Corioles. A Street.
 Enter certain ROMANS with spoils.

1st Roman	This will I carry to Rome.

2nd Roman	And I this.

3rd Roman	A murrain on't! I took this for silver.
												[Exeunt.
									[Alarum continues still afar off.

             Enter MARTIUS and TITUS LARTIUS with a TRUMPET.

Martius	See here these movers that do prize their hours
	At a cracked 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.

Martius								Sir, praise me not;
	My work hath yet not warmed 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!

Martius							Thy friend no less
	Than those she placeth highest. So farewell.

Lartius	Thou worthiest Martius!
												[Exit MARTIUS.
	Go sound thy trumpet in the market-place;
	Call thither all the officers o'th' town,
	Where they shall know our mind. Away!
												[Exeunt.
