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 Martius, 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 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.
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 sword, contemning.—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.