[Act 1, Scene 9]
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.
Martius.
I thanke you Generall:
But cannot make my heart consent to take
A Bribe, to pay my Sword: I doe refuse it,
And stand vpon my common part with those,
That haue beheld the doing.
A long flourish. They all cry, Martius,
Martius,
cast vp their Caps and Launces: Cominius
and Lartius stand bare.
Mar.
May these same Instruments, which you prophane,
Neuer sound more: when Drums and Trumpets shall
I'th'field proue flatterers, let Courts and Cities be
Made all of false‑fac'd soothing:
When Steele growes soft, as the Parasites Silke,
Let him be made an Ouerture for th'Warres:
No more I say, for that I haue not wash'd
one Doore Cominius, with the Romanes: At
another Doore Martius, with his
Arme in a Scarfe.
[700]
[705]
[710]
[715]
[720]
[725]
[730]
[735]
[740]
cast vp their Caps and Launces: Cominius
and Lartius stand bare.
[745]
