748Com. If I should tell thee o're this thy dayes Worke,

749Thou't not beleeue thy deeds: but Ile report it,

750Where Senators shall mingle teares with smiles,

751Where great Patricians shall attend, and shrug,

752I'th' end admire: where Ladies shall be frighted,

753And gladly quak'd, heare more: where the dull Tribunes,

754That with the fustie Plebeans, hate thine Honors,

755Shall say against their hearts, We thanke the Gods

756Our Rome hath such a Souldier.

757Yet cam'st thou to a Morsell of this Feast,

758Hauing fully din'd before.

760Titus Lartius. Oh Generall:

761Here is the Steed, wee the Caparison:

762Hadst thou beheld---

763Martius. Pray now, no more:

764My Mother, who ha's a Charter to extoll her Bloud,

765When she do's prayse me, grieues me:

766I haue done as you haue done, that's what I can,

767Induc'd as you haue beene, that's for my Countrey:

768He that ha's but effected his good will,

769Hath ouerta'ne mine Act.

770Com. You shall not be the Graue of your deseruing,

771Rome must know the value of her owne:

772'Twere a Concealement worse then a Theft,

773No lesse then a Traducement,

774To hide your doings, and to silence that,

775Which to the spire, and top of prayses vouch'd,

776Would seeme but modest: therefore I beseech you,

777In signe of what you are, not to reward

778What you haue done, before our Armie heare me.

779Martius. I haue some Wounds vpon me, and they smart

780To heare themselues remembred.

781Com. Should they not:

782Well might they fester 'gainst Ingratitude,

783And tent themselues with death: of all the Horses,

784Whereof we haue ta'ne good, and good store of all,

785The Treasure in this field atchieued, and Citie,

786We render you the Tenth, to be ta'ne forth,

787Before the common distribution,

788At your onely choyse.

789Martius. I thanke you Generall:

790But cannot make my heart consent to take

791A Bribe, to pay my Sword: I doe refuse it,

792And stand vpon my common part with those,

793That haue beheld the doing.

797Mar. May these same Instruments, which you prophane,

798Neuer sound more: when Drums and Trumpets shall

799I'th' field proue flatterers, let Courts and Cities be

800Made all of false-fac'd soothing:

801When Steele growes soft, as the Parasites Silke,

802Let him be made an Ouerture for th' Warres:

803No more I say, for that I haue not wash'd

804My Nose that bled, or foyl'd some debile Wretch,

805Which without note, here's many else haue done,

806You shoot me forth in acclamations hyperbolicall,

807As if I lou'd my little should be dieted

808In prayses, sawc'st with Lyes.

809Com. Too modest are you:

810More cruell to your good report, then gratefull

811To vs, that giue you truly: by your patience,

812If 'gainst your selfe you be incens'd, wee'le put you

813(Like one that meanes his proper harme) in Manacles,

814Then reason safely with you: Therefore be it knowne,

815As to vs, to all the World, That Caius Martius

816Weares this Warres Garland: in token of the which,

817My Noble Steed, knowne to the Campe, I giue him,

818With all his trim belonging; and from this time,

819For what he did before Corioles, call him,

820With all th' applause and Clamor of the Hoast,

821 Marcus Caius Coriolanus. Beare th' addition Nobly euer?

823Omnes. Marcus Caius Coriolanus.

824Martius. I will goe wash:

825And when my Face is faire, you shall perceiue

826Whether I blush or no: howbeit, I thanke you,

827I meane to stride your Steed, and at all times

828To vnder-crest your good Addition,

829To th' fairenesse of my power.

830Com. So, to our Tent:

831Where ere we doe repose vs, we will write

832To Rome of our successe: you Titus Lartius

833Must to Corioles backe, send vs to Rome

834The best, with whom we may articulate,

835For their owne good, and ours.

836Lartius. I shall, my Lord.

837Martius. The Gods begin to mocke me:

838I that now refus'd most Princely gifts,

839Am bound to begge of my Lord Generall.

840Com. Tak't, 'tis yours: what is't?

841Martius. I sometime lay here in Corioles,

842At a poore mans house: he vs'd me kindly,

843He cry'd to me: I saw him Prisoner:

844But then Auffidius was within my view,

845And Wrath o're-whelm'd my pittie: I request you

846To giue my poore Host freedome.

847Com. Oh well begg'd:

848Were he the Butcher of my Sonne, he should

849Be free, as is the Winde: deliuer him, Titus.

850Lartius. Martius, his Name.

851Martius. By Iupiter forgot:

852I am wearie, yea, my memorie is tyr'd:

853Haue we no Wine here?

854Com. Goe we to our Tent:

855The bloud vpon your Visage dryes, 'tis time

856It should be lookt too: come. Exeunt.