LARTIUS.
O noble fellow,
Who sensibly outdares his senseless sword,
And when it bows, stand’st up! Thou art left, Martius.
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 thunderlike percussion of thy sounds
Thou mad’st thine enemies shake, as if the world
Were feverous and did tremble.
Enter Martius, bleeding, assaulted by the enemy.
FIRST SOLDIER.
Look, sir.
LARTIUS.
O, ’tis Martius!
Let’s fetch him off or make remain alike.
[They fight, and all enter the city.]
SCENE V. Within Corioles. A street
Enter certain Romans, with spoils.
FIRST ROMAN.
This will I carry to Rome.
SECOND ROMAN.
And I this.
THIRD ROMAN.
A murrain on’t! I took this for silver.