Act I, Scene iii:
Rome. An apartmnet in MARCIUS' house.

[Enter VOLUMNIA and VIRGILIA; they sit down on two low stools andsew.]

VOLUMNIA:

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 pluck'd 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 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.

VIRGILIA:

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

VOLUMNIA:

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.

[Enter a GENTLEWOMAN.]

GENTLEWOMAN:

Madam, the Lady Valeria is come to visit you.

VIRGILIA:

Beseech you, give me leave to retire myself.

VOLUMNIA:

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 harvest-man that's tasked to mow

Or all, or lose his hire.

VIRGILIA:

His bloody brow! O Jupiter, no blood!

VOLUMNIA:

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 swords contending.—Tell Valeria

We are fit to bid her welcome.

[Exit GENTLEWOMAN.]

VIRGILIA:

Heavens bless my lord from fell Aufidius!

VOLUMNIA:

He'll beat Aufidius' head below his knee,

And tread upon his neck.

[Re-enter GENTLEWOMAN, with VALERIA and her Usher.]

VALERIA:

My ladies both, good-day to you.

VOLUMNIA:

Sweet madam.

VIRGILIA:

I am glad to see your ladyship.

VALERIA:

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

you sewing here? A fine spot, in good faith.—How does your

little son?

VIRGILIA:

I thank your ladyship; well, good madam.

VOLUMNIA:

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

schoolmaster.

VALERIA:

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: 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!

VOLUMNIA:

One on's father's moods.

VALERIA:

Indeed, la, 'tis a noble child.

VIRGILIA:

A crack, madam.

VALERIA:

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

huswife with me this afternoon.

VIRGILIA:

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

VALERIA:

Not out of doors!

VOLUMNIA:

She shall, she shall.

VIRGILIA:

Indeed, no, by your patience; I'll not over the threshold till my

lord return from the wars.

VALERIA:

Fie, you confine yourself most unreasonably; come, you must go

visit the good lady that lies in.

VIRGILIA:

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

but I cannot go thither.

VOLUMNIA:

Why, I pray you?

VIRGILIA:

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

VALERIA:

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.

VIRGILIA:

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

VALERIA:

In truth, la, go with me; and I'll tell you excellent news

of your husband.

VIRGILIA:

O, good madam, there can be none yet.

VALERIA:

Verily, I do not jest with you; there came news from him last

night.

VIRGILIA:

Indeed, madam?

VALERIA:

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.

VIRGILIA:

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

hereafter.

VOLUMNIA:

Let her alone, lady; as she is now, she will but disease our

better mirth.

VALERIA:

In troth, I think she would.—Fare you well, then.—Come,

good sweet lady.—Pr'ythee, Virgilia, turn thy solemness out o'

door and go along with us.

VIRGILIA:

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

VALERIA:

Well then, farewell.

[Exeunt.]