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Corioli. A street.
[Enter certain Romans, with spoils]
First Roman This will I carry to Rome.
Second Roman And I this.
Third Roman A murrain on’t! I took this for silver.
[Alarum continues still afar off]
[Enter MARCIUS and TITUS
LARTIUS with a trumpet]
MARCIUS See here these movers that do prize their hours
At a crack’d drachm! Cushions, leaden spoons,
Irons of a doit, doublets that hangmen would
Bury with those that wore them, these base slaves,
Ere yet the fight be done, pack up: down with them!
And hark, what noise the general makes! To him!
There is the man of my soul’s hate, Aufidius,
Piercing our Romans: then, valiant Titus, take
Convenient numbers to make good the city;
Whilst I, with those that have the spirit, will haste
To help Cominius.
LARTIUS Worthy sir, thou bleed’st;
Thy exercise hath been too violent for
A second course of fight.
MARCIUS Sir, praise me not;
My work hath yet not warm’d me: fare you well:
The blood I drop is rather physical
Than dangerous to me: to Aufidius thus
I will appear, and fight.
LARTIUS Now the fair goddess, Fortune,
Fall deep in love with thee; and her great charms
Misguide thy opposers’ swords! Bold gentleman,
Prosperity be thy page!
MARCIUS Thy friend no less
Than those she placeth highest! So, farewell.
LARTIUS Thou worthiest Marcius!
[Exit MARCIUS]
Go, sound thy trumpet in the market-place;
Call thither all the officers o’ the town,
Where they shall know our mind: away!
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