COMINIUS. So, to our tent, Where, ere we do repose us, we will write To Rome of our success.—You, Titus Lartius, Must to Corioles back. Send us to Rome The best, with whom we may articulate For their own good and ours. LARTIUS. I shall, my lord. CORIOLANUS. The gods begin to mock me. I, that now Refused most princely gifts, am bound to beg Of my lord general. COMINIUS. Take’t, ’tis yours. What is’t? CORIOLANUS. I sometime lay here in Corioles At a poor man’s house; he used me kindly. He cried to me; I saw him prisoner; But then Aufidius was within my view, And wrath o’erwhelmed my pity. I request you To give my poor host freedom. COMINIUS. O, well begged! Were he the butcher of my son, he should Be free as is the wind.—Deliver him, Titus. LARTIUS. Martius, his name? CORIOLANUS. By Jupiter, forgot! I am weary; yea, my memory is tired. Have we no wine here? COMINIUS. Go we to our tent. The blood upon your visage dries; ’tis time It should be looked to. Come. [_A flourish of cornets. Exeunt._] SCENE X. The camp of the Volsces A flourish. Cornets. Enter Tullus Aufidius, bloody, with two or three soldiers. AUFIDIUS. The town is ta’en. SOLDIER. ’Twill be delivered back on good condition. AUFIDIUS. Condition? I would I were a Roman, for I cannot, Being a Volsce, be that I am. Condition? What good condition can a treaty find I’ th’ part that is at mercy? Five times, Martius, I have fought with thee; so often hast thou beat me And wouldst do so, I think, should we encounter As often as we eat. By th’ elements, If e’er again I meet him beard to beard, He’s mine or I am his. Mine emulation Hath not that honour in’t it had; for where I thought to crush him in an equal force, True sword to sword, I’ll potch at him some way, Or wrath or craft may get him. SOLDIER. He’s the devil. AUFIDIUS. Bolder, though not so subtle. My valour’s poisoned With only suff’ring stain by him; for him Shall fly out of itself. Nor sleep nor sanctuary, Being naked, sick, nor fane nor Capitol, The prayers of priests nor times of sacrifice, Embarquements all of fury, shall lift up Their rotten privilege and custom ’gainst My hate to Martius. Where I find him, were it At home, upon my brother’s guard, even there, Against the hospitable canon, would I Wash my fierce hand in’s heart. Go you to th’ city; Learn how ’tis held and what they are that must Be hostages for Rome. SOLDIER. Will not you go? AUFIDIUS. I am attended at the cypress grove. I pray you— ’Tis south the city mills,—bring me word thither How the world goes, that to the pace of it I may spur on my journey. SOLDIER. I shall, sir. [_Exeunt._] ACT II SCENE I. Rome. A public place Enter Menenius with the two Tribunes of the people, Sicinius and Brutus. MENENIUS. The augurer tells me we shall have news tonight. BRUTUS. Good or bad? MENENIUS. Not according to the prayer of the people, for they love not Martius. SICINIUS. Nature teaches beasts to know their friends.