id stringlengths 16 16 | text stringlengths 151 2.3k | word_count int64 30 60 | source stringclasses 1 value |
|---|---|---|---|
twg_000000016200 | lord say so? IACHIMO. Ay, madam, with his eyes in flood with laughter. It is a recreation to be by And hear him mock the Frenchman. But heavens know Some men are much to blame. IMOGEN. Not he, I hope. IACHIMO. Not he; but yet heavens bounty towards him might Be usd more thankfully. In himself, tis much; In you, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016201 | which I account his, beyond all talents. Whilst I am bound to wonder, I am bound To pity too. IMOGEN. What do you pity, sir? IACHIMO. Two creatures heartily. IMOGEN. Am I one, sir? You look on me: what wreck discern you in me Deserves your pity? IACHIMO. Lamentable! What, To hide me from the radiant sun and solace I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016202 | th dungeon by a snuff? IMOGEN. I pray you, sir, Deliver with more openness your answers To my demands. Why do you pity me? IACHIMO. That others do, I was about to say, enjoy yourBut It is an office of the gods to venge it, Not mine to speak ont. IMOGEN. You do seem to know Something of me, or | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016203 | what concerns me; pray you, Since doubting things go ill often hurts more Than to be sure they do; for certainties Either are past remedies, or, timely knowing, The remedy then borndiscover to me What both you spur and stop. IACHIMO. Had I this cheek To bathe my lips upon; this hand, whose touch, Whose every touch, would force the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016204 | feelers soul To th oath of loyalty; this object, which Takes prisoner the wild motion of mine eye, Fixing it only here; should I, damnd then, Slaver with lips as common as the stairs That mount the Capitol; join gripes with hands Made hard with hourly falsehood (falsehood as With labour): then by-peeping in an eye Base and illustrious as | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016205 | the smoky light Thats fed with stinking tallow: it were fit That all the plagues of hell should at one time Encounter such revolt. IMOGEN. My lord, I fear, Has forgot Britain. IACHIMO. And himself. Not I Inclind to this intelligence pronounce The beggary of his change; but tis your graces That from my mutest conscience to my tongue Charms | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016206 | this report out. IMOGEN. Let me hear no more. IACHIMO. O dearest soul, your cause doth strike my heart With pity that doth make me sick! A lady So fair, and fastend to an empery, Would make the greatst king double, to be partnerd With tomboys hird with that self exhibition Which your own coffers yield! with diseasd ventures That | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016207 | play with all infirmities for gold Which rottenness can lend nature! Such boild stuff As well might poison poison! Be revengd; Or she that bore you was no queen, and you Recoil from your great stock. IMOGEN. Revengd? How should I be revengd? If this be true, (As I have such a heart that both mine ears Must not in | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016208 | haste abuse) if it be true, How should I be revengd? IACHIMO. Should he make me Live like Dianas priest betwixt cold sheets, Whiles he is vaulting variable ramps, In your despite, upon your purse? Revenge it. I dedicate myself to your sweet pleasure, More noble than that runagate to your bed, And will continue fast to your affection, Still | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016209 | close as sure. IMOGEN. What ho, Pisanio! IACHIMO. Let me my service tender on your lips. IMOGEN. Away! I do condemn mine ears that have So long attended thee. If thou wert honourable, Thou wouldst have told this tale for virtue, not For such an end thou seekst, as base as strange. Thou wrongst a gentleman who is as far | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016210 | From thy report as thou from honour; and Solicits here a lady that disdains Thee and the devil alike. What ho, Pisanio! The King my father shall be made acquainted Of thy assault. If he shall think it fit A saucy stranger in his court to mart As in a Romish stew, and to expound His beastly mind to us, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016211 | he hath a court He little cares for, and a daughter who He not respects at all. What ho, Pisanio! IACHIMO. O happy Leonatus! I may say The credit that thy lady hath of thee Deserves thy trust, and thy most perfect goodness Her assurd credit. Blessed live you long, A lady to the worthiest sir that ever Country calld | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016212 | his! and you his mistress, only For the most worthiest fit! Give me your pardon. I have