Rome. A Room in MARCIUS'S House. |
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Enter VOLUMNIA and VIRGILIA: they set them down on two low stools and sew. |
Vol. I pray you, daughter, sing; or express yourself in a more comfortable sort. If my son were my husband, I would freelier rejoice in that absence wherein he won honour than in the embracements of his bed where he would show most love. When yet he was but tender-bodied and the only son of my womb, when youth with comeliness plucked all gaze his way, when for a day of kings' entreaties a mother should not sell him an hour from her beholding, I, considering how honour would become such a person, that it was no better than picture-like to hang by the wall, if renown made it not stir, was pleased to let him seek danger where he was like to find fame. To a cruel war I sent him; from whence he returned, his brows bound with oak. I tell thee, daughter, I sprang not more in joy at first hearing he was a man-child than now in first seeing he had proved himself a man. |
Vir. But had he died in the business, madam; how then? |
Vol. Then, his good report should have been my son; I therein would have found issue. Hear me profess sincerely: had I a dozen sons, each in my love alike, and none less dear than thine and my good Marcius, I had rather had eleven die nobly for their country than one voluptuously surfeit out of action. |
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Enter a Gentlewoman. |
Gen. Madam, the Lady Valeria is come to visit you. |
Vir. Beseech you, give me leave to retire myself. |
Vol. Indeed, you shall not. |
Methinks I hear hither your husband's drum, |
See him pluck Aufidius down by the hair, |
As children from a bear, the Volsces shunning him: |
Methinks I see him stamp thus, and call thus: |
'Come on, you cowards! you were got in fear, |
Though you were born in Rome.' His bloody brow |
With his mail'd hand then wiping, forth he goes, |
Like to a harvestman that's task'd to mow |
Or all or lose his hire. |
Vir. His bloody brow! O Jupiter! no blood. |
Vol. Away, you fool! it more becomes a man |
Than gilt his trophy: the breasts of Hecuba, |
When she did suckle Hector, look'd not lovelier |
Than Hector's forehead when it spit forth blood |
At Grecian swords, contemning. Tell Valeria |
We are fit to bid her welcome. [Exit Gentlewoman. |
Vir. Heavens bless my lord from fell Aufidius! |
Vol. He'll beat Aufidius' head below his knee, |
And tread upon his neck. |
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Re-enter Gentlewoman, with VALERIA and an Usher. |
Val. My ladies both, good day to you. |
Vol. Sweet madam. |
Vir. I am glad to see your ladyship. |
Val. How do you both? you are manifest housekeepers. What are you sewing here? A fine spot, in good faith. How does your little son? |
Vir. I thank your ladyship; well, good madam. |
Vol. He had rather see the swords and hear a drum, than look upon his schoolmaster. |
Val. O' my word, the father's son; I'll swear 'tis a very pretty boy. O' my troth, I looked upon him o' Wednesday half an hour together: he has such a confirmed countenance. I saw him run after a gilded butterfly; and when he caught it, he let it go again; and after it again; and over and over he comes, and up again; catched it again: or whether his fall enraged him, or how 'twas, he did so set his teeth and tear it; O! I warrant, how he mammocked it! |
Vol. One on's father's moods. |
Val. Indeed, la, 'tis a noble child. |
Vir. A crack, madam. |
Val. Come, lay aside your stitchery; I must have you play the idle huswife with me this afternoon. |
Vir. No, good madam; I will not out of doors. |
Val. Not out of doors! |
Vol. She shall, she shall. |
Vir. Indeed, no, by your patience; I'll not over the threshold till my lord return from the wars. |
Vol. Fie! you confine yourself most unreasonably. Come; you must go visit the good lady that lies in. |
Vir. I will wish her speedy strength, and visit her with my prayers; but I cannot go thither. |
Vol. Why, I pray you? |
Vir. 'Tis not to save labour, nor that I want love. |
Val. You would be another Penelope; yet, they say, all the yarn she spun in Ulysses' absence did but fill Ithaca full of moths. Come; I would your cambric were sensible as your finger, that you might leave pricking it for pity. Come, you shall go with us. |
Vir. No, good madam, pardon me; indeed, I will not forth. |
Val. In truth, la, go with me; and I'll tell you excellent news of your husband. |
Vir. O, good madam, there can be none yet. |
Val. Verily, I do not jest with you; there came news from him last night. |
Vir. Indeed, madam? |
Val. In earnest, it's true; I heard a senator speak it. Thus it is: The Volsces have an army forth; against whom Cominius the general is gone, with one part of our Roman power: your lord and Titus Lartius are set down before their city Corioli; they nothing doubt prevailing and to make it brief wars. This is true, on mine honour; and so, I pray, go with us. |
Vir. Give me excuse, good madam; I will obey you in every thing hereafter. |
Vol. Let her alone, lady: as she is now she will but disease our better mirth. |
Val. In troth, I think she would. Fare you well then. Come, good sweet lady. Prithee, Virgilia, turn thy solemness out o' door, and go along with us. |
Vir. No, at a word, madam; indeed I must not. I wish you much mirth. |
Val. Well then, farewell. [Exeunt. |
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