hearts more proof than fhields. Advance, brave Titus, They do difdain us much beyond our thoughts,

Which makes me fweat with wrath. Come on, my fellows : He that retires, I'll take him for a Volscian,

And he fhall feel mine edge.

[Alarum; the Romans are beat back to their trenches.
SCENE VIH. Re-enter Martius.

Mar. All the contagion of the fouth light on you,
You fhames of Rome, you herds, you! boils and plagues
Plaifter you o'er ! that you may be abhorr'd
Farther than feen, and one infect another
Against the wind a mile you fouls of geefe,
That bear the fhapes of men, how have you run
From flaves, 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 ftand faft, we'll beat them to their wives,
As they us to our trenches followed.

[Another alarum, and Martius follows them to the gates. So, now the gates are ope: now prove good feconds; "Tis for the followers fortune widens them;

Not for the fliers: mark me, and do the like.

[He enters the gates, and is fout in.

1 Sel. Fool-hardiness, not I.

2 Sol. Nor I.

1 Sol. See, they have fhut him in. All. To th' pot, I warrant him.

Enter Titus Lartius.

Lar. What is become of Martius ?
All. Slain, Sir, doubtless.

[Alarum continues.

1 Sol. Following the fliers at the very heels,
With them he enters; who upon the fudden
Clapt to their gates: he is himself alone,
To answer all the city.

Lar. Oh noble fellow!


Who fenfible out-does his fenfeless sword,

And when it bows, ftands up: thou art left, Martius -
A carbuncle entire, as big as thou art,

Were not fo rich a jewel.

Thou waft a foldier
Even to Cato's wish *, not fierce and terrible

Only in ftroaks, but with thy grim looks, and
The thunder-like percuffions of thy founds,
Thou mad'ft thine enemies fhake, as if the world
Were feaverous, and did tremble.

Enter Martius bleeding, affaulted by the Enemy.

1 Sol. Look, Sir.

Lar. 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 Bom. A murrain on't, I took this for filver.

Alarum continues ftill afar off.

Enter Martius and Titus Lartius, with a Trumpet.

Mar. See here these movers, that do prize their honours
At a crack'd drachm, cufhions, leaden fpoons,
Irons of a doit, doublets that hangmen would
Bury with thofe that wore them, thefe bafe flaves,
Ere yet the fight be done, pack up; down with them;
And hark, what noife the General makes! to him;
There is the man of my foul's hate, Aufidius,
Piercing our Romans: then, valiant Titus, ake
Convenient numbers to make good the city,

Whilft I, with those that have the spirit, will hafte
To help Cominius.

Lar. Worthy Sir, thou bleed'ft;
Thy exercise hath been too violent
For a fecond course of fight.

Plutarch in the life of Coriolanus relates this as the opinion of Cato the elder, that a great foldier fhould carry terror in his looks and tone of voice and the Poet here by following the Historian inadvertently is fallen into a great chronological impropriety.

+ Mike remain is an old way of speaking which fignifies but the fame as remain.

Mar. Sir, praise me not:

My work hath yet not warm'd me.
The blood I drop is rather physical

Fare you well:

Than dangerous. T' Aufidius thus I will
Appear, and fight.

Lar. Now the fair Goddess Fortune

Fall deep in love with thee, and her great charms
Mifguide thy oppofers fwords! bold gentleman!
Profperity be thy page!

Mar. Thy friend no less,

Than to thofe fhe placeth higheft! so farewel.
Lar. Thou worthieft Martius,

Go found thy trumpet in the market-place, [To the Trumpet.
Call thither all the officers o' th' town,

Where they shall know our mind. Away!

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 fhall be charg'd again. Whiles we have ftruck,
By interims and conveying gufts we have heard
The charges of our friends. Ye Roman Gods,
Lead their fucceffes, as we wish our own,

That both our powers, with fmiling fronts encountring,
May give you thankful facrifice! Thy news?
Enter a Meflenger.

Mef. The citizens of Corioli have iffued,
And given to Lartius and to Martius battel.
I faw our party to their trenches driven,

And then I came away.

Com. Tho' thou speak'ft truth,

Methinks thou fpeak'st not well. How long is't fince ? Mef. Above an hour, my Lord.

Com. 'Tis not a mile : briefly we heard their drums. How could't thou in a mile confound an hour,

And bring the news fo late?

Mef. Spies of the Volfcians

Held me in chafe, that I was forc'd to wheel


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