Уильям Шекспир: The Tragedy of Coriolanus

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 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.

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 swords contending. – 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.
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?

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!

One on's father's moods.

Indeed, la, 'tis a noble child.

A crack, madam.
VALERIA. 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.

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.

Why, I pray you?

'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.

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.

O, good madam, there can be none yet.
VALERIA. Verily, I do not jest with you; there came news from him last night.

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.

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

Well then, farewell.

Yonder comes news: – a wager they have met.

My horse to yours, no.

'Tis done.

Agreed.

Say, has our general met the enemy?

They lie in view; but have not spoke as yet.

So, the good horse is mine.

I'll buy him of you.

No, I'll nor sell nor give him: lend you him I will
For half a hundred years. – Summon the town.

How far off lie these armies?

Within this mile and half.

Then shall we hear their 'larum, and they ours. —
Now, Mars, I pr'ythee, make us quick in work,
That we with smoking swords may march from hence
To help our fielded friends! – Come, blow thy blast.

Tullus Aufidius, is he within your walls?

No, nor a man that fears you less than he,
That's lesser than a little.

Hark, our drums
Are bringing forth our youth! we'll break our walls
Rather than they shall pound us up: our gates,
Which yet seem shut, we have but pinn'd with rushes;
They'll open of themselves.