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Vir. His bloody brow! oh, Jupiter, no blood!— Vol. Away, you fool; it more becomes a man, Than Gilt his trophy. The breast of Hecuba, When she did fuckle Hector, look'd not lovelier Than Hector's forehead, when it spit forth blood At Grecian fwords contending; tell Valeria, We are fit to bid her welcome.

[Exit Gent.
Vir. Heav'ns bless my Lord from fell Aufidius!
Vol. He'll beat Aufidius' head below his knee,
And tread upon his neck.

Enter Valeria with an Ufher, and a Gentlewoman.
Val. My Ladies Both, good day to you.
Vol. Sweet Madam

Vir. I am glad to see your Ladyship

Val. How do you both? you are manifeft Housekeepers. What are you fewing here? a fine spot, in good faith. How does your little Son?

Vir. I thank your Ladyfhip: well, good Madam. Vol He had rather fee the fwords, and hear a drum, than look upon his schoolmaster.

Val. O' my word, the Father's Son: I'll fwear, 'tis a very pretty boy. O' my troth, I look'd on him o' Wednesday half an hour together-h'as fuch a` confirm'd countenance. Ifaw him run after a gilded butterfly, and when he caught it, he let it go again; and after it again; and over and over he comes, and up again; and caught it again; or whether his Fall enrag'd him, or how 'twas, he did fo fet his teeth, and did tear it; oh, I warrant, how he mammockt it! Vol. One of's Father's moods.

Val. Indeed, la, 'tis a noble Child.

Vir. A crack, Madam.

Val. Come, lay afide your Stitchery; I must have you play the idle hufwife with me this afternoon. Vir. No, good Madam, I will not out of doors. Val. Not out of doors!

Vol. She fhall, fhe fhall.

Vir. Indeed, no, by your patience; I'll not over the threshould, 'till my Lord return from the wars. Val. Fie, you confine yourself most unreasonably : Come, you muft go vifit the good Lady that lies in. Vir. I will with her speedy ftrength, and visit her with my prayers; but I cannot go thither.

Vol. Why, I pray you?

Vir. 'Tis not to fave labour, nor that I want love. Val. You would be another Penelope; yet they fay, all the yarn, fhe spun in Ulyffes's abfence, did but fill Ithaca full of moths. Come, I would, your cambric were fenfible as your finger, that you might leave pricking it for pity. Come you fhall 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 Hufband.

Vir. Oh, good Madam, there can be none yet. Val. Verily, I do not jeft 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 Volfcians have an army forth, against whom Cominius the General is gone, with one part of our Roman Power. Your Lord and Titus Lartius are fet down before their City Corioli; they nothing doubt prevailing, and to make it brief wars. This is true, on my honour; and fo, 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 fweet Lady. Pr'ythee, Virgilia, turn thy Solemnefs out o' door, and go along with us. Vir. No: at a word, Madam; indeed, I must not.

I wish

I wish you much mirth.

Val. Well, then farewel.

[Exeunt.

VII.

SCENE

Changes to the Walls of Corioli.

Enter Marcius, Titus Lartius, with Captains and Soldiers: To them a Meffenger.

Mar.

ONDER comes news: a wager, they have

Yo

met.

Lart. My horse to yours, no.

Mar. 'Tis done.

Lart. Agreed.

Mar. Say, has our General met the enemy?
Mef. They lie in view; but have not spoke as yet.
Lart. So, the good horfe is mine.

Mar. I'll buy him of you.

Lart. No, I'll not fell, nor give him: lend him you, I will,

For half an hundred years: Summon the Town.
Mar. How far off lie these armies ?

Mef. Within a mile and half.

Mar. Then fhall we hear their larum, and they ours. Now, Mars, I pr'ythee, make us quick in work; That we with fmoaking fwords may march from hence, To help our fielded Friends! Come, blow thy blast.

They found a Parley. Enter two fenators with others on the Walls.

Tullus Aufidius, is he within your Walls?

1 Sen. No, nor a man that fears you lefs than he, That's leffer than a little hark, our drums [Drum afar off. Are bringing forth our Youth: we'll break our Walls, Rather than they fhall pound us up: our Gates, Which yet feem fhut, we have but pinn'd with rushes; They'll open of themselves. Hark you, far off

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There is Aufidius. Lift, what work he makes
Among your cloven army.

Mar. Oh, they are at it!

Lart. Their noife be our inftruction. Ladders, ho!

Enter the Volfcians.

Mar. They fear us not, but iffue forth their City. Now put your fhields before your hearts, and fight With hearts more proof than fhields. Advance, brave Titus,

They do difdain us much beyond our thoughts;
Which makes me fweat with wrath.
Come on my

fellows;

He that retires, I'll take him for a Volfcian,
And he fhall feel mine edge.

[Alarm; the Romans beat back to their Trenches.

SCENE

VIII.

Re-enter Marcius.

Mar. ALL the Contagion of the South light on

you,

You fhames of Rome, you!-herds of boils and plagues

Plaifter you o'er, that you may be abhorr'd
Farther than feen, and one infect another
Against the wind a mile!-you fouls of geefe,
That bear the fhapes 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 agued 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 ftand faft, we'll beat them to their wives,
As they us to our trenches followed.

Another Alarm, and Marcius follows them to the gates. So now the gates are ope: now prove good feconds;

'Tis for the followers, fortune widens them; Not for the fliers: mark me, and do the like.

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1 Sol. Following the fliers at the very heels,
With them he enters; who, upon the fudden,
Clapt to their gates; he is himself alone,
To answer all the City.

Lart. Oh, noble fellow!

Who, fenfible, out-does his fenfelefs fword,
And, when it bows, ftands up: thou art left, Marcius-
A carbuncle intire, as big as thou art,

Were not fo rich a jewel. Thou waft a foldier
Even to Cato's wifh, not fierce and terrible
Only in ftrokes, but with thy grim looks, and
The thunder-like percuffion of thy founds,
Thou mad'ft thine enemies fhake, as if the world
Were feverous, and did tremble.

Enter Marcius bleeding, affaulted by the Enemy.

1 Sol. Look, Sir.

Lart. O, 'tis Marcius.

Let's fetch him off, or make remain alike.

[They fight, and all enter the City.

Enter certain Romans with Spoils.

1 Rom. This will I carry to Rome.

2 Rom. And I this.

3 Rom. A murrain on't, I took this for filver.

[Alarm continues ftill afar off.

Enter

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