spoke this to know if your affiance Were deeply rooted, and shall make your lord That which he is new oer; and he is one The truest mannerd, such a holy witch That he enchants societies into him, Half all mens hearts are | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016213 | his. IMOGEN. You make amends. IACHIMO. He sits mongst men like a descended god: He hath a kind of honour sets him off More than a mortal seeming. Be not angry, Most mighty Princess, that I have adventurd To try your taking of a false report, which hath Honourd with confirmation your great judgement In the election of a sir | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016214 | so rare, Which you know cannot err. The love I bear him Made me to fan you thus; but the gods made you, Unlike all others, chaffless. Pray your pardon. IMOGEN. Alls well, sir; take my powr i th court for yours. IACHIMO. My humble thanks. I had almost forgot T entreat your Grace but in a small request, And | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016215 | yet of moment too, for it concerns Your lord; myself and other noble friends Are partners in the business. IMOGEN. Pray what ist? IACHIMO. Some dozen Romans of us, and your lord (The best feather of our wing) have mingled sums To buy a present for the Emperor; Which I, the factor for the rest, have done In France. Tis | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016216 | plate of rare device, and jewels Of rich and exquisite form, their values great; And I am something curious, being strange, To have them in safe stowage. May it please you To take them in protection? IMOGEN. Willingly; And pawn mine honour for their safety. Since My lord hath interest in them, I will keep them In my bedchamber. IACHIMO. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016217 | They are in a trunk, Attended by my men. I will make bold To send them to you only for this night; I must aboard tomorrow. IMOGEN. O, no, no. IACHIMO. Yes, I beseech; or I shall short my word By lengthning my return. From Gallia I crossd the seas on purpose and on promise To see your Grace. IMOGEN. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016218 | I thank you for your pains. But not away tomorrow! IACHIMO. O, I must, madam. Therefore I shall beseech you, if you please To greet your lord with writing, dot tonight. I have outstood my time, which is material To th tender of our present. IMOGEN. I will write. Send your trunk to me; it shall safe be kept And | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016219 | truly yielded you. Youre very welcome. [_Exeunt._] ACT II SCENE I. Britain. Before Cymbelines palace. Enter Cloten and the two Lords. CLOTEN. Was there ever man had such luck! When I kissd the jack, upon an upcast to be hit away! I had a hundred pound ont; and then a whoreson jackanapes must take me up for swearing, as if | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016220 | I borrowed mine oaths of him, and might not spend them at my pleasure. FIRST LORD. What got he by that? You have broke his pate with your bowl. SECOND LORD. [_Aside._] If his wit had been like him that broke it, it would have run all out. CLOTEN. When a gentleman is disposd to swear, it is not for | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016221 | any standers-by to curtail his oaths. Ha? SECOND LORD. No, my lord; [_Aside._] nor crop the ears of them. CLOTEN. Whoreson dog! I gave him satisfaction. Would he had been one of my rank! SECOND LORD. [_Aside._] To have smelld like a fool. CLOTEN. I am not vexd more at anything in th earth. A pox ont! I had rather | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016222 | not be so noble as I am; they dare not fight with me, because of the Queen my mother. Every jackslave hath his bellyful of fighting, and I must go up and down like a cock that nobody can match. SECOND LORD. [_Aside._] You are cock and capon too; and you crow, cock, with your comb on. CLOTEN. Sayest thou? | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016223 | SECOND LORD. It is not fit your lordship should undertake every companion that you give offence to. CLOTEN. No, I know that; but it is fit I should commit offence to my inferiors. SECOND LORD. Ay, it is fit for your lordship only. CLOTEN. Why, so I say. FIRST LORD. Did you hear of a stranger thats come to court | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016224 | tonight? CLOTEN. A stranger, and I not known ont? SECOND LORD. [_Aside._] Hes a strange fellow himself, and knows it not. FIRST LORD. Theres an Italian come, and, tis thought, one of Leonatus friends. CLOTEN. Leonatus? A banishd rascal; and hes another, whatsoever he be. Who told you of this stranger? FIRST LORD. One of your lordships pages. CLOTEN. Is | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016225 | it fit I went to look upon him? Is there no derogation int? SECOND LORD. You cannot derogate, my lord. CLOTEN. Not easily, I think. SECOND LORD. [_Aside._] You are a fool granted; therefore your issues, being foolish, do not derogate. CLOTEN. Come, Ill go see this Italian. What I have lost today at bowls Ill win tonight of him. