id stringlengths 16 16 | text stringlengths 151 2.3k | word_count int64 30 60 | source stringclasses 1 value |
|---|---|---|---|
twg_000000016400 | so poorly. GUIDERIUS. I love thee; I have spoke it. How much the quantity, the weight as much As I do love my father. BELARIUS. What? how? how? ARVIRAGUS. If it be sin to say so, sir, I yoke me In my good brothers fault. I know not why I love this youth, and I have heard you say Loves | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016401 | reasons without reason. The bier at door, And a demand who ist shall die, Id say My father, not this youth. BELARIUS. [_Aside._] O noble strain! O worthiness of nature! breed of greatness! Cowards father cowards and base things sire base. Nature hath meal and bran, contempt and grace. Im not their father; yet who this should be Doth miracle | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016402 | itself, lovd before me. Tis the ninth hour o th morn. ARVIRAGUS. Brother, farewell. IMOGEN. I wish ye sport. ARVIRAGUS. Your health. [_To Belarius._] So please you, sir. IMOGEN. [_Aside._] These are kind creatures. Gods, what lies I have heard! Our courtiers say alls savage but at court. Experience, O, thou disprovst report! Th imperious seas breed monsters; for the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016403 | dish, Poor tributary rivers as sweet fish. I am sick still; heart-sick. Pisanio, Ill now taste of thy drug. [_Swallows some._] GUIDERIUS. I could not stir him. He said he was gentle, but unfortunate; Dishonestly afflicted, but yet honest. ARVIRAGUS. Thus did he answer me; yet said hereafter I might know more. BELARIUS. To th field, to th field! Well | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016404 | leave you for this time. Go in and rest. ARVIRAGUS. Well not be long away. BELARIUS. Pray be not sick, For you must be our huswife. IMOGEN. Well, or ill, I am bound to you. BELARIUS. And shalt be ever. [_Exit Imogen into the cave._] This youth, howeer distressd, appears he hath had Good ancestors. ARVIRAGUS. How angel-like he sings! | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016405 | GUIDERIUS. But his neat cookery! He cut our roots in characters, And saucd our broths as Juno had been sick, And he her dieter. ARVIRAGUS. Nobly he yokes A smiling with a sigh, as if the sigh Was that it was for not being such a smile; The smile mocking the sigh that it would fly From so divine a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016406 | temple to commix With winds that sailors rail at. GUIDERIUS. I do note That grief and patience, rooted in him both, Mingle their spurs together. ARVIRAGUS. Grow patience! And let the stinking elder, grief, untwine His perishing root with the increasing vine! BELARIUS. It is great morning. Come, away! Whos there? Enter Cloten. CLOTEN. I cannot find those runagates; that | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016407 | villain Hath mockd me. I am faint. BELARIUS. Those runagates? Means he not us? I partly know him; tis Cloten, the son o th Queen. I fear some ambush. I saw him not these many years, and yet I know tis he. We are held as outlaws. Hence! GUIDERIUS. He is but one; you and my brother search What companies | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016408 | are near. Pray you away; Let me alone with him. [_Exeunt Belarius and Arviragus._] CLOTEN. Soft! What are you That fly me thus? Some villain mountaineers? I have heard of such. What slave art thou? GUIDERIUS. A thing More slavish did I neer than answering A slave without a knock. CLOTEN. Thou art a robber, A law-breaker, a villain. Yield | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016409 | thee, thief. GUIDERIUS. To who? To thee? What art thou? Have not I An arm as big as thine, a heart as big? Thy words, I grant, are bigger, for I wear not My dagger in my mouth. Say what thou art; Why I should yield to thee. CLOTEN. Thou villain base, Knowst me not by my clothes? GUIDERIUS. No, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016410 | nor thy tailor, rascal, Who is thy grandfather; he made those clothes, Which, as it seems, make thee. CLOTEN. Thou precious varlet, My tailor made them not. GUIDERIUS. Hence, then, and thank The man that gave them thee. Thou art some fool; I am loath to beat thee. CLOTEN. Thou injurious thief, Hear but my name, and tremble. GUIDERIUS. Whats | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016411 | thy name? CLOTEN. Cloten, thou villain. GUIDERIUS. Cloten, thou double villain, be thy name, I cannot tremble at it. Were it Toad, or Adder, Spider, Twould move me sooner. CLOTEN. To thy further fear, Nay, to thy mere confusion, thou shalt know I am son to th Queen. GUIDERIUS. Im sorry fort; not seeming So worthy as thy birth. CLOTEN. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016412 | Art not afeard? GUIDERIUS. Those that I reverence, those I fearthe wise; At fools I laugh, not fear them. CLOTEN. Die the death. When I have slain thee with my proper hand, Ill follow those that even now fled hence, And on the gates of Luds Town set your heads. Yield, rustic mountaineer. [_Exeunt, fighting._] Enter Belarius and Arviragus. BELARIUS. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016413 | No companys abroad? ARVIRAGUS. None in the world; you did mistake him, sure. BELARIUS. I cannot tell; long is it since I saw him, But time hath nothing blurrd those lines of favour Which then he wore; the snatches in his voice, And burst of speaking, were as his. I am absolute Twas very Cloten. ARVIRAGUS. In this place we | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016414 | left them. I wish my brother make good time with him, You say he is so fell. BELARIUS. Being scarce made up, I mean to man, he had not apprehension Or roaring terrors; for defect of judgement Is oft the cease of fear. Enter Guiderius with Clotens head. But, see, thy brother. GUIDERIUS. This Cloten was a fool, an empty | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016415 | purse; There was no money int. Not Hercules Could have knockd out his brains, for he had none; Yet I not doing this, the fool had borne My head as I do his. BELARIUS. What hast thou done? GUIDERIUS. I am perfect what: cut off one Clotens head, Son to the Queen, after his own report; Who calld me traitor, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016416 | mountaineer, and swore With his own single hand hed take us in, Displace our heads where, thank the gods, they grow, And set them on Luds Town. BELARIUS. We are all undone. GUIDERIUS. Why, worthy father, what have we to lose But that he swore to take, our lives? The law Protects not us; then why should we be tender | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016417 | To let an arrogant piece of flesh threat us, Play judge and executioner all himself, For we do fear the law? What company Discover you abroad? BELARIUS. No single soul Can we set eye on, but in all safe reason He must have some attendants. Though his humour Was nothing but mutation, ay, and that From one bad thing to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016418 | worse, not frenzy, not Absolute madness could so far have ravd, To bring him here alone. Although perhaps It may be heard at court that such as we Cave here, hunt here, are outlaws, and in time May make some stronger head, the which he hearing, As it is like him, might break out and swear Hed fetch us in; | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016419 | yet ist not probable To come alone, either he