Your heaviest cenfure.
1 Lord. Bear from hence his body,
And mourn you for him. Let him be regarded
As the most noble Coarfe, 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 best of it.
· Auf. My Rage is gone,
And I am ftruck with forrow: take him up:
Help, three o'th' chiefeft soldiers; I'll be one.
Beat thou the drum, that it fpeak mournfully:
Trail your fteel pikes. Though in this city he
Hath widowed and unchilded many a one,
Which to this hour bewail the injury,
Yet he shall have a noble memory.
[Exeunt, bearing the body of Marcius. A dead
March founded.
The End of the Sixth Volume.
