The Complete Works of William Shakespeare · William Shakespeare
SCENE IV. Before Corioles
Enter Martius, Titus Lartius, with drum and colours, with Captains and Soldiers, as before the city of Corioles. To them a Messenger. MARTIUS. Yonder comes news. A wager they have met. LARTIUS. My horse to yours, no. MARTIUS. ’Tis done. LARTIUS. Agreed. MARTIUS. [_To Messenger_.] Say, has our general met the enemy? MESSENGER. They lie in view but have not spoke as yet. LARTIUS. So the good horse is mine. MARTIUS. I’ll buy him of you. LARTIUS. No, I’ll nor sell nor give him. Lend you him I will For half a hundred years.—Summon the town. MARTIUS. How far off lie these armies? MESSENGER. Within this mile and half. MARTIUS. Then shall we hear their ’larum, and they ours. Now, Mars, I prithee, 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 two Senators with others on the walls of Corioles. Tullus Aufidius, is he within your walls? FIRST SENATOR. No, nor a man that fears you less than he: That’s lesser than a little. [_Drum afar off_.] Hark, our drums 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 pinned with rushes. They’ll open of themselves. [_Alarum far off_.] Hark you, far off! There is Aufidius. List what work he makes Amongst your cloven army.
MARTIUS. O, they are at it! LARTIUS. Their noise be our instruction.—Ladders, ho! Enter the Army of the Volsces as through the city gates. MARTIUS. 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 Volsce, And he shall feel mine edge. [_Alarums. The Romans are beat back to their trenches. They exit, with the Volsces following_.] Enter Martius cursing, with Roman soldiers. MARTIUS. 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 abhorred Farther than seen, and one infect another Against the wind a mile! You souls of geese, That bear the shapes 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 stand fast we’ll beat them to their wives, As they us to our trenches. Follow’s!
Text from Project Gutenberg, public domain in the United States.