Lart. I shall, my lord.

Cor. The gods begin to mock me.

I that now

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Refus'd most princely gifts, am bound to beg

Of my lord general.

Com. Take it: 'tis your's.-What is't?

Cor. I sometime lay, here in Corioli,

At a poor man's house; he us'd me kindly :
He cry'd to me; I saw him prisoner;

But then Aufidius was within my view,

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

Com. O, well begg'd!

Were he the butcher of my son, he should

Be free, as is the wind. Deliver him, Titus.
Lart. Marcius, his name?

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Cor. By Jupiter, forgot:

I am weary; yea, my memory is tir'd.—
Have we no wine here?

Com. Go we to our tent:

The blood upon your visage dries; 'tis time

It should be look'd to: come.

SCENE X.

[Exeunt.

The Camp of the Volsces. A Flourish. Cornets. Enter TULLUS AUFIDIUS bloody, with two or three Soldiers.

Auf. The town is ta'en!

Sol. 'Twill be deliver'd back on good condition.
Auf. Condition !—

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I would,

I would, I were a Roman; for I cannot,
Being a Volsce, be that I am.-Condition!
What good condition can a treaty find

I' the part that is at mercy? Five times, Marcius,
I have fought with thee; so often hast thou beat me;
And would'st 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

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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.

Sol. He's the devil.

Auf. Bolder, though not so subtle: My valour's poison'd,

With only suffering stain by him; for him
Shall fly out of itself: nor sleep, nor sanctuary,
Being naked, sick; nor fane, nor Capitol,
The prayers of priests, nor times of sacrifice,
Embarquements all of fury, shall lift up
Their rotten privilege and custom 'gainst
My hate to Marcius: where I find him, were it
At home, upon my brother's guard, even there,
Against the hospitable canon, would I

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Wash my fierce hand in his heart. Go you to the

city;

Learn, how 'tis held; and what they are, that must Be hostages for Rome.

Sol. Will not you go?

Dij

Auf.

Auf. I am attended at the cypress-grove :

I pray you

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('Tis south the city mills), bring me word thither How the world goes; that to the pace of it

I may spur on my journey.

Sol. I shall, sir.

[Exeunt.

ACT II. SCENE I.

Rome. Enter MENENIUS, with SICINIUS and BRUTUS.

Menenius.

THE augurer tells me, we shall have news tonight.

Bru. Good, or bad?

Men. Not according to the prayer of the people, for they love not Marcius.

Sic. Nature teaches beasts to know their friends. Men. Pray you, who does the wolf love?

Sic. The lamb.

Men. Ay, to devour him; as the hungry plebeians would the noble Marcius.

Bru. He's a lamb indeed, that baâs like a bear.

10

Men. He's a bear, indeed, that lives like a lamb. You two are old men; tell me one thing that I shall ask you.

Both. Well, sir.

Men. In what enormity is Marcius poor, that you two have not in abundance ?

Bru. He's poor in no one fault, but stor'd with all.

Sic. Especially, in pride.

Bru. And topping all others in boasting.

20.

Men. This is strange now: Do you two know how you are censur'd here in the city, I mean of us o' the right hand file? Do you?

Bru. Why, how are we censur'd?

Men. Because you talk of pride now-Will you not be angry?

Both. Well, well, sir, well.

Men. Why, 'tis no great matter; for a very little thief of occasion will rob you of a great deal of patience; give your dispositions the reins, and be angry at your pleasures; at the least, if you take it as a pleasure to you, in being so. You blame Marcius for being proud?

Bru. We do it not alone, sir.

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Men. I know, you can do very little alone; for your helps are many; or else your actions would grow wondrous single: your abilities are too infant-like, for doing much alone. You talk of pride: Oh, that you could turn your eyes towards the napes of your necks, and make but an interior survey of your good selves! O, that you could!

Bru. What then, sir?

41

Men. Why, then you should discover a brace of as unmeriting, proud, violent, testy magistrates (alias, fools), as any in Rome.

Sic. Menenius, you are known well enough too.

Men. I am known to be a humourous patrician, and one that loves a cup of hot wine with not a drop of Diij

allaying

allaying Tiber in't: said to be something imperfect, in favouring the first complaint; hasty, and tinderlike, upon too trivial motion: one that converses more with the buttock of the night, than with the forehead of the morning. What I think, I utter; and spend my malice in my breath: Meeting two such weals-men as you are (I cannot call you Lycurgusses), if the drink you give me, touch my palate adversely, I make a crooked face at it. I can't say, your worships have deliver'd the matter well, when I find the ass in compound with the major part of your syllables: and though I must be content to bear with those that say you are reverend grave men; yet they lie deadly, that tell you you have good faces. If you see this in the map of my microcosm, follows it, that I am known well enough too? What harm can your bisson conspectuities glean out of this character, if I be known well enough too?

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Bru. Come, sir, come, we know you well enough. Men. You know neither me, yourselves, nor any thing. You are ambitious for poor knaves' caps and legs you wear out a good wholesome forenoon, in hearing a cause between an orange-wife and a fossetseller ; and then rejourn the controversy of threepence to a second day of audience.-When you are hearing a matter between party and party, if you chance to be pinch'd with the cholick, you make faces like mummers; set up the bloody flag against all patience, and, in roaring for a chamber-pot, dismiss the controversy bleeding, the more entangled by your

hearing: