Enter Martius, and Titus with a Trumpet.
Mar. See heere these mouers, that do prize their hours
At a crack'd Drachme: Cushions, Leaden Spoones,
Irons of a Doit, Dublets that Hangmen would
Bury with those that wore them. These base slaues,
Ere yet the fight be done, packe vp, downe with them.
And harke, what noyse the Generall makes: To him
There is the man of my soules hate, Auffidious,
Piercing our Romanes: Then Valiant Titus take
Conuenient Numbers to make good the City,
Whil'st I with those that haue the spirit, wil haste
To helpe Cominius
Lar. Worthy Sir, thou bleed'st,
Thy exercise hath bin too violent,
For a second course of Fight
Mar. Sir, praise me not:
My worke hath yet not warm'd me. Fare you well:
The blood I drop, is rather Physicall
Then dangerous to me: To Auffidious thus, I will appear and fight
Lar. Now the faire Goddesse Fortune,
Fall deepe in loue with thee, and her great charmes
Misguide thy Opposers swords, Bold Gentleman:
Prosperity be thy Page
Mar. Thy Friend no lesse,
Then those she placeth highest: So farewell
Lar. Thou worthiest Martius,
Go sound thy Trumpet in the Market place,
Call thither all the Officers a'th' Towne,
Where they shall know our minde. Away.
Exeunt.
Enter Cominius as it were in retire, with soldiers.
Com. Breath you my friends, wel fought, we are come off,
Like Romans, neither foolish in our stands,
Nor Cowardly in retyre: Beleeue me Sirs,
We shall be charg'd againe. Whiles we haue strooke
By Interims and conueying gusts, we haue heard
The Charges of our Friends. The Roman Gods,
Leade their successes, as we wish our owne,
That both our powers, with smiling Fronts encountring,
May giue you thankfull Sacrifice. Thy Newes?
Enter a Messenger.