Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Corio. Death on the Wheele, or at wilde Horses heeles,
Corio. Or pile ten hilles on the Tarpeian Rocke,
Corio. That the precipitation might downe stretch
Corio. Below the beame of sight; yet will I still
Corio. Be thus to them.
Corio. Enter Volumnia.
Noble. Noble.
Noble. You do the Nobler.
Corio. Corio.
Corio. I muse my Mother
Corio. Do's not approue me further, who was wont
Corio. To call them Wollen Vassailes, things created
Corio. To buy and sell with Groats, to shew bare heads
Corio. In Congregations, to yawne, be still, and wonder,
Corio. When one but of my ordinance stood vp
Corio. To speake of Peace, or Warre. I talke of you,
Corio. Why did you wish me milder? Would you haue me
Corio. False to my Nature? Rather say, I play
Corio. The man I am.
Volum. Volum.