Before Corioli. |
|
Enter, with drum and colours, MARCIUS, TITUS LARTIUS, Officers, and Soldiers. To them a Messenger. |
Mar. Yonder comes news: a wager they have met. |
Lart. My horse to yours, no. |
Mar. 'Tis done. |
Lart. Agreed. |
Mar. Say, has our general met the enemy? |
Mess. They lie in view, but have not spoke as yet. |
Lart. So the good horse is mine. |
Mar. I'll buy him of you. |
Lart. No, I'll nor sell nor give him; lend you him I will |
For half a hundred years. Summon the town. |
Mar. How far off lie these armies? |
Mess. Within this mile and half. |
Mar. Then shall we hear their 'larum, and they ours. |
Now, Mars, I prithee, make us quick in work, |
That we with smoking swords may march from hence, |
To help our fielded friends! Come, blow thy blast. |
|
A Parley sounded. Enter, on the Walls, two Senators, and Others. |
Tullus Aufidius, is he within your walls? |
First Sen. No, nor a man that fears you less than he, |
That's lesser than a little. Hark, our drums [Drums afar off. |
Are bringing forth our youth: we'll break our walls, |
Rather than they shall pound us up: our gates. |
Which yet seem shut, we have but pinn'd with rushes; |
They'll open of themselves. Hark you, far off! [Alarum afar off. |
There is Aufidius: list, what work he makes |
Amongst your cloven army. |
Mar. O! they are at it! |
Lart. Their noise be our instruction. Ladders, ho! |
The Volsces enter, and pass over the stage. |
Mar. They fear us not, but issue forth their city. |
Now put your shields before your hearts, and fight |
With hearts more proof than shields. Advance, brave Titus: |
They do disdain us much beyond our thoughts, |
Which makes me sweat with wrath. Come on, my fellows: |
He that retires, I'll take him for a Volsce, |
And he shall feel mine edge. |
|
Alarum. The Romans are beaten back to their trenches. Re-enter MARCIUS. |
Mar. All the contagion of the south light on you, |
You shames of Rome! you herd of—Boils and plagues |
Plaster you o'er, that you may be abhorr'd |
Further than seen, and one infect another |
Against the wind a mile! You souls of geese, |
That bear the shapes of men, how have you run |
From slaves that apes would beat! Pluto and hell! |
All hurt behind; backs red, and faces pale |
With flight and agu'd 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 stand fast, we'll beat them to their wives, |
As they us to our trenches follow'd. |
|
Another alarum. The Volsces and Romans re-enter, and the fight is renewed. The Volsces retire into Corioli, and MARCIUS follows them to the gates. |
So, now the gates are ope: now prove good seconds: |
'Tis for the followers Fortune widens them, |
Not for the fliers: mark me, and do the like. [He enters the gates. |
First Sol. Foolhardiness! not I. |
Sec. Sol. Nor I. [MARCIUS is shut in. |
Third Sol. See, they have shut him in. |
All. To the pot, I warrant him. [Alarum continues. |
|
Re-enter TITUS LARTIUS. |
Lart. What is become of Marcius? |
All. Slain, sir, doubtless. |
First Sol. Following the fliers at the very heels, |
With them he enters; who, upon the sudden, |
Clapp'd-to their gates; he is himself alone, |
To answer all the city. |
Lart. O noble fellow! |
Who, sensibly, outdares his senseless sword, |
And, when it bows, stands up. Thou art left, Marcius: |
A carbuncle entire, as big as thou art, |
Were not so rich a jewel. Thou wast a soldier |
Even to Cato's wish, not fierce and terrible |
Only in strokes; but, with thy grim looks and |
The thunder-like percussion of thy sounds, |
Thou mad'st thine enemies shake, as if the world |
Were feverous and did tremble. |
|
Re-enter MARCIUS, bleeding, assaulted by the enemy. |
First Sol. Look, sir! |
Lart. O! 'tis Marcius! |
Let's fetch him off, or make remain alike. [They fight, and all enter the city. |
Design © 1995-2007 ZeFLIP.com All rights reserved.