: in token of the which, My noble steed, known to the camp, I give him, 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 The addition nobly ever! Caius Marcius Coriolanus! I will go wash; And when my face is fair, you shall perceive Whether I blush or no: howbeit, I thank you. I mean to stride your steed, and at all times To undercrest your good addition To the fairness of my power. So, to our tent; Where, ere we do repose us, we will write To Rome of our success. You, Titus Lartius, Must to Corioli back: send us to Rome The best, with whom we may articulate, For their own good and ours. I shall, my lord. The gods begin to mock me. I, that now Refused most princely gifts, am bound to beg Of my lord general. Take't; 'tis yours. What is't? I sometime lay here in Corioli 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'erwhelm'd my pity: I request you To give my poor host freedom. O, well begg'd! Were he the butcher of my son, he should Be free as is the wind. Deliver him, Titus. Marcius, his name? By Jupiter! forgot. I am weary; yea, my memory is tired. Have we no wine here? Go we to our tent: The blood upon your visage dries; 'tis time It should be look'd to: come. The town is ta'en! 'Twill be deliver'd back on good condition. 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' the part that is at mercy? Five times, Marcius, 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 the 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. He's the devil. Bolder, though not so subtle. My valour's poison'd With only suffering stain by him; for him Shall fly out of itself: