SCENE VIII-A field of battle between the Roman and the Volcian camps. Alarum. Enter 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 Africk owns a serpent, I abhor More than thy fame and envy: Fix thy foot. Auf. Halloo 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 pleas'd; "Tis not my blood, Wherein thou seest me mask'd; for thy revenge, Wrench up thy power to th' highest. Wert thou the Hector, Auf. [They fight, and certain Volces come to the aid Officious, and not valiant-you have sham'd me [Exeunt fighting, driven in by Marcius. SCENE IX.-The Roman camp. Alarum. Aretreat is sounded. Flourish. Enter at one side, COMINIUS, and Romans; at the other side, MARCIUS, with his arm in a scarf, and other Romans. Com. If I should tell thee o'er this thy day's work, Yet cam'st thou to a morsel of this feast, Enter TITUS LARTIUS, with his power, from the pursuit Lart. O general, Here is the steed, we the caparison: Hadst thou beheld As Mar. Pray now, no more: my mother, I have done, Who has a charter to extol her blood, As Com. You shall not be To hide your doings; and to silence that, Which, to the spire and top of praises vouch'd, Would seem but modest: Therefore, I beseech you, (In sign of what you are, not to reward What you have done,) before our army hear me. Mar. I have some wounds upon me, and they smart To hear themselves remember'd. Com. Should they not, Well might they fester 'gainst ingratitude, And tent themselves with death. Of all the horses, (Whereof we have ta'en good, and good store,) of all The treasure, in this field achiev'd, and city, Your only choice. Mar. I thank you, general; [A long flourish. They all cry, Marcius! Marcius! Mar. May these same instruments, which you profane, Never sound more! When drums and trumpets shall I'th' field prove flatterers, let courts and cities be Made all of false-fac'd soothing! When steel grows Soft as the parasite's silk, let him be made I say; An overture for the wars! No more, In acclamations hyperbolical; As if I lov'd my little should be dieted Com. Too modest are you; More cruel to your good report, than grateful With all th' applause and clamour of the host, Bear the addition nobly ever! [Flourish. Trumpets sound, and drums. All. Caius Marcius Coriolanus! Cor. I will go wash; And when my face is fair, you shall perceive To th' fairness of my power. om. So, to our tent: Where, ere we do repose us, we will write To Rome of our success.-You, Titus Lartius, The best, with whom we may articulate, I shall, my lord. Lart. I that now Refus'd most princely gifts, am bound to beg Com. Take it: 'tis yours.-What is't? Cor. I sometime lay, here in Corioli, At a poor man's house; he us'd me kindly· But then Aufidius was within my view, And wrath o'erwhelm'd my pity: I request you Com. O, well begg'd! Cor. By Jupiter, forgot:-- I am weary; yea, my memory is tir'd.- Com. Go we to our tent: [Exeunt. The blood upon your visage dries: 'tis time SCENE X.-The camp of the Volces. A flourish. Cornets. Enter TULLUS AUFIDIUS, bloody, with two or three Soldiers. Auf. The town is ta’en! 1 Sol. "Twill be deliver'd back on good condition. Auf. Condition?— I would, I were a Roman; for I cannot, Being a Volce, be that I am.-Condition! I'th' part that is at mercy? Five times, Marcius, |