Mar. Within these three houres Tullus
Alone I fought in your Corioles walles,
And made what worke I pleas'd: 'Tis not my blood,
Wherein thou seest me maskt, for thy Reuenge
Wrench vp thy power to th' highest
Auf. Wer't thou the Hector,
That was the whip of your bragg'd Progeny,
Thou should'st not scape me heere.
Heere they fight, and certaine Volces come in the ayde of Auffi. Martius fights til they be driuen in breathles.
Officious and not valiant, you haue sham'd me
In your condemned Seconds.
Flourish. Alarum. A Retreat is sounded. Enter at one Doore
Cominius, with
the Romanes: At another Doore Martius, with his Arme in a
Scarfe.
Com. If I should tell thee o're this thy dayes Worke,
Thou't not beleeue thy deeds: but Ile report it,
Where Senators shall mingle teares with smiles,
Where great Patricians shall attend, and shrug,
I'th' end admire: where Ladies shall be frighted,
And gladly quak'd, heare more: where the dull Tribunes,
That with the fustie Plebeans, hate thine Honors,
Shall say against their hearts, We thanke the Gods
Our Rome hath such a Souldier.
Yet cam'st thou to a Morsell of this Feast,
Hauing fully din'd before.
Enter Titus with his Power, from the Pursuit.
Titus Lartius. Oh Generall:
Here is the Steed, wee the Caparison:
Hadst thou beheld-
Martius. Pray now, no more:
My Mother, who ha's a Charter to extoll her Bloud,
When she do's prayse me, grieues me:
I haue done as you haue done, that's what I can,
Induc'd as you haue beene, that's for my Countrey:
He that ha's but effected his good will,
Hath ouerta'ne mine Act
Com. You shall not be the Graue of your deseruing,
Rome must know the value of her owne:
'Twere a Concealement worse then a Theft,
No lesse then a Traducement,
To hide your doings, and to silence that,
Which to the spire, and top of prayses vouch'd,
Would seeme but modest: therefore I beseech you,
In signe of what you are, not to reward
What you haue done, before our Armie heare me
Martius. I haue some Wounds vpon me, and they smart
To heare themselues remembred
Com. Should they not:
Well might they fester 'gainst Ingratitude,
And tent themselues with death: of all the Horses,
Whereof we haue ta'ne good, and good store of all,
The Treasure in this field atchieued, and Citie,
We render you the Tenth, to be ta'ne forth,
Before the common distribution,
At your onely choyse