Читать книгу The Tragedy of Coriolanus - Уильям Шекспир, William Szekspir, the Simon Studio - Страница 10

I'll fight with none but thee, for I do hate thee

Worse than a promise-breaker.

We hate alike:

Not Afric owns a serpent I abhor

More than thy fame and envy. Fix thy foot.

Let the first budger die the other's slave,

And the gods doom him after!

If I fly, Marcius,

Halloo me like a hare.

Within these three hours, Tullus,

Alone I fought in your Corioli walls,

And made what work I pleas'd: 'tis not my blood

Wherein thou seest me mask'd: for thy revenge

Wrench up thy power to the highest.

Wert thou the Hector

That was the whip of your bragg'd progeny,

Thou shouldst not scape me here. —

Officious, and not valiant, – you have sham'd me

In your condemned seconds.