but fill Ithaca full of moths. Come; I would, your cambrick were sensible as your finger, that you might leave pricking it for pity. Come, you shall go with us. Vir. No, good madam, pardon me; indeed, I will not forth. Val. In truth, la, go with me; and I'll tell you excellent news of your husband. Vir. O, good madam, there can be none yet. Val. Verily, I do not jest with you; there came news from him last night. Vir. Indeed, madam? Val. In earnest, it's true; I heard a senator speak it. Thus it is:-The Volces have an army forth; against whom Cominius the general is gone, with one part of our Roman power: your lord, and Titus Lartius, are set down before their city Corioli; they nothing doubt prevailing, and to make it brief wars. This is true, on mine honour; and so, I pray, go with us. Vir. Give me excuse, good madam; I will obey you in every thing hereafter. Vol. Let her alone, lady; as she is now, she will but disease our better mirth. Val. In troth, I think, she would:-Fare you well then.-Come, good sweet lady.-Pr'ythee, Virgilia, turn thy solemness out o'door, and go along with us. Vir. No: at a word, madam; indeed, I must not. I wish you much mirth. Val. Well, then farewell. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. 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 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. Mess. Within this mile and half. Mar. Then shall we hear their 'larum, and they ours. Now, Mars, I pr'ythee, make us quick in work; That we with smoking swords may march from hence, To help our fielded friends! Come, blow thy blast. They sound a Parley. Enter, on the Walls, some Senators, and Others. Tullus Aufidius, is he within your walls? 5 1 Sen. No, nor a man that fears you less than he, - fielded friends!] i. e. our friends who are in the field of battle. That's lesser than a little. Hark, our drums [Alarums 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; There is Aufidius; list, what work he makes O, they are at it! Lart. Their noise be our instruction.-Ladders, ho! The Volces 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 Volce, Alarum, and exeunt Romans and Volces, fighting. 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 With flight and agued fear! Mend, and charge home, Or, by the fires of heaven, I'll leave the foe, Another Alarum. The Volces and Romans re-enter, and the fight is renewed. The Volces 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, and is shut in. 1 Sol. Fool-hardiness; not I. 1 Sol. Following the fliers at the very heels, Lart. O noble fellow! Who, sensible, outdares his senseless sword, And, when it bows, stands up! Thou art left, Mar cius: A carbuncle entire, as big as thou art, Were not so rich a jewel. Thou wast a soldier • Who, sensible, Sensible is here, having sensation. Even to Cato's wish, not fierce and terrible Re-enter MARCIUS, bleeding, assaulted by the Enemy. 1 Sol. Lart. Look, sir. 'Tis Marcius: Let's fetch him off, or make remain alike. [They fight, and all enter the City. SCENE V. Within the Town. A Street. Enter certain Romans, with Spoils. 1 Rom. This will I carry to Rome. 2 Rom. And I this. 3 Rom. A murrian on't! I took this for silver. [Alarum continues still afar off. Enter MARCIUS, and TITUS LARTIUS, with a Trumpet. Mar. 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, |