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twg_000000016300 | to lack humanity So much as this fact comes to? [_Reads._] Dot. The letter That I have sent her, by her own command Shall give thee opportunity. O damnd paper, Black as the ink thats on thee! Senseless bauble, Art thou a fedary for this act, and lookst So virgin-like without? Lo, here she comes. Enter Imogen. I am ignorant | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016301 | in what I am commanded. IMOGEN. How now, Pisanio? PISANIO. Madam, here is a letter from my lord. IMOGEN. Who? thy lord? That is my lord, Leonatus? O, learnd indeed were that astronomer That knew the stars as I his characters; Hed lay the future open. You good gods, Let what is here containd relish of love, Of my lords | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016302 | health, of his content; yet not That we two are asunder; let that grieve him! Some griefs are medcinable; that is one of them, For it doth physic love: of his content, All but in that. Good wax, thy leave. Blest be You bees that make these locks of counsel! Lovers And men in dangerous bonds pray not alike; Though | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016303 | forfeiters you cast in prison, yet You clasp young Cupids tables. Good news, gods! [_Reads._] _Justice and your fathers wrath, should he take me in his dominion, could not be so cruel to me as you, O the dearest of creatures, would even renew me with your eyes. Take notice that I am in Cambria, at Milford Haven. What your | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016304 | own love will out of this advise you, follow. So he wishes you all happiness that remains loyal to his vow, and your increasing in love. LEONATUS POSTHUMUS._ O for a horse with wings! Hearst thou, Pisanio? He is at Milford Haven. Read, and tell me How far tis thither. If one of mean affairs May plod it in a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016305 | week, why may not I Glide thither in a day? Then, true Pisanio, Who longst like me to see thy lord, who longst (O, let me bate!) but not like me, yet longst, But in a fainter kind. O, not like me, For mines beyond beyond: say, and speak thick, (Loves counsellor should fill the bores of hearing To th | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016306 | smothering of the sense) how far it is To this same blessed Milford. And by th way Tell me how Wales was made so happy as T inherit such a haven. But first of all, How we may steal from hence; and for the gap That we shall make in time from our hence-going And our return, to excuse. But | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016307 | first, how get hence. Why should excuse be born or ere begot? Well talk of that hereafter. Prithee speak, How many score of miles may we well rid Twixt hour and hour? PISANIO. One score twixt sun and sun, Madam, s enough for you, and too much too. IMOGEN. Why, one that rode tos execution, man, Could never go so | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016308 | slow. I have heard of riding wagers Where horses have been nimbler than the sands That run i th clocks behalf. But this is foolry. Go bid my woman feign a sickness; say Shell home to her father; and provide me presently A riding suit, no costlier than would fit A franklins huswife. PISANIO. Madam, youre best consider. IMOGEN. I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016309 | see before me, man. Nor here, nor here, Nor what ensues, but have a fog in them That I cannot look through. Away, I prithee; Do as I bid thee. Theres no more to say. Accessible is none but Milford way. [_Exeunt._] SCENE III. Wales. A mountainous country with a cave. Enter from the cave Belarius, Guiderius and Arviragus. BELARIUS. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016310 | A goodly day not to keep house with such Whose roofs as low as ours! Stoop, boys; this gate Instructs you how t adore the heavens, and bows you To a mornings holy office. The gates of monarchs Are archd so high that giants may jet through And keep their impious turbans on without Good morrow to the sun. Hail, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016311 | thou fair heaven! We house i th rock, yet use thee not so hardly As prouder livers do. GUIDERIUS. Hail, heaven! ARVIRAGUS. Hail, heaven! BELARIUS. Now for our mountain sport. Up to yond hill, Your legs are young; Ill tread these flats. Consider, When you above perceive me like a crow, That it is place which lessens and sets off; | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016312 | And you may then revolve what tales I have told you Of courts, of princes, of the tricks in war. This service is not service so being done, But being so allowd. To apprehend thus Draws us a profit from all things we see, And often