Vol.

I pray you, daughter, sing, or express yourself in a more comfortable sort: if my son were my husband, I would freely rejoice in that absence, wherein he won honour. When yet he was but

tender-bodied, and my only son; 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 pleas'd to let him seek danger, where he was like to find fame: to a cruel war I sent him, from whence he return'd, 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. Hear me profess, sincerely: had I, a dozen sons, each in my my love alike, and none less dear than thine and my good Marcius, I had rather had eleven die nobly for their country, then one voluptuously surfeit out of action.

Gent.

Madam, the Lady Valeria is come to visit you.

Vir.

'Beseech you, give me leave to retire myself.

Vol.
Indeed thou shalt not:
Methinks I hither hear your husband's drum:
I see him pluck Aufidius down by th' hair:

Methinks I see him stamp, thus—and call, thus—
Come on ye cowards, ye 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 harvest-man that's task'd to mow
Or all, or lose his hire.

Vir.
His bloody brow! oh Jupiter, no blood.

Vol.
Away, you fool; it more becomes a man,
Than gilt his trophy. The breast of Hecuba,
When she did suckle Hector, look'd not lovelier,
Than Hector's forehead, when it spit forth blood,
At Grecian swords contending; tell Valeria
We are sit to bid her welcome. (Exit Gent.

Vir.
Heav'ns bless my lord from fell Aufidius!

Vol.
He'll beat Aufidius' head below his knee,
And tread upon his neck. Enter Valeria.

Val.
My ladies both, good day to you!
You are manifest housekeepers!
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 look'd on him, o' Wednesday, half an hour together—h'as such a confirm'd 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, and caught it again; and whether his fall enraged him, or how 'twas, he did so set his teeth, and did tear it, oh, I warrant how he mammockt it.

Vol.

One of father's moods.

Val.

Indeed la, tis a noble child.

Vir.

A crack, madam.

Val.

Come, lay aside your sadness; 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.

Val.

Fie, you confine yourself unreasonably: you would be another Penelope; yet they say all the yarn she spun in Ulysses's absence, did but fill Ithaca full of moths. Come, 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.

Oh, good madam, there can be none yet.

Val.

Verily I do not jest with you.

Vir.

Indeed, madam—

Val.

In earnest it's true; I heard a senator speak it, Thus it is—the Volscians 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 my 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.