Lar. Oh Noble Fellow! Who sensibly out-dares his sencelesse Sword, And when it bowes, stand'st vp: Thou art left Martius, A Carbuncle intire: as big as thou art Weare not so rich a Iewell. Thou was't a Souldier Euen to Calues wish, not fierce and terrible Onely in strokes, but with thy grim lookes, and The Thunder-like percussion of thy sounds Thou mad'st thine enemies shake, as if the World Were Feauorous, and did tremble. Enter Martius bleeding, assaulted by the Enemy. 1.Sol. Looke Sir Lar. O 'tis Martius. Let's fetch him off, or make remaine alike. They fight, and all enter the City. Enter certaine Romanes with spoiles. 1.Rom. This will I carry to Rome 2.Rom. And I this 3.Rom. A Murrain on't, I tooke this for Siluer. Exeunt. Alarum continues still a-farre off. 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. Mess. The Cittizens of Corioles haue yssued, And giuen to Lartius and to Martius Battaile: I saw our party to their Trenches driuen, And then I came away Com. Though thou speakest truth, Me thinkes thou speak'st not well. How long is't since? Mes. Aboue an houre, my Lord