to our comfort shall we find The sharded beetle in a safer hold Than | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016313 | is the full-wingd eagle. O, this life Is nobler than attending for a check, Richer than doing nothing for a robe, Prouder than rustling in unpaid-for silk: Such gain the cap of him that makes him fine, Yet keeps his book uncrossd. No life to ours! GUIDERIUS. Out of your proof you speak. We, poor unfledgd, Have never wingd from | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016314 | view o th nest, nor know not What airs from home. Haply this life is best, If quiet life be best; sweeter to you That have a sharper known; well corresponding With your stiff age. But unto us it is A cell of ignorance, travelling abed, A prison for a debtor that not dares To stride a limit. ARVIRAGUS. What | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016315 | should we speak of When we are old as you? When we shall hear The rain and wind beat dark December, how, In this our pinching cave, shall we discourse. The freezing hours away? We have seen nothing; We are beastly: subtle as the fox for prey, Like warlike as the wolf for what we eat. Our valour is to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016316 | chase what flies; our cage We make a choir, as doth the prisond bird, And sing our bondage freely. BELARIUS. How you speak! Did you but know the citys usuries, And felt them knowingly; the art o th court, As hard to leave as keep, whose top to climb Is certain falling, or so slippry that The fears as bad | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016317 | as falling; the toil o th war, A pain that only seems to seek out danger I th name of fame and honour, which dies i th search, And hath as oft a slandrous epitaph As record of fair act; nay, many times, Doth ill deserve by doing well; whats worse, Must curtsy at the censure. O, boys, this story | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016318 | The world may read in me; my bodys markd With Roman swords, and my report was once First with the best of note. Cymbeline lovd me; And when a soldier was the theme, my name Was not far off. Then was I as a tree Whose boughs did bend with fruit. But in one night A storm, or robbery, call | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016319 | it what you will, Shook down my mellow hangings, nay, my leaves, And left me bare to weather. GUIDERIUS. Uncertain favour! BELARIUS. My fault being nothing, as I have told you oft, But that two villains, whose false oaths prevaild Before my perfect honour, swore to Cymbeline I was confederate with the Romans. So Followd my banishment, and this twenty | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016320 | years This rock and these demesnes have been my world, Where I have livd at honest freedom, paid More pious debts to heaven than in all The fore-end of my time. But up to th mountains! This is not hunters language. He that strikes The venison first shall be the lord o th feast; To him the other two shall | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016321 | minister; And we will fear no poison, which attends In place of greater state. Ill meet you in the valleys. [_Exeunt Guiderius and Arviragus._] How hard it is to hide the sparks of nature! These boys know little they are sons to th King, Nor Cymbeline dreams that they are alive. They think they are mine; and though traind up | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016322 | thus meanly I th cave wherein they bow, their thoughts do hit The roofs of palaces, and nature prompts them In simple and low things to prince it much Beyond the trick of others. This Polydore, The heir of Cymbeline and Britain, who The King his father calld GuideriusJove! When on my three-foot stool I sit and tell The warlike | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016323 | feats I have done, his spirits fly out Into my story; say Thus mine enemy fell, And thus I set my foot ons neck; even then The princely blood flows in his cheek, he sweats, Strains his young nerves, and puts himself in posture That acts my words. The younger brother, Cadwal, Once Arviragus, in as like a figure Strikes | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016324 | life into my speech, and shows much more His own conceiving. Hark, the game is rousd! O Cymbeline, heaven and my conscience knows Thou didst unjustly banish me! Whereon, At three and two years old, I stole these babes, Thinking to bar thee of succession as Thou refts me of my lands. Euriphile, Thou wast their nurse; they took thee | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016325 | for their mother, And every day do honour to her grave. Myself, Belarius, that am Morgan calld, They take for natural father. The game is up. [_Exit._] SCENE IV. Wales, near