Page 2806 - Shakespeare - Vol. 3

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? [80]

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 [85]
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. [90]
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.
Exeunt.