VOLUMNIA.
He must, and will:
Pr'ythee, now say you will, and go about it.
CORIOLANUS.
Must I go show them my unbarb'd sconce? Must I
With my base tongue give to my noble heart
A lie, that it must bear? Well, I will do't;
Yet were there but this single plot to lose,
This mould of Marcius, they to dust should grind it,
And throw it against the wind. To the market-place
You have put me now to such a part, which never
I shall discharge to the life.
VOLUMNIA.
I pr'ythee 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:
Away, my disposition, and possess me
Some harlot's spirit!
* * * *
I will not do't:
Lest I surcease to honor mine own truth,
And by my body's action, teach my mind
A most inherent baseness.