Reference > William Shakespeare > The Oxford Shakespeare > Coriolanus
William Shakespeare (1564–1616).  The Oxford Shakespeare.  1914.
Act I. Scene III.
Rome.  A Room in MARCIUS’S House.
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.        5
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,        10
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        15
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        20
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.        25
  Vir.  Heavens bless my lord from fell Aufidius!
  Vol.  He’ll beat Aufidius’ head below his knee,
And tread upon his neck.
Re-enter Gentlewoman, with VALERIA and an Usher.
  Val.  My ladies both, good day to you.        30
  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.        35
  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.        40
  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.        45
  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.        50
  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.        55
  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.        60

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