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016226 | Come, go. SECOND LORD. Ill attend your lordship. [_Exeunt Cloten and First Lord._] That such a crafty devil as is his mother Should yield the world this ass! A woman that Bears all down with her brain; and this her son Cannot take two from twenty, for his heart, And leave eighteen. Alas, poor princess, Thou divine Imogen, what thou | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016227 | endurst, Betwixt a father by thy step-dame governd, A mother hourly coining plots, a wooer More hateful than the foul expulsion is Of thy dear husband, than that horrid act Of the divorce hed make! The heavens hold firm The walls of thy dear honour, keep unshakd That temple, thy fair mind, that thou mayst stand T enjoy thy banishd | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016228 | lord and this great land! [_Exit._] SCENE II. Britain. Imogens bedchamber in Cymbelines palace; a trunk in one corner. Enter Imogen in her bed, and a Lady attending. IMOGEN. Whos there? My woman Helen? LADY. Please you, madam. IMOGEN. What hour is it? LADY. Almost midnight, madam. IMOGEN. I have read three hours then. Mine eyes are weak; Fold down | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016229 | the leaf where I have left. To bed. Take not away the taper, leave it burning; And if thou canst awake by four o th clock, I prithee call me. Sleep hath seizd me wholly. [_Exit Lady._] To your protection I commend me, gods. From fairies and the tempters of the night Guard me, beseech ye! [_Sleeps. Iachimo comes from | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016230 | the trunk._] IACHIMO. The crickets sing, and mans oer-labourd sense Repairs itself by rest. Our Tarquin thus Did softly press the rushes ere he wakend The chastity he wounded. Cytherea, How bravely thou becomst thy bed! fresh lily, And whiter than the sheets! That I might touch! But kiss; one kiss! Rubies unparagond, How dearly they dot! Tis her breathing | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016231 | that Perfumes the chamber thus. The flame o th taper Bows toward her and would under-peep her lids To see th enclosed lights, now canopied Under these windows white and azure, lacd With blue of heavens own tinct. But my design To note the chamber. I will write all down: Such and such pictures; there the window; such Th adornment | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016232 | of her bed; the arras, figures, Why, such and such; and the contents o th story. Ah, but some natural notes about her body Above ten thousand meaner movables Would testify, t enrich mine inventory. O sleep, thou ape of death, lie dull upon her! And be her sense but as a monument, Thus in a chapel lying! Come off, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016233 | come off; [_Taking off her bracelet._] As slippery as the Gordian knot was hard! Tis mine; and this will witness outwardly, As strongly as the conscience does within, To th madding of her lord. On her left breast A mole cinque-spotted, like the crimson drops I th bottom of a cowslip. Heres a voucher Stronger than ever law could make; | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016234 | this secret Will force him think I have pickd the lock and taen The treasure of her honour. No more. To what end? Why should I write this down thats riveted, Screwd to my memory? She hath been reading late The tale of Tereus; here the leafs turnd down Where Philomel gave up. I have enough. To th trunk again, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016235 | and shut the spring of it. Swift, swift, you dragons of the night, that dawning May bare the ravens eye! I lodge in fear; Though this a heavenly angel, hell is here. [_Clock strikes._] One, two, three. Time, time! [_Exit into the trunk._] SCENE III. Cymbelines palace. An ante-chamber adjoining Imogens apartments. Enter Cloten and Lords. FIRST LORD. Your lordship | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016236 | is the most patient man in loss, the most coldest that ever turnd up ace. CLOTEN. It would make any man cold to lose. FIRST LORD. But not every man patient after the noble temper of your lordship. You are most hot and furious when you win. CLOTEN. Winning will put any man into courage. If I could get this | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016237 | foolish Imogen, I should have gold enough. Its almost morning, ist not? FIRST LORD. Day, my lord. CLOTEN. I would this