Enter certaine Romanes with ſpoiles.
This will I carry to Rome.
And I this.
A Murrain on't, I tooke this for Siluer. exeunt.
Alarum continues ſtill a-farre off.
Enter Martius, and Titus with a Trumpet.
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.
Worthy Sir, thou bleed'ſt,
Thy exerciſe hath bin too violent,
For a ſecond courſe of Fight.
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
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.
Thy Friend no leſſe,
Then thoſe ſhe placeth higheſt: So farewell.
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