Then shall we hear their 'larum, and they ours.--
Now, Mars, I pr'ythee, 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, on the Walls, some Senators and others.]
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 pinn'd 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.
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, and exeunt Romeans and Volsces fighting. Romans are
beaten back to their trenches. Re-enter 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.
[Another alarum. The Volsces and Romans re-enter, and the fight
is renewed. The Volsces retire into Corioli, and MARCIUS follows
them to the gates.]
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.
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.
O noble fellow!
Who sensible, outdares his senseless sword,
And when it bows stands 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.
[Re-enter MARCIUS, bleeding, assaulted by the enemy.]