I pray you, daughter, sing, or express yourself in a more comfortable

sort. If my son were my husband, I should 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 th’ 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.

But had he died in the business, madam, how then?

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 Martius, I had

rather had eleven die nobly for their country than one voluptuously

surfeit out of action.

Madam, the Lady Valeria is come to visit you.

Beseech you, give me leave to retire myself.

Indeed you shall not.

Methinks I hear hither your husband’s drum,

See him pluck Aufidius down by th’ 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 mailed hand then wiping, forth he goes

Like to a harvestman that’s tasked to mow

Or all or lose his hire.

His bloody brow? O Jupiter, no blood!

Away, you fool! It more becomes a man

Than gilt his trophy. The breasts of Hecuba,

When she did suckle Hector, looked not lovelier

Than Hector’s forehead when it spit forth blood

At Grecian sword, contemning.—Tell Valeria

We are fit to bid her welcome.

Heavens bless my lord from fell Aufidius!

He’ll beat Aufidius’ head below his knee

And tread upon his neck.

My ladies both, good day to you.

Sweet madam.

I am glad to see your Ladyship.

How do you both? You are manifest housekeepers. What are you sewing

here? A fine spot, in good faith. How does your little son?

I thank your Ladyship; well, good madam.

He had rather see the swords and hear a drum than look upon his

schoolmaster.

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. H’as 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!

One on’s father’s moods.

Indeed, la, ’tis a noble child.

A crack, madam.

Come, lay aside your stitchery. I must have you play the idle huswife

with me this afternoon.

No, good madam, I will not out of doors.

Not out of doors?

She shall, she shall.

Indeed, no, by your patience. I’ll not over the threshold till my lord

return from the wars.

Fie, you confine yourself most unreasonably. Come, you must go visit

the good lady that lies in.

I will wish her speedy strength and visit her with my prayers, but I

cannot go thither.

Why, I pray you?

’Tis not to save labour, nor that I want love.

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.

No, good madam, pardon me; indeed, I will not forth.

In truth, la, go with me, and I’ll tell you excellent news of your

husband.

O, good madam, there can be none yet.

Verily, I do not jest with you. There came news from him last night.

Indeed, madam!

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 Corioles. They nothing doubt prevailing, and to

make it brief wars. This is true, on mine honour, and so, I pray, go

with us.

Give me excuse, good madam. I will obey you in everything hereafter.

Let her alone, lady. As she is now, she will but disease our better

mirth.

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.

No, at a word, madam. Indeed I must not. I wish you much mirth.

Well then, farewell.