music would come. I am advised to give her music a mornings; they say it will penetrate. Enter Musicians. Come on, tune. If you can penetrate her with your fingering, so. Well try with tongue too. If none will | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016238 | do, let her remain; but Ill never give oer. First, a very excellent good-conceited thing; after, a wonderful sweet air, with admirable rich words to it, and then let her consider. SONG Hark, hark! the lark at heavens gate sings, And Phbus gins arise, His steeds to water at those springs On chalicd flowrs that lies; And winking Mary-buds begin | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016239 | To ope their golden eyes. With everything that pretty is, My lady sweet, arise; Arise, arise! CLOTEN. So, get you gone. If this penetrate, I will consider your music the better; if it do not, it is a vice in her ears which horsehairs and calves guts, nor the voice of unpaved eunuch to boot, can never amend. [_Exeunt Musicians._] | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016240 | Enter Cymbeline and Queen. SECOND LORD. Here comes the King. CLOTEN. I am glad I was up so late, for thats the reason I was up so early. He cannot choose but take this service I have done fatherly.Good morrow to your Majesty and to my gracious mother. CYMBELINE. Attend you here the door of our stern daughter? Will she | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016241 | not forth? CLOTEN. I have assaild her with musics, but she vouchsafes no notice. CYMBELINE. The exile of her minion is too new; She hath not yet forgot him; some more time Must wear the print of his remembrance ont, And then shes yours. QUEEN. You are most bound to th King, Who lets go by no vantages that may | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016242 | Prefer you to his daughter. Frame yourself To orderly solicits, and be friended With aptness of the season; make denials Increase your services; so seem as if You were inspird to do those duties which You tender to her; that you in all obey her, Save when command to your dismission tends, And therein you are senseless. CLOTEN. Senseless? Not | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016243 | so. Enter a Messenger. MESSENGER. So like you, sir, ambassadors from Rome; The one is Caius Lucius. CYMBELINE. A worthy fellow, Albeit he comes on angry purpose now; But thats no fault of his. We must receive him According to the honour of his sender; And towards himself, his goodness forespent on us, We must extend our notice. Our dear | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016244 | son, When you have given good morning to your mistress, Attend the Queen and us; we shall have need T employ you towards this Roman. Come, our queen. [_Exeunt all but Cloten._] CLOTEN. If she be up, Ill speak with her; if not, Let her lie still and dream. By your leave, ho! [_Knocks._] I know her women are about | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016245 | her; what If I do line one of their hands? Tis gold Which buys admittance (oft it doth) yea, and makes Dianas rangers false themselves, yield up Their deer to th stand o th stealer; and tis gold Which makes the true man killd and saves the thief; Nay, sometime hangs both thief and true man. What Can it not | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016246 | do and undo? I will make One of her women lawyer to me, for I yet not understand the case myself. By your leave. [_Knocks._] Enter a Lady. LADY. Whos there that knocks? CLOTEN. A gentleman. LADY. No more? CLOTEN. Yes, and a gentlewomans son. LADY. Thats more Than some whose tailors are as dear as yours Can justly boast | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016247 | of. Whats your lordships pleasure? CLOTEN. Your ladys person; is she ready? LADY. Ay, To keep her chamber. CLOTEN. There is gold for you; sell me your good report. LADY. How? My good name? or to report of you What I shall think is good? The Princess! Enter Imogen. CLOTEN. Good morrow, fairest sister. Your sweet hand. [_Exit Lady._] IMOGEN. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016248 | Good morrow, sir. You lay out too much pains For purchasing but trouble. The thanks I give Is telling you that I am poor of thanks, And scarce can spare them. CLOTEN. Still I swear I love you. IMOGEN. If you but said so, twere as deep with me. If you swear still, your recompense is still That I regard | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016249 | it not. CLOTEN. This is no answer. IMOGEN. But that you shall not say I yield, being silent, I would not speak. I pray you spare me. Faith, I shall unfold equal discourtesy To your best kindness; one of your great knowing Should learn, being taught, forbearance. CLOTEN. To leave you in your madness twere my sin; I will not. