A crack, madam.

VAL. Come, lay aside your stitchery, I must have you play the idle huswife with me this afternoon.

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.

VAL. Fie, you confine yourself most unreasonably. Come, you must go visit the good lady that lies in.

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 labor, 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.

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 Corioles; they nothing doubt prevailing, and to make it brief wars. This is true, on mine honor, and so I pray go with us.

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 solemnness out a' 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 Ladies [with Usher].

 

 

[Scene IV]

Enter Martius, Titus Lartius, with Drum and Colors, with Captains and Soldiers, as before the city Corioles; to them a Messenger.

 

MAR.

Yonder comes news: a wager they have met.

LART.

My horse to yours, no.