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Dataset card Data Studio Files
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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, look'd not lovelier
Than Hector's forehead when it spit forth blood
At Grecian sword, contemning. Tell Valeria,
We are fit to bid her welcome.
VIRGILIA:
Heavens bless my lord from fell Aufidius!
VOLUMNIA:
He'll beat Aufidius 'head below his knee
And tread upon his neck.
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 house-keepers.
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 school-master.
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 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 it, 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 husewife 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.