Scene Three
[Rome. A Room in Martius's House]
Vol. I pray you, daughter, sing; or express
yourself in a more comfortable sort. If my son
were my husband, I should freelier rejoice in that
absence wherein he won honour than in the 4
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 8
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 12
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 16
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; 20
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 24
in my love alike, and none less dear than thine
and my good Martius, I had rather had eleven
8, 9 for . . . entreaties: though kings should entreat for a day
11 person: beauty of body
16 bound with oak; cf. n.
