The Complete Works of William Shakespeare · William Shakespeare
SCENE VI. Near the camp of Cominius
Enter Cominius as it were in retire, with Soldiers. COMINIUS. Breathe you, my friends. Well fought! We are come off Like Romans, neither foolish in our stands Nor cowardly in retire. Believe me, sirs, We shall be charged again. Whiles we have struck, By interims and conveying gusts we have heard The charges of our friends. The Roman gods Lead their successes as we wish our own, That both our powers, with smiling fronts encount’ring, May give you thankful sacrifice! Enter a Messenger. Thy news? MESSENGER. The citizens of Corioles have issued, And given to Lartius and to Martius battle. I saw our party to their trenches driven, And then I came away. COMINIUS. Though thou speakest truth, Methinks thou speak’st not well. How long is’t since? MESSENGER. Above an hour, my lord. COMINIUS. ’Tis not a mile; briefly we heard their drums. How couldst thou in a mile confound an hour And bring thy news so late? MESSENGER. Spies of the Volsces Held me in chase, that I was forced to wheel Three or four miles about; else had I, sir, Half an hour since brought my report. [_Exit Messenger._] Enter Martius, bloody. COMINIUS. Who’s yonder, That does appear as he were flayed? O gods, He has the stamp of Martius, and I have Before-time seen him thus. MARTIUS. Come I too late?
COMINIUS. The shepherd knows not thunder from a tabor More than I know the sound of Martius’ tongue From every meaner man. MARTIUS. Come I too late? COMINIUS. Ay, if you come not in the blood of others, But mantled in your own. MARTIUS. O, let me clip you In arms as sound as when I wooed, in heart As merry as when our nuptial day was done And tapers burned to bedward! COMINIUS. Flower of warriors, how is’t with Titus Lartius? MARTIUS. As with a man busied about decrees, Condemning some to death and some to exile; Ransoming him or pitying, threat’ning the other; Holding Corioles in the name of Rome Even like a fawning greyhound in the leash, To let him slip at will. COMINIUS. Where is that slave Which told me they had beat you to your trenches? Where’s he? Call him hither. MARTIUS. Let him alone. He did inform the truth. But for our gentlemen, The common file—a plague! Tribunes for them!— The mouse ne’er shunned the cat as they did budge From rascals worse than they. COMINIUS. But how prevailed you? MARTIUS. Will the time serve to tell? I do not think. Where is the enemy? Are you lords o’ th’ field? If not, why cease you till you are so? COMINIUS. Martius, we have at disadvantage fought, And did retire to win our purpose.
Text from Project Gutenberg, public domain in the United States.