Milford Haven. Enter Pisanio and Imogen. IMOGEN. Thou toldst me, when we came from horse, the place Was near at hand. Neer longd my mother so To see me | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016326 | first as I have now. Pisanio! Man! Where is Posthumus? What is in thy mind That makes thee stare thus? Wherefore breaks that sigh From th inward of thee? One but painted thus Would be interpreted a thing perplexd Beyond self-explication. Put thyself Into a haviour of less fear, ere wildness Vanquish my staider senses. Whats the matter? Why tenderst | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016327 | thou that paper to me with A look untender? Ift be summer news, Smile tot before; if winterly, thou needst But keep that countnance still. My husbands hand? That drug-damnd Italy hath out-craftied him, And hes at some hard point. Speak, man; thy tongue May take off some extremity, which to read Would be even mortal to me. PISANIO. Please | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016328 | you read, And you shall find me, wretched man, a thing The most disdaind of fortune. IMOGEN. [_Reads._] _Thy mistress, Pisanio, hath playd the strumpet in my bed, the testimonies whereof lie bleeding in me. I speak not out of weak surmises, but from proof as strong as my grief and as certain as I expect my revenge. That part | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016329 | thou, Pisanio, must act for me, if thy faith be not tainted with the breach of hers. Let thine own hands take away her life; I shall give thee opportunity at Milford Haven; she hath my letter for the purpose; where, if thou fear to strike, and to make me certain it is done, thou art the pandar to her | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016330 | dishonour, and equally to me disloyal._ PISANIO. What shall I need to draw my sword? The paper Hath cut her throat already. No, tis slander, Whose edge is sharper than the sword, whose tongue Outvenoms all the worms of Nile, whose breath Rides on the posting winds and doth belie All corners of the world. Kings, queens, and states, Maids, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016331 | matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave, This viperous slander enters. What cheer, madam? IMOGEN. False to his bed? What is it to be false? To lie in watch there, and to think on him? To weep twixt clock and clock? If sleep charge nature, To break it with a fearful dream of him, And cry myself awake? Thats false | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016332 | tos bed, Is it? PISANIO. Alas, good lady! IMOGEN. I false! Thy conscience witness! Iachimo, Thou didst accuse him of incontinency; Thou then lookdst like a villain; now, methinks, Thy favours good enough. Some jay of Italy, Whose mother was her painting, hath betrayd him. Poor I am stale, a garment out of fashion, And for I am richer than | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016333 | to hang by th walls I must be rippd. To pieces with me! O, Mens vows are womens traitors! All good seeming, By thy revolt, O husband, shall be thought Put on for villainy; not born wheret grows, But worn a bait for ladies. PISANIO. Good madam, hear me. IMOGEN. True honest men being heard, like false neas, Were, in | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016334 | his time, thought false; and Sinons weeping Did scandal many a holy tear, took pity From most true wretchedness. So thou, Posthumus, Wilt lay the leaven on all proper men: Goodly and gallant shall be false and perjurd From thy great fail. Come, fellow, be thou honest; Do thou thy masters bidding; when thou seest him, A little witness my | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016335 | obedience. Look! I draw the sword myself; take it, and hit The innocent mansion of my love, my heart. Fear not; tis empty of all things but grief; Thy master is not there, who was indeed The riches of it. Do his bidding; strike. Thou mayst be valiant in a better cause, But now thou seemst a coward. PISANIO. Hence, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016336 | vile instrument! Thou shalt not damn my hand. IMOGEN. Why, I must die; And if I do not by thy hand, thou art No servant of thy masters. Against self-slaughter There is a prohibition so divine That cravens my weak hand. Come, heres my heart: Somethings aforet. Soft, soft! well no defence, Obedient as the scabbard. What is here? The | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016337 | scriptures of the loyal Leonatus All turnd to heresy? Away, away, Corrupters of my faith, you shall no more Be stomachers to my heart. Thus may poor fools Believe false teachers; though those that are betrayd Do feel the treason sharply, yet the traitor Stands in worse case of woe. And thou, Posthumus, That