LITMIR.BIZ

        MARCIUS. 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.

        MARCIUS. 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 abhorr'd

          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 me.

          So, now the gates are ope; now prove good seconds;

          'Tis for the followers fortune widens them,

          Not for the fliers. Mark me, and do the like.

        FIRST SOLDIER. Fool-hardiness; not I.

        SECOND SOLDIER. Not I. [MARCIUS is shut in]

        FIRST SOLDIER. See, they have shut him in.

        ALL. To th' pot, I warrant him. [Alarum continues]

        LARTIUS. What is become of Marcius?

        ALL. Slain, sir, doubtless.

        FIRST SOLDIER. Following the fliers at the very heels,

          With them he enters; who, upon the sudden,

          Clapp'd to their gates. He is himself alone,

          To answer all the city.

        LARTIUS. O noble fellow!

          Who sensibly outdares his senseless sword,

          And when it bows stand'st up. Thou art left, Marcius;

          A carbuncle entire, as big as thou art,

          Were not so rich a jewel. Thou wast a soldier

          Even to Cato's wish, not fierce and terrible

          Only in strokes; but with thy grim looks and

          The thunder-like percussion of thy sounds

          Thou mad'st thine enemies shake, as if the world

          Were feverous and did tremble.

        FIRST SOLDIER. Look, sir.

        LARTIUS. O, 'tis Marcius!

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

                                  [They fight, and all enter the city]

        FIRST ROMAN. This will I carry to Rome.

        SECOND ROMAN. And I this.

        THIRD ROMAN. A murrain on 't! I took this for silver.

                                     [Alarum continues still afar off]

        MARCIUS. See here these movers that do prize their hours

          At a crack'd drachma! Cushions, leaden spoons,

          Irons of a doit, doublets that hangmen would

          Bury with those that wore them, these base slaves,

          Ere yet the fight be done, pack up. Down with them!

          And hark, what noise the general makes! To him!

          There is the man of my soul's hate, Aufidius,

          Piercing our Romans; then, valiant Titus, take

          Convenient numbers to make good the city;

          Whilst I, with those that have the spirit, will haste

          To help Cominius.

        LARTIUS. Worthy sir, thou bleed'st;

          Thy exercise hath been too violent

          For a second course of fight.

        MARCIUS. Sir, praise me not;

          My work hath yet not warm'd me. Fare you well;

          The blood I drop is rather physical

          Than dangerous to me. To Aufidius thus

          I will appear, and fight.

        LARTIUS. Now the fair goddess, Fortune,

          Fall deep in love with thee, and her great charms

          Misguide thy opposers' swords! Bold gentleman,

          Prosperity be thy page!

        MARCIUS. Thy friend no less

          Than those she placeth highest! So farewell.

        LARTIUS. Thou worthiest Marcius! Exit MARCIUS

          Go sound thy trumpet in the market-place;

          Call thither all the officers o' th' town,

          Where they shall know our mind. Away! Exeunt

        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 charg'd 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

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