Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Brutus. Sir, I hope my words dis‑bench'd you not?
Coriol. Coriol.
Coriol. No Sir: yet oft,
Coriol. When blowes haue made me stay, I fled from words.
Coriol. You sooth'd not, therefore hurt not: but your People,
Coriol. I loue them as they weigh—
Menen. Menen.
Menen. Pray now sit downe.
Corio. Corio.
Corio. I had rather haue one scratch my Head i'th'Sun,
Corio. When the Alarum were strucke, then idly sit
Corio. To heare my Nothings monster'd.
Corio. Exit Coriolanus
Menen. Masters of the People,
Menen. Your multiplying Spawne, how can he flatter?
Menen. That's thousand to one good one, when you now see
Menen. He had rather venture all his Limbes for Honor,
Menen. Then on ones Eares to heare it. Proceed Cominius.
Com. Com.