Mar. See heere these mouers, that do prize their hours At a crack'd Drachme: Cushions, Leaden Spoones, Irons of a Doit, Dublets that Hangmen would Bury with those that wore them. These base slaues, Ere yet the fight be done, packe vp, downe with them. And harke, what noyse the Generall makes: To him There is the man of my soules hate, Auffidious, Piercing our Romanes: Then Valiant Titus take Conuenient Numbers to make good the City, Whil'st I with those that haue the spirit, wil haste To helpe Cominius
Lar. Worthy Sir, thou bleed'st, Thy exercise hath bin too violent, For a second course of Fight
Mar. Sir, praise me not: My worke hath yet not warm'd me. Fare you well: The blood I drop, is rather Physicall Then dangerous to me: To Auffidious thus, I will appear and fight
Lar. Now the faire Goddesse Fortune, Fall deepe in loue with thee, and her great charmes Misguide thy Opposers swords, Bold Gentleman: Prosperity be thy Page
Mar. Thy Friend no lesse, Then those she placeth highest: So farewell
Lar. Thou worthiest Martius, Go sound thy Trumpet in the Market place, Call thither all the Officers a'th' Towne, Where they shall know our minde. Away.
Enter Cominius as it were in retire, with soldiers.
Com. Breath you my friends, wel fought, we are come off, Like Romans, neither foolish in our stands, Nor Cowardly in retyre: Beleeue me Sirs, We shall be charg'd againe. Whiles we haue strooke By Interims and conueying gusts, we haue heard The Charges of our Friends. The Roman Gods, Leade their successes, as we wish our owne, That both our powers, with smiling Fronts encountring, May giue you thankfull Sacrifice. Thy Newes? Enter a Messenger.
Mess. The Cittizens of Corioles haue yssued, And giuen to Lartius and to Martius Battaile: I saw our party to their Trenches driuen, And then I came away
Com. Though thou speakest truth, Me thinkes thou speak'st not well. How long is't since? Mes. Aboue an houre, my Lord
Com. 'Tis not a mile: briefely we heard their drummes. How could'st thou in a mile confound an houre, And bring thy Newes so late? Mes. Spies of the Volces Held me in chace, that I was forc'd to wheele Three or foure miles about, else had I sir Halfe an houre since brought my report. Enter Martius.
Com. Whose yonder, That doe's appeare as he were Flead? O Gods, He has the stampe of Martius, and I haue Before time seene him thus
Mar. Come I too late? Com. The Shepherd knowes not Thunder fro[m] a Taber, More then I know the sound of Martius Tongue From euery meaner man
Martius. Come I too late? Com. I, if you come not in the blood of others, But mantled in your owne
Mart. Oh! let me clip ye In Armes as sound, as when I woo'd in heart; As merry, as when our Nuptiall 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 pittying, threatning th' other; Holding Corioles in the name of Rome, Euen like a fawning Grey-hound in the Leash, To let him slip at will
Com. Where is that Slaue Which told me they had beate you to your Trenches? Where is he? Call him hither
Mar. Let him alone, He did informe the truth: but for our Gentlemen, The common file, (a plague-Tribunes for them) The Mouse ne're shunn'd the Cat, as they did budge From Rascals worse then they