_Mar._ May these same instruments, which you profane,[2743] Never sound more! when drums and trumpets shall[2743] I' the field prove flatterers, let courts and cities be[2743][2744][2745] Made all of false-faced soothing![2743][2745][2746] When steel grows soft as the parasite's silk,[2743][2747] 45 Let him be made a coverture for the wars![2743][2748][2749] No more, I say! For that I have not wash'd[2743][2749][2750] My nose that bled, or foil'd some debile wretch,[2743] Which without note here's many else have done,[2743] You shout me forth[2743][2751][2752] 50 In acclamations hyperbolical;[2743][2751] As if I loved my little should be dieted[2743] In praises sauced with lies.[2743] _Com._ Too modest are you; More cruel to your good report than grateful To us that give you truly: by your patience,[2753] 55 If 'gainst yourself you be incensed, we'll put you,[2754] Like one that means his proper harm, in manacles, Then reason safely with you. Therefore, be it known, As to us, to all the world, that Caius Marcius Wears this war's garland: in token of the which, 60 My noble steed, known to the camp, I give him,[2755] With all his trim belonging; and from this time, For what he did before Corioli, call him, With all the applause and clamour of the host, CAIUS MARCIUS CORIOLANUS. Bear[2756][2757] 65 The addition nobly ever! [_Flourish. Trumpets sound, and drums._[2756] _All._ Caius Marcius Coriolanus![2757][2758] _Cor._ I will go wash;[2759] And when my face is fair, you shall perceive Whether I blush, or no: howbeit, I thank you: 70 I mean to stride your steed; and at all times To undercrest your good addition To the fairness of my power.[2760] _Com._ So, to our tent; Where, ere we do repose us, we will write[2761] To Rome of our success. You, Titus Lartius, 75 Must to Corioli back: send us to Rome The best, with whom we may articulate For their own good and ours. _Lart._ I shall, my lord. _Cor._ The gods begin to mock me. I, that now[2759][2762][2763] Refused most princely gifts, am bound to beg[2762] 80 Of my lord general.[2762][2764] _Com._ Take 't; 'tis yours. What is't?[2764][2765] _Cor._ I sometime lay here in Corioli[2759][2764] At a poor man's house; he used me kindly:[2764][2766] He cried to me; I saw him prisoner; But then Aufidius was within my view, 85 And wrath o'erwhelm'd my pity: I request you To give my poor host freedom. _Com._ O, well begg'd! Were he the butcher of my son, he should Be free as is the wind. Deliver him, Titus.