didst set up my disobedience gainst | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016338 | the King My father, and make me put into contempt the suits Of princely fellows, shalt hereafter find It is no act of common passage but A strain of rareness; and I grieve myself To think, when thou shalt be disedgd by her That now thou tirest on, how thy memory Will then be pangd by me. Prithee dispatch. The | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016339 | lamb entreats the butcher. Wheres thy knife? Thou art too slow to do thy masters bidding, When I desire it too. PISANIO. O gracious lady, Since I receivd command to do this busines I have not slept one wink. IMOGEN. Dot, and to bed then. PISANIO. Ill wake mine eyeballs first. IMOGEN. Wherefore then Didst undertake it? Why hast thou | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016340 | abusd So many miles with a pretence? This place? Mine action and thine own? our horses labour? The time inviting thee? The perturbd court, For my being absent? whereunto I never Purpose return. Why hast thou gone so far To be unbent when thou hast taen thy stand, Th elected deer before thee? PISANIO. But to win time To lose | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016341 | so bad employment, in the which I have considerd of a course. Good lady, Hear me with patience. IMOGEN. Talk thy tongue weary, speak. I have heard I am a strumpet, and mine ear, Therein false struck, can take no greater wound, Nor tent to bottom that. But speak. PISANIO. Then, madam, I thought you would not back again. IMOGEN. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016342 | Most like, Bringing me here to kill me. PISANIO. Not so, neither; But if I were as wise as honest, then My purpose would prove well. It cannot be But that my master is abusd. Some villain, Ay, and singular in his art, hath done you both This cursed injury. IMOGEN. Some Roman courtezan! PISANIO. No, on my life! Ill | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016343 | give but notice you are dead, and send him Some bloody sign of it, for tis commanded I should do so. You shall be missd at court, And that will well confirm it. IMOGEN. Why, good fellow, What shall I do the while? Where bide? How live? Or in my life what comfort, when I am Dead to my husband? | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016344 | PISANIO. If youll back to th court IMOGEN. No court, no father, nor no more ado With that harsh, noble, simple nothing, That Cloten, whose love-suit hath been to me As fearful as a siege. PISANIO. If not at court, Then not in Britain must you bide. IMOGEN. Where then? Hath Britain all the sun that shines? Day, night, Are | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016345 | they not but in Britain? I th worlds volume Our Britain seems as of it, but not int; In a great pool a swans nest. Prithee think Theres livers out of Britain. PISANIO. I am most glad You think of other place. Th ambassador, Lucius the Roman, comes to Milford Haven Tomorrow. Now, if you could wear a mind Dark | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016346 | as your fortune is, and but disguise That which t appear itself must not yet be But by self-danger, you should tread a course Pretty and full of view; yea, happily, near The residence of Posthumus; so nigh, at least, That though his actions were not visible, yet Report should render him hourly to your ear As truly as he | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016347 | moves. IMOGEN. O! for such means, Though peril to my modesty, not death ont, I would adventure. PISANIO. Well then, heres the point: You must forget to be a woman; change Command into obedience; fear and niceness (The handmaids of all women, or, more truly, Woman it pretty self) into a waggish courage; Ready in gibes, quick-answerd, saucy, and As | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016348 | quarrelous as the weasel. Nay, you must Forget that rarest treasure of your cheek, Exposing it (but, O, the harder heart! Alack, no remedy) to the greedy touch Of common-kissing Titan, and forget Your laboursome and dainty trims wherein You made great Juno angry. IMOGEN. Nay, be brief; I see into thy end, and am almost A man already. PISANIO. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016349 | First, make yourself but like one. Fore-thinking this, I have already fit (Tis in my cloak-bag) doublet, hat, hose, all That answer to them. Would you, in their serving, And with what imitation you can borrow From youth of such a season, fore noble Lucius Present yourself, desire his service, tell him Wherein youre happy; which will make him know | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016350 | If that his head have ear in music; doubtless With joy he will embrace you; for hes honourable, And, doubling that, most holy. Your means abroad: You have me, rich; and I will never fail Beginning nor supplyment. IMOGEN. Thou art all the comfort The gods will diet me with. Prithee away! Theres more to be considerd; but well even | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016351 | All that good time will give us. This attempt I am soldier to, and will abide it with A princes courage. Away, I prithee. PISANIO. Well, madam, we must take a short farewell, Lest, being missd, I be suspected of Your carriage from the court. My noble mistress, Here is a box; I had it from the Queen. Whats int | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016352 | is precious. If you are sick at sea Or stomach-qualmd at land, a dram of this Will drive away distemper. To some shade, And fit you to your manhood. May the gods Direct you to the best! IMOGEN. Amen. I thank thee. [_Exeunt severally._] SCENE V. Britain. Cymbelines palace. Enter Cymbeline, Queen, Cloten, Lucius and Lords. CYMBELINE. Thus far, and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016353 | so farewell. LUCIUS. Thanks, royal sir. My emperor hath wrote; I must from hence, And am right sorry that I must report ye My masters enemy. CYMBELINE. Our subjects, sir, Will not endure his yoke; and for ourself To show less sovereignty than they, must needs Appear unkinglike. LUCIUS. So, sir. I desire of you A conduct overland to Milford | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016354 | Haven. Madam, all joy befall your Grace, and you! CYMBELINE. My lords, you are appointed for that office; The due of honour in no point omit. So farewell, noble Lucius. LUCIUS. Your hand, my lord. CLOTEN. Receive it friendly; but from this time forth I wear it as your enemy. LUCIUS. Sir, the event Is yet to name the winner. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016355 | Fare you well. CYMBELINE. Leave not the worthy Lucius, good my lords, Till he have crossd the Severn. Happiness! [_Exeunt Lucius and Lords._] QUEEN. He goes hence frowning; but it honours us That we have given him cause. CLOTEN. Tis all the better; Your valiant Britons have their wishes in it. CYMBELINE. Lucius hath wrote already to the Emperor How | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016356 | it goes here. It fits us therefore ripely Our chariots and our horsemen be in readiness. The powrs that he already hath in Gallia Will soon be drawn to head, from whence he moves His war for Britain. QUEEN. Tis not sleepy business, But must be lookd to speedily and strongly. CYMBELINE. Our expectation that it would be thus Hath | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016357 | made us forward. But, my gentle queen, Where is our daughter? She hath not appeard Before the Roman, nor to us hath tenderd The duty of the day. She looks us like A thing more made of malice than of duty; We have noted it. Call her before us, for We have been too slight in sufferance. [_Exit an Attendant._] | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016358 | QUEEN. Royal sir, Since the exile of Posthumus, most retird Hath her life been; the cure whereof, my lord, Tis time must do. Beseech your Majesty, Forbear sharp speeches to her; shes a lady So tender of rebukes that words are strokes, And strokes death to her. Enter Attendant. CYMBELINE. Where is she, sir? How Can her contempt be answerd? | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016359 | ATTENDANT. Please you, sir, Her chambers are all lockd, and theres no answer That will be given to th loud of noise we make. QUEEN. My lord, when last I went to visit her, She prayd me to excuse her keeping close; Whereto constraind by her infirmity She should that duty leave unpaid to you Which daily she was bound | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016360 | to proffer. This She wishd me to make known; but our great court Made me to blame in memory. CYMBELINE. Her doors lockd? Not seen of late? Grant, heavens, that which I fear Prove false! [_Exit._] QUEEN. Son, I say, follow the King. CLOTEN. That man of hers, Pisanio, her old servant, I have not seen these two days. QUEEN. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016361 | Go, look after. [_Exit Cloten._] Pisanio, thou that standst so for Posthumus! He hath a drug of mine. I pray his absence Proceed by swallowing that; for he believes It is a thing most precious. But for her, Where is she gone? Haply despair hath seizd her; Or, wingd with fervour of her love, shes flown To her desird Posthumus. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016362 | Gone she is To death or to dishonour, and my end Can make good use of either. She being down, I have the placing of the British crown. Enter Cloten. How now, my son? CLOTEN. Tis certain she is fled. Go in and cheer the King. He rages; none Dare come about him. QUEEN. All the better. May This night | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016363 | forestall him of the coming day! [_Exit._] CLOTEN. I love and hate her; for shes fair and royal, And that she hath all courtly parts more exquisite Than lady, ladies, woman. From every one The best she hath, and she, of all compounded, Outsells them all. I love her therefore; but Disdaining me and throwing favours on The low Posthumus | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016364 | slanders so her judgement That whats else rare is chokd; and in that point I will conclude to hate her, nay, indeed, To be revengd upon her. For when fools Shall Enter Pisanio. Who is here? What, are you packing, sirrah? Come hither. Ah, you precious pandar! Villain, Where is thy lady? In a word, or else Thou art straightway | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016365 | with the fiends. PISANIO. O good my lord! CLOTEN. Where is thy lady? or, by Jupiter I will not ask again. Close villain, Ill have this secret from thy heart, or rip Thy heart to find it. Is she with Posthumus? From whose so many weights of baseness cannot A dram of worth be drawn. PISANIO. Alas, my lord, How | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016366 | can she be with him? When was she missd? He is in Rome. CLOTEN. Where is she, sir? Come nearer. No farther halting! Satisfy me home What is become of her. PISANIO. O my all-worthy lord! CLOTEN. All-worthy villain! Discover where thy mistress is at once, At the next word. No more of worthy lord! Speak, or thy silence on | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016367 | the instant is Thy condemnation and thy death. PISANIO. Then, sir, This paper is the history of my knowledge Touching her flight. [_Presenting a letter._] CLOTEN. Lets seet. I will pursue her Even to Augustus throne. PISANIO. [_Aside._] Or this or perish. Shes far enough; and what he learns by this May prove his travel, not her danger. CLOTEN. Humh! | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016368 | PISANIO. [_Aside._] Ill write to my lord shes dead. O Imogen, Safe mayst thou wander, safe return again! CLOTEN. Sirrah, is this letter true? PISANIO. Sir, as I think. CLOTEN. It is Posthumus hand; I knowt. Sirrah, if thou wouldst not be a villain, but do me true service, undergo those employments wherein I should have cause to use thee | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016369 | with a serious industrythat is, what villainy soeer I bid thee do, to perform it directly and trulyI would think thee an honest man; thou shouldst neither want my means for thy relief nor my voice for thy preferment. PISANIO. Well, my good lord. CLOTEN. Wilt thou serve me? For since patiently and constantly thou hast stuck to the bare | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016370 | fortune of that beggar Posthumus, thou canst not, in the course of gratitude, but be a diligent follower of mine. Wilt thou serve me? PISANIO. Sir, I will. CLOTEN. Give me thy hand; heres my purse. Hast any of thy late masters garments in thy possession? PISANIO. I have, my lord, at my lodging, the same suit he wore when | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016371 | he took leave of my lady and mistress. CLOTEN. The first service thou dost me, fetch that suit hither. Let it be thy first service; go. PISANIO. I shall, my lord. [_Exit._] CLOTEN. Meet thee at Milford Haven! I forgot to ask him one thing; Ill remembert anon. Even there, thou villain Posthumus, will I kill thee. I would these | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016372 | garments were come. She said upon a timethe bitterness of it I now belch from my heartthat she held the very garment of Posthumus in more respect than my noble and natural person, together with the adornment of my qualities. With that suit upon my back will I ravish her; first kill him, and in her eyes. There shall she | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016373 | see my valour, which will then be a torment to her contempt. He on the ground, my speech of insultment ended on his dead body, and when my lust hath dinedwhich, as I say, to vex her I will execute in the clothes that she so praisdto the court Ill knock her back, foot her home again. She hath despisd | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016374 | me rejoicingly, and Ill be merry in my revenge. Enter Pisanio with the clothes. Be those the garments? PISANIO. Ay, my noble lord. CLOTEN. How long ist since she went to Milford Haven? PISANIO. She can scarce be there yet. CLOTEN. Bring this apparel to my chamber; that is the second thing that I have commanded thee. The third is | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016375 | that thou wilt be a voluntary mute to my design. Be but duteous and true, preferment shall tender itself to thee. My revenge is now at Milford, would I had wings to follow it! Come, and be true. [_Exit._] PISANIO. Thou bidst me to my loss; for true to thee Were to prove false, which I will never be, To | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016376 | him that is most true. To Milford go, And find not her whom thou pursuest. Flow, flow, You heavenly blessings, on her! This fools speed Be crossd with slowness! Labour be his meed! [_Exit._] SCENE VI. Wales. Before the cave of Belarius. Enter Imogen alone, in boys clothes. IMOGEN. I see a mans life is a tedious one. I have | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016377 | tird myself, and for two nights together Have made the ground my bed. I should be sick But that my resolution helps me. Milford, When from the mountain-top Pisanio showd thee, Thou wast within a ken. O Jove! I think Foundations fly the wretched; such, I mean, Where they should be relievd. Two beggars told me I could not miss | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016378 | my way. Will poor folks lie, That have afflictions on them, knowing tis A punishment or trial? Yes; no wonder, When rich ones scarce tell true. To lapse in fulness Is sorer than to lie for need; and falsehood Is worse in kings than beggars. My dear lord! Thou art one o th false ones. Now I think on thee | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016379 | My hungers gone; but even before, I was At point to sink for food. But what is this? Here is a path tot; tis some savage hold. I were best not call; I dare not call. Yet famine, Ere clean it oerthrow nature, makes it valiant. Plenty and peace breeds cowards; hardness ever Of hardiness is mother. Ho! whos here? | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016380 | If anything thats civil, speak; if savage, Take or lend. Ho! No answer? Then Ill enter. Best draw my sword; and if mine enemy But fear the sword, like me, hell scarcely look ont. Such a foe, good heavens! [_Exit into the cave._] SCENE VII. The same. Enter Belarius, Guiderius and Arviragus. BELARIUS. You, Polydore, have provd best woodman and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016381 | Are master of the feast. Cadwal and I Will play the cook and servant; tis our match. The sweat of industry would dry and die But for the end it works to. Come, our stomachs Will make whats homely savoury; weariness Can snore upon the flint, when resty sloth Finds the down pillow hard. Now, peace be here, Poor house, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016382 | that keepst thyself! GUIDERIUS. I am thoroughly weary. ARVIRAGUS. I am weak with toil, yet strong in appetite. GUIDERIUS. There is cold meat i th cave; well browse on that Whilst what we have killd be cookd. BELARIUS. [_Looking into the cave._] Stay, come not in. But that it eats our victuals, I should think Here were a fairy. GUIDERIUS. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016383 | Whats the matter, sir? BELARIUS. By Jupiter, an angel! or, if not, An earthly paragon! Behold divineness No elder than a boy! Enter Imogen. IMOGEN. Good masters, harm me not. Before I enterd here I calld, and thought To have beggd or bought what I have took. Good troth, I have stoln nought; nor would not though I had found | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016384 | Gold strewd i th floor. Heres money for my meat. I would have left it on the board, so soon As I had made my meal, and parted With prayrs for the provider. GUIDERIUS. Money, youth? ARVIRAGUS. All gold and silver rather turn to dirt, As tis no better reckond but of those Who worship dirty gods. IMOGEN. I see | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016385 | youre angry. Know, if you kill me for my fault, I should Have died had I not made it. BELARIUS. Whither bound? IMOGEN. To Milford Haven. BELARIUS. Whats your name? IMOGEN. Fidele, sir. I have a kinsman who Is bound for Italy; he embarkd at Milford; To whom being going, almost spent with hunger, I am falln in this offence. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016386 | BELARIUS. Prithee, fair youth, Think us no churls, nor measure our good minds By this rude place we live in. Well encounterd! Tis almost night; you shall have better cheer Ere you depart, and thanks to stay and eat it. Boys, bid him welcome. GUIDERIUS. Were you a woman, youth, I should woo hard but be your groom. In honesty | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016387 | I bid for you as Id buy. ARVIRAGUS. Ill maket my comfort He is a man. Ill love him as my brother; And such a welcome as Id give to him After long absence, such is yours. Most welcome! Be sprightly, for you fall mongst friends. IMOGEN. Mongst friends, If brothers. [_Aside._] Would it had been so that they Had | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016388 | been my fathers sons! Then had my prize Been less, and so more equal ballasting To thee, Posthumus. BELARIUS. He wrings at some distress. GUIDERIUS. Would I could freet! ARVIRAGUS. Or I, whateer it be, What pain it cost, what danger! Gods! BELARIUS. [_Whispering._] Hark, boys. IMOGEN. [_Aside._] Great men, That had a court no bigger than this cave, That | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016389 | did attend themselves, and had the virtue Which their own conscience seald them, laying by That nothing-gift of differing multitudes, Could not out-peer these twain. Pardon me, gods! Id change my sex to be companion with them, Since Leonatus false. BELARIUS. It shall be so. Boys, well go dress our hunt. Fair youth, come in. Discourse is heavy, fasting; when | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016390 | we have suppd, Well mannerly demand thee of thy story, So far as thou wilt speak it. GUIDERIUS. Pray draw near. ARVIRAGUS. The night to th owl and morn to th lark less welcome. IMOGEN. Thanks, sir. ARVIRAGUS. I pray draw near. [_Exeunt._] SCENE VIII. Rome. A public place. Enter two Roman Senators and Tribunes. FIRST SENATOR. This is the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016391 | tenour of the Emperors writ: That since the common men are now in action Gainst the Pannonians and Dalmatians, And that the legions now in Gallia are Full weak to undertake our wars against The falln-off Britons, that we do incite The gentry to this business. He creates Lucius proconsul; and to you, the tribunes, For this immediate levy, he | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016392 | commands His absolute commission. Long live Csar! TRIBUNE. Is Lucius general of the forces? SECOND SENATOR. Ay. TRIBUNE. Remaining now in Gallia? FIRST SENATOR. With those legions Which I have spoke of, whereunto your levy Must be supplyant. The words of your commission Will tie you to the numbers and the time Of their dispatch. TRIBUNE. We will discharge our | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016393 | duty. [_Exeunt._] ACT IV SCENE I. Wales. Near the cave of Belarius. Enter Cloten alone. CLOTEN. I am near to th place where they should meet, if Pisanio have mappd it truly. How fit his garments serve me! Why should his mistress, who was made by him that made the tailor, not be fit too? The rather, saving reverence of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016394 | the word, for tis said a womans fitness comes by fits. Therein I must play the workman. I dare speak it to myself, for it is not vain-glory for a man and his glass to confer in his own chamber; I mean, the lines of my body are as well drawn as his; no less young, more strong, not beneath | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016395 | him in fortunes, beyond him in the advantage of the time, above him in birth, alike conversant in general services, and more remarkable in single oppositions. Yet this imperceiverant thing loves him in my despite. What mortality is! Posthumus, thy head, which now is growing upon thy shoulders, shall within this hour be off; thy mistress enforced; thy garments cut | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016396 | to pieces before her face; and all this done, spurn her home to her father, who may, haply, be a little angry for my so rough usage; but my mother, having power of his testiness, shall turn all into my commendations. My horse is tied up safe. Out, sword, and to a sore purpose! Fortune, put them into my hand. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016397 | This is the very description of their meeting-place; and the fellow dares not deceive me. [_Exit._] SCENE II. Wales. Before the cave of Belarius. Enter from the cave, Belarius, Guiderius, Arviragus and Imogen. BELARIUS. [_To Imogen._] You are not well. Remain here in the cave; Well come to you after hunting. ARVIRAGUS. [_To Imogen._] Brother, stay here. Are we not | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016398 | brothers? IMOGEN. So man and man should be; But clay and clay differs in dignity, Whose dust is both alike. I am very sick. GUIDERIUS. Go you to hunting; Ill abide with him. IMOGEN. So sick I am not, yet I am not well; But not so citizen a wanton as To seem to die ere sick. So please you, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016399 | leave me; Stick to your journal course. The breach of custom Is breach of all. I am ill, but your being by me Cannot amend me; society is no comfort To one not sociable. I am not very sick, Since I can reason of it. Pray you trust me here. Ill rob none but myself; and let me die, Stealing | 60 | gutenberg |
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