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016250 | IMOGEN. Fools are not mad folks. CLOTEN. Do you call me fool? IMOGEN. As I am mad, I do; If youll be patient, Ill no more be mad; That cures us both. I am much sorry, sir, You put me to forget a ladys manners By being so verbal; and learn now, for all, That I, which know my heart, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016251 | do here pronounce, By th very truth of it, I care not for you, And am so near the lack of charity To accuse myself I hate you; which I had rather You felt than maket my boast. CLOTEN. You sin against Obedience, which you owe your father. For The contract you pretend with that base wretch, One bred of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016252 | alms and fosterd with cold dishes, With scraps o th court, it is no contract, none. And though it be allowed in meaner parties (Yet who than he more mean?) to knit their souls (On whom there is no more dependency But brats and beggary) in self-figurd knot, Yet you are curbd from that enlargement by The consequence o th | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016253 | crown, and must not foil The precious note of it with a base slave, A hilding for a livery, a squires cloth, A pantler; not so eminent! IMOGEN. Profane fellow! Wert thou the son of Jupiter, and no more But what thou art besides, thou wert too base To be his groom. Thou wert dignified enough, Even to the point | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016254 | of envy, if twere made Comparative for your virtues to be styld The under-hangman of his kingdom, and hated For being preferrd so well. CLOTEN. The south fog rot him! IMOGEN. He never can meet more mischance than come To be but namd of thee. His meanst garment That ever hath but clippd his body, is dearer In my respect, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016255 | than all the hairs above thee, Were they all made such men. How now, Pisanio! Enter Pisanio. CLOTEN. His garment! Now the devil IMOGEN. To Dorothy my woman hie thee presently. CLOTEN. His garment! IMOGEN. I am sprited with a fool; Frighted, and angred worse. Go bid my woman Search for a jewel that too casually Hath left mine arm. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016256 | It was thy masters; shrew me, If I would lose it for a revenue Of any kings in Europe! I do think I sawt this morning; confident I am Last night twas on mine arm; I kissd it. I hope it be not gone to tell my lord That I kiss aught but he. PISANIO. Twill not be lost. IMOGEN. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016257 | I hope so. Go and search. [_Exit Pisanio._] CLOTEN. You have abusd me. His meanest garment! IMOGEN. Ay, I said so, sir. If you will make t an action, call witness to t. CLOTEN. I will inform your father. IMOGEN. Your mother too. Shes my good lady and will conceive, I hope, But the worst of me. So I leave | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016258 | you, sir, To th worst of discontent. [_Exit._] CLOTEN. Ill be revengd. His meanst garment! Well. [_Exit._] SCENE IV. Rome. Philarios house. Enter Posthumus and Philario. POSTHUMUS. Fear it not, sir; I would I were so sure To win the King as I am bold her honour Will remain hers. PHILARIO. What means do you make to him? POSTHUMUS. Not | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016259 | any; but abide the change of time, Quake in the present winters state, and wish That warmer days would come. In these feard hopes I barely gratify your love; they failing, I must die much your debtor. PHILARIO. Your very goodness and your company Oerpays all I can do. By this your king Hath heard of great Augustus. Caius Lucius | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016260 | Will dos commission throughly; and I think Hell grant the tribute, send th arrearages, Or look upon our Romans, whose remembrance Is yet fresh in their grief. POSTHUMUS. I do believe Statist though I am none, nor like to be, That this will prove a war; and you shall hear The legions now in Gallia sooner landed In our not-fearing | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016261 | Britain than have tidings Of any penny tribute paid. Our countrymen Are men more orderd than when Julius Csar Smild at their lack of skill, but found their courage Worthy his frowning at. Their discipline, Now mingled with their courages, will make known To their approvers they are people such That mend upon the world. Enter Iachimo. PHILARIO. See! Iachimo! | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016262 | POSTHUMUS. The swiftest harts have posted you by land, And winds of all the corners kissd your sails, To make your vessel nimble. PHILARIO. Welcome, sir. POSTHUMUS. I hope the briefness of your answer made The speediness of your return. IACHIMO. Your lady Is one of the fairest that I have lookd upon. POSTHUMUS. And therewithal the best; or let | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016263 | her beauty Look through a casement to allure false hearts, And be false with them. IACHIMO. Here are letters for you. POSTHUMUS. Their tenour good, I trust. IACHIMO. Tis very like. PHILARIO. Was Caius Lucius in the Britain court When you were there? IACHIMO. He was expected then, But not approachd. POSTHUMUS. All is well yet. Sparkles this stone as | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016264 | it was wont, or ist not Too dull for your good wearing? IACHIMO. If I have lost it, I should have lost the worth of it in gold. Ill make a journey twice as far t enjoy A second night of such sweet shortness which Was mine in Britain; for the ring is won. POSTHUMUS. The stones too hard to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016265 | come by. IACHIMO. Not a whit, Your lady being so easy. POSTHUMUS. Make not, sir, Your loss your sport. I hope you know that we Must not continue friends. IACHIMO. Good sir, we must, If you keep covenant. Had I not brought The knowledge of your mistress home, I grant We were to question farther; but I now Profess myself | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016266 | the winner of her honour, Together with your ring; and not the wronger Of her or you, having proceeded but By both your wills. POSTHUMUS. If you can maket apparent That you have tasted her in bed, my hand And ring is yours. If not, the foul opinion You had of her pure honour gains or loses Your sword or | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016267 | mine, or masterless leaves both To who shall find them. IACHIMO. Sir, my circumstances, Being so near the truth as I will make them, Must first induce you to believe; whose strength I will confirm with oath; which I doubt not Youll give me leave to spare when you shall find You need it not. POSTHUMUS. Proceed. IACHIMO. First, her | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016268 | bedchamber, (Where I confess I slept not, but profess Had that was well worth watching) it was hangd With tapestry of silk and silver; the story, Proud Cleopatra when she met her Roman And Cydnus swelld above the banks, or for The press of boats or pride. A piece of work So bravely done, so rich, that it did strive | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016269 | In workmanship and value; which I wonderd Could be so rarely and exactly wrought, Since the true life ont was POSTHUMUS. This is true; And this you might have heard of here, by me Or by some other. IACHIMO. More particulars Must justify my knowledge. POSTHUMUS. So they must, Or do your honour injury. IACHIMO. The chimney Is south the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016270 | chamber, and the chimneypiece Chaste Dian bathing. Never saw I figures So likely to report themselves. The cutter Was as another nature, dumb; outwent her, Motion and breath left out. POSTHUMUS. This is a thing Which you might from relation likewise reap, Being, as it is, much spoke of. IACHIMO. The roof o th chamber With golden cherubins is fretted; | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016271 | her andirons (I had forgot them) were two winking Cupids Of silver, each on one foot standing, nicely Depending on their brands. POSTHUMUS. This is her honour! Let it be granted you have seen all this, and praise Be given to your remembrance; the description Of what is in her chamber nothing saves The wager you have laid. IACHIMO. Then, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016272 | if you can, [_Shows the bracelet_] Be pale. I beg but leave to air this jewel. See! And now tis up again. It must be married To that your diamond; Ill keep them. POSTHUMUS. Jove! Once more let me behold it. Is it that Which I left with her? IACHIMO. Sir (I thank her) that. She strippd it from her | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016273 | arm; I see her yet; Her pretty action did outsell her gift, And yet enrichd it too. She gave it me, and said She prizd it once. POSTHUMUS. May be she pluckd it off To send it me. IACHIMO. She writes so to you, doth she? POSTHUMUS. O, no, no, no! tis true. Here, take this too; [_Gives the ring._] | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016274 | It is a basilisk unto mine eye, Kills me to look ont. Let there be no honour Where there is beauty; truth where semblance; love Where theres another man. The vows of women Of no more bondage be to where they are made Than they are to their virtues, which is nothing. O, above measure false! PHILARIO. Have patience, sir, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016275 | And take your ring again; tis not yet won. It may be probable she lost it, or Who knows if one her women, being corrupted Hath stoln it from her? POSTHUMUS. Very true; And so I hope he came byt. Back my ring. Render to me some corporal sign about her, More evident than this; for this was stoln. IACHIMO. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016276 | By Jupiter, I had it from her arm! POSTHUMUS. Hark you, he swears; by Jupiter he swears. Tis true, nay, keep the ring, tis true. I am sure She would not lose it. Her attendants are All sworn and honourable:they inducd to steal it! And by a stranger! No, he hath enjoyd her. The cognizance of her incontinency Is this: | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016277 | she hath bought the name of whore thus dearly. There, take thy hire; and all the fiends of hell Divide themselves between you! PHILARIO. Sir, be patient; This is not strong enough to be believd Of one persuaded well of. POSTHUMUS. Never talk ont; She hath been colted by him. IACHIMO. If you seek For further satisfying, under her breast | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016278 | (Worthy the pressing) lies a mole, right proud Of that most delicate lodging. By my life, I kissd it; and it gave me present hunger To feed again, though full. You do remember This stain upon her? POSTHUMUS. Ay, and it doth confirm Another stain, as big as hell can hold, Were there no more but it. IACHIMO. Will you | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016279 | hear more? POSTHUMUS. Spare your arithmetic; never count the turns. Once, and a million! IACHIMO. Ill be sworn POSTHUMUS. No swearing. If you will swear you have not donet, you lie; And I will kill thee if thou dost deny Thoust made me cuckold. IACHIMO. Ill deny nothing. POSTHUMUS. O that I had her here to tear her limb-meal! I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016280 | will go there and dot, i th court, before Her father. Ill do something [_Exit._] PHILARIO. Quite besides The government of patience! You have won. Lets follow him and pervert the present wrath He hath against himself. IACHIMO. With all my heart. [_Exeunt._] SCENE V. Rome. Another room in Philarios house. Enter Posthumus. POSTHUMUS. Is there no way for men | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016281 | to be, but women Must be half-workers? We are all bastards, And that most venerable man which I Did call my father was I know not where When I was stampd. Some coiner with his tools Made me a counterfeit; yet my mother seemd The Dian of that time. So doth my wife The nonpareil of this. O, vengeance, vengeance! | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016282 | Me of my lawful pleasure she restraind, And prayd me oft forbearance; did it with A pudency so rosy, the sweet view ont Might well have warmd old Saturn; that I thought her As chaste as unsunnd snow. O, all the devils! This yellow Iachimo in an hour, wast not? Or less; at first? Perchance he spoke not, but, Like | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016283 | a full-acornd boar, a German one, Cried O! and mounted; found no opposition But what he lookd for should oppose and she Should from encounter guard. Could I find out The womans part in me! For theres no motion That tends to vice in man but I affirm It is the womans part. Be it lying, note it, The womans; | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016284 | flattering, hers; deceiving, hers; Lust and rank thoughts, hers, hers; revenges, hers; Ambitions, covetings, change of prides, disdain, Nice longing, slanders, mutability, All faults that man may name, nay, that hell knows, Why, hers, in part or all; but rather all; For even to vice They are not constant, but are changing still One vice but of a minute old | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016285 | for one Not half so old as that. Ill write against them, Detest them, curse them. Yet tis greater skill In a true hate to pray they have their will: The very devils cannot plague them better. [_Exit._] ACT III SCENE I. Britain. A hall in Cymbelines palace. Enter in state Cymbeline, Queen, Cloten and Lords at one door, and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016286 | at another Caius Lucius and Attendants. CYMBELINE. Now say, what would Augustus Csar with us? LUCIUS. When Julius Csar, (whose remembrance yet Lives in mens eyes, and will to ears and tongues Be theme and hearing ever) was in this Britain, And conquerd it, Cassibelan, thine uncle, Famous in Csars praises no whit less Than in his feats deserving it, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016287 | for him And his succession granted Rome a tribute, Yearly three thousand pounds, which by thee lately Is left untenderd. QUEEN. And, to kill the marvel, Shall be so ever. CLOTEN. There be many Csars ere such another Julius. Britain is a world by itself, and we will nothing pay for wearing our own noses. QUEEN. That opportunity, Which then | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016288 | they had to take froms, to resume We have again. Remember, sir, my liege, The kings your ancestors, together with The natural bravery of your isle, which stands As Neptunes park, ribbd and pald in With rocks unscaleable and roaring waters, With sands that will not bear your enemies boats But suck them up to th top-mast. A kind of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016289 | conquest Csar made here, but made not here his brag Of Came, and saw, and overcame. With shame (The first that ever touchd him) he was carried From off our coast, twice beaten; and his shipping (Poor ignorant baubles!) on our terrible seas, Like egg-shells movd upon their surges, crackd As easily gainst our rocks; for joy whereof The famd | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016290 | Cassibelan, who was once at point (O, giglot fortune!) to master Csars sword, Made Luds Town with rejoicing fires bright And Britons strut with courage. CLOTEN. Come, theres no more tribute to be paid. Our kingdom is stronger than it was at that time; and, as I said, there is no moe such Csars. Other of them may have crookd | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016291 | noses; but to owe such straight arms, none. CYMBELINE. Son, let your mother end. CLOTEN. We have yet many among us can gripe as hard as Cassibelan. I do not say I am one; but I have a hand. Why tribute? Why should we pay tribute? If Csar can hide the sun from us with a blanket, or put the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016292 | moon in his pocket, we will pay him tribute for light; else, sir, no more tribute, pray you now. CYMBELINE. You must know, Till the injurious Romans did extort This tribute from us, we were free. Csars ambition, Which swelld so much that it did almost stretch The sides o th world, against all colour here Did put the yoke | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016293 | upons; which to shake off Becomes a warlike people, whom we reckon Ourselves to be. CLOTEN. We do. CYMBELINE. Say then to Csar, Our ancestor was that Mulmutius which Ordaind our laws, whose use the sword of Csar Hath too much mangled; whose repair and franchise Shall, by the power we hold, be our good deed, Though Rome be therefore | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016294 | angry. Mulmutius made our laws, Who was the first of Britain which did put His brows within a golden crown, and calld Himself a king. LUCIUS. I am sorry, Cymbeline, That I am to pronounce Augustus Csar (Csar, that hath moe kings his servants than Thyself domestic officers) thine enemy. Receive it from me, then: war and confusion In Csars | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016295 | name pronounce I gainst thee; look For fury not to be resisted. Thus defied, I thank thee for myself. CYMBELINE. Thou art welcome, Caius. Thy Csar knighted me; my youth I spent Much under him; of him I gatherd honour, Which he to seek of me again, perforce, Behoves me keep at utterance. I am perfect That the Pannonians and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016296 | Dalmatians for Their liberties are now in arms, a precedent Which not to read would show the Britons cold; So Csar shall not find them. LUCIUS. Let proof speak. CLOTEN. His majesty bids you welcome. Make pastime with us a day or two, or longer. If you seek us afterwards in other terms, you shall find us in our salt-water | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016297 | girdle. If you beat us out of it, it is yours; if you fall in the adventure, our crows shall fare the better for you; and theres an end. LUCIUS. So, sir. CYMBELINE. I know your masters pleasure, and he mine; All the remain is, welcome. [_Exeunt._] SCENE II. Britain. Another room in Cymbelines palace. Enter Pisanio reading of a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016298 | letter. PISANIO. How? of adultery? Wherefore write you not What monsters her accuse? Leonatus! O master, what a strange infection Is falln into thy ear! What false Italian (As poisonous-tongud as handed) hath prevaild On thy too ready hearing? Disloyal? No. Shes punishd for her truth, and undergoes, More goddess-like than wife-like, such assaults As would take in some virtue. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016299 | O my master, Thy mind to her is now as low as were Thy fortunes. How? that I should murder her? Upon the love, and truth, and vows, which I Have made to thy command? I, her? Her blood? If it be so to do good service, never Let me be counted serviceable. How look I That I should seem | 60 | gutenberg |
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.