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Stain all your edges in me.-Boy! False hound!
If you have writ your annals true, 'tis there,
That, like an eagle on a dove-cote, I
Flutter'd your Volfcians in Corioli :
Alone I did it.-Boy!-

Auf. Why, noble lords,

Will you be put in mind of his blind fortune, Which was your fhame, by this unholy braggart, 'Fore your own eyes and ears?

All Con. Let him die for't.

All People. Tear him to pieces, do it presently.

[The Crowd fpeak promifcuously. He kill'd my fon,-my daughter,-he kill'd my coufin Marcus.

He kill'd my father.

2 Lord. Peace, ho!-no outrage ;—peace.— The man is noble, and his fame folds in

This orb o'the earth :[8] His laft offences to us
Shall have judicious hearing.-Stand, Aufidius,

And trouble not the peace.

Cor. O, that I had him,

With fix Aufidiufes, or more, his tribe,

To ufe my lawful fword,

Auf. Infolent villain !

All Con. Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill him.

[AUFIDIUS and the Confpirators draw, and kill MARCIUS, who falls, and AUFIDIUS ftands on him. Lords. Hold, hold, hold, hold.

Auf. My noble masters, hear me speak.

1 Lord.

O Tullus,

2 Lord. Thou haft done a deed, whereat Valour will weep.

3 Lord. Tread not upon him.-Masters all, be quiet; Put up your fwords.

Auf. My lords, when you shall know (as in this rage, Provok'd by him, you cannot) the great danger Which this man's life did owe you, you'll rejoice That he is thus cut off. Please it your honours To call me to your fenate, I'll deliver Myfelf your loyal fervant, or endure Your heaviest cenfure.

[8] His fame overspreads the world. JOHNS.

I Lord. Bear from hence his body,

And mourn you for him: Let him be regarded
As the moft noble corse, that ever herald

Did follow to his urn.

2 Lord. His own impatience

Takes from Aufidius a great part of blame,
Let's make the beft of it.

Auf. My rage is gone,

And I am ftruck with forrow. Take him up:→
Help three o'the chiefeft foldiers; I'll be one.-
Beat thou the drum, that it speak mournfully ;-
Trail your fteel pikes.-Though in this city he
Hath widow'd and unchilded many a one,
Which to this hour bewail the injury,
Yet he shall have a noble memory.-

Affift.

[Exeunt, bearing the Body of MARCIUS. A dead March founded.

JULIUS CÆSAR.

VOL. VI.

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