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SCENE VIII.--A Field of Battle between the Roman

and the Volcian Camps. Alarum. Enter Marcius and AUPIDIUS. 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.

Mar. Let the first budger die the other's slave,
And the gods doom him after !
Auf.

If I fly, Marcius,
Halloo me like a hare.
Mar.

Within these three hours, Tullus,
Alone I fought in your Corioli walls,
And made what work I pleas'd; 'T is not my blood
Wherein thou seest me mask'd : for thy revenge
Wrench up thy power to the highest.
- Auf.

Wert thou the Hector That was the whip of your bragg’d progeny, Thou shouldst not scape me here.

[They fight, and certain Volces come to the

aid of AUFIDIUS. Officious, and not valiant-you have sham'd me In your condemned seconds.

[Exeunt fighting, driven in by Marciug.

SCENE IX.-The Roman Camp. Alarum. A retreat 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, Thou 'lt not believe thy deeds : but I'll report it Where senators shall mingle tears with smiles;

Where great patricians shall attend, and slırug,
l' the end, admire; where ladies shall be frighted,
And, gladly quak'd, hear more; where the dull tribunes,
That, with the fusty plebeians, hate thine honours,
Shall say, against their hearts,—“We thank the gods,
Our Rome hath such a soldier !"-
Yet cam’st thou to a morsel of this feast,
Having fully din'd before.
Enter Titus LARTIUS, with his power, from the pursuit,
Lart.

O general,
Here is the steed, we the caparison :
Hadst thou beheld-
Mar.

Pray now, no more : my mother,
Who has a charter to extol her blood,
When she does praise me grieves me. I have done,
As you have done : that's what I can; induc'd
As you have been; that's for my country:
He that has but effected his good will
Hath overta'en mine act.
Com.

You shall not be
The grave of your deserving : Rome must know
The value of her own : 't were a concealment
Worse than a theft, no less than a traducement,
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,
We render you the tenth; to be ta’en forth,

VOL. X.

Before the common distribution,
At your only choice.
Mar.

I thank you, general ;
But cannot make my heart consent to take
A bribe to pay my sword : I do refuse it;
And stand upon my common part with those
That have beheld the doing.

[A long flourish. They all cry, Marcius !

Marcius! cast up their caps and lances :

COMINIUS and LARTius stand bare. Mar. May these same instruments, which you pro

fane, Never sound more, when drums and trumpets shall l' the field prove fíatterers! Let courts and cities be Made all of false-fac'd soothing, where steel grows soft As the parasite's silk! Let them be made an overture for the wars! a. No more, I say! For that I have not wash'd My nose that bled, or foil'd some debile wretch, Which without note here 's many else have done, You shout me forth In acclamations hyperbolical : As if I lov'd my little should be dieted In praises sauc'd with lies.

a We here venture to make an important change in the generally received reading of this passage. It is invariably printed thus :

“ May these same instruments, which you profane, Never sound more! When drums and trumpets shall l' the 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

An overture for the wars!” The commentators have long notes of explanation; and they leave the matter more involved than they found it. The slight change we have made gives a perfectly clear meaning. Opposed as we are to editorial licence, we hold ourselves keeping within due bounds in substituting where for when, and them for him; for there are several instances of these words having been misprinted in the original copies.

Com.

Too modest are you; More cruel to your good report tban grateful To us that give you truly : by your patience, If 'gainst yourself you be incens'd, we 'll put you (Like one that means his proper harm) in manacles, Iben reason safely with you. Therefore, be it known, As to us, to all the world, that Caius Marcius Wears this war's garland : in token of the which My noble steed, known to the camp, I give him, With all his trim belonging; and, from this time, For what he did before Corioli, call him, With all the applause and clamour of the host, Caius MARCIUS CORIOLANUS. — 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
Whether I blush, or no: Howbeit, I thank you :-
I mean to stride your steed; and, at all times,
To undercrest your good addition,
To the fairness of my power.
Com.

So, to our tent :
Where, ere we do repose us, we will write
To Rome of our success.--You, Titus Lartius,
Mast to Corioli back: send us to Rome
The best, with whom we may articulate,
For their own good, and ours.
Lart.

I shall, my lord.
Cor. The gods begin to mock me. I that now
Refus’d most princely gifts, am bound to beg
Of my lord general.
Com.

Take it: 't is yours.—What is 't ?
Cor. I sometime lay, here in Corioli,
At a poor man's house; he us'd me kindly:
He cried to me; I saw him prisoner;
But then Aufidius was within my view,

Com.

And wrath o'erwhelm'd my pity : I request you
To give my poor host freedom.
Com.

O, well begg'u!
Were he the butcher of my son, he should
Be free as is the wind. Deliver him, Titus.

Lart. Marcius, his name?
Cor.

By Jupiter, forgot!
I am weary; yea, my memory is tir’d.-
Have we no wine here?

Go we to our tent :
The blood upon your visage dries : 't is time
It should be look’d to : come.

[Exeunt. 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 Šol. 'T will 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 ! What good condition can a treaty find l' the part that is at mercy ? Five times, Marcius, I have fought with thee; so often hast thou beat me, And wouldst do so, I think, should we encounter As often as we eat.--By the elements, If e'er again I meet him beard to beard, He is mine, or I am his : Mine emulation Hath not that honour in 't it had : for where I thought to crush him in an equal force, (True sword to sword,) I 'll potch at him some way; Or wrath, or craft, may get him. 1 Sol.

He's the devil. Auf. Bolder, though not so subtle: My valour 's

poison'd, With only suífering stain by him; for him

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