Page 2867 - Shakespeare - Vol. 3

I prithee now, sweet son, as thou hast said
My praises made thee first a soldier, so,
To have my praise for this, perform a part
Thou hast not done before.

CORIOLANUS
Well, I must do’t. [110]

Away, my disposition, and possess me
Some harlot’s spirit! My throat of war be turned,
Which choired with my drum, into a pipe

Small as an eunuch or the virgin voice
That babies lulls asleep! The smiles of knaves [115]
Tent in my cheeks, and schoolboys’ tears take up
The glasses of my sight! A beggar’s tongue
Make motion through my lips, and my armed knees,

Who bowed but in my stirrup, bend like his
That hath received an alms! I will not do’t, [120]
Lest I surcease to honour mine own truth

And by my body’s action teach my mind
A most inherent baseness.

VOLUMNIA
At thy choice, then.
To beg of thee, it is my more dishonour
Than thou of them. Come all to ruin. Let [125]

Thy mother rather feel thy pride than fear
Thy dangerous stoutness, for I mock at death
With as big heart as thou. Do as thou list.
Thy valiantness was mine, thou suck’dst it from me,

But owe thy pride thyself.

CORIOLANUS
Pray be content. [130]
Mother, I am going to the market-place.
Chide me no more. I’ll mountebank their loves,
Cog their hearts from them, and come home beloved

Of all the trades in Rome. Look, I am going.
Commend me to my wife. I’ll return consul, [135]