SCENE VI. Near the camp of Cominius. Enter COMINIUS, as it were in retire, 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 charged again. Whiles we have struck, That both our powers, with smiling fronts encountering, May give you thankful sacrifice. Enter a Messenger. Thy news? 10 Mess. The citizens of Corioli have issued, Com. Though thou speak'st truth, Methinks thou speak'st not well. since? Mess. Above an hour, my lord. How long is 't Com. 'Tis not a mile; briefly we heard their drums: How couldst thou in a mile confound an hour, And bring thy news so late? Three or four miles about, else had I, sir, Com. Mar. [Within] Come I too late? Com. The shepherd knows not thunder from More than I know the sound of Marcius' tongue 20 Mar. Enter MARCIUS. Come I too late? Com. Ay, if you come not in the blood of others, But mantled in your own. Mar. O, let me clip ye 30 In arms as sound as when I woo'd; in heart Com. How is 't with Titus Lartius ? Flower of warriors, Mar. As with a man busied about decrees: Even like a fawning greyhound in the leash, Com. Where is that slave Which told me they had beat you to your trenches? 40 Let him alone; Mar. 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' the field? Com. We have at disadvantage fought and did Marcius, Mar. How lies their battle? know you on which side They have placed their men of trust? Com. As I guess, Marcius, Their bands i' the vaward are the Antiates, Mar. I do beseech you, By all the battles wherein we have fought, By the blood we have shed together, by the vows Filling the air with swords advanced and darts, Com. Though I could wish And balms applied to you, yet dare I never Mar. That most are willing. Those are they If any such be here As it were sin to doubt-that love this painting Wherein you see me smear'd; if any fear Lesser his person than an ill report; If any think brave death outweighs bad life, 53. Antiates. So Pope from Plutarch. Ff have Ancients," 50 60 70 And that his country's dearer than himself; [They all shout and wave their swords, take him up in their arms, and cast up their caps. O, me alone! make you a sword of me? If these shows be not outward, which of you But is four Volsces? none of you but is Able to bear against the great Aufidius A shield as hard as his. A certain number, Though 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 ; Com. March on, my fellows: Make good this ostentation, and you shall 80 Divide in all with us. SCENE VII. [Exeunt. The gates of Corioli. TITUS LARTIUS, having set a guard upon Corioli, going with drum and trumpet toward COMINIUS and CAIUS MARCIUS, enters with a Lieutenant, other Soldiers, and a Scout. Lart. So, let the ports be guarded: keep your duties, 76. O, me alone! make you, etc. The soldiers, called upon to 'wave' their swords, have proceeded to wave' him. He plays on the fact. 'Yes, make me your weapon indeed! Follow me up as strenuously as the hand the sword!'-This is more in keeping with the situation than to put a (?) at 'me' (with Capell), as if he jocularly asked whether they took him for a sword. 84. four shall quickly, etc., i.e. four officers are to pick out the best men. If I do send, dispatch As I have set them down. Those centuries to our aid; the rest will serve We cannot keep the town. Lieu. Fear not our care, sir. Lart. Hence, and shut your gates upon 's. Our guider, come; to the Roman camp conduct us. [Exeunt. SCENE VIII. A field of battle between the Roman and the Volscian camps. Alarum as in battle. Enter, from opposite sides, MARCIUS and AUFIDIUS. Mar. I'll fight with none but thee; for I do hate thee Worse than a promise-breaker. Auf. We hate alike: Not Afric owns a serpent I abhor More than thy fame and envy. Fix thy foot. Auf. Holloa me like a hare. Mar. If I fly, Marcius, Within these three hours, Tullus, Alone I fought in your Corioli walls, And made what work I pleased: 'tis not my blood Wrench up thy power to the highest. Auf. Wert thou the Hector That was the whip of your bragg'd progeny, 4. thy fame and envy, 'thy envied fame' (a 'hendiadys'). 12. the whip, etc., the ΤΟ champion of your race; the Romans reckoning the Trojans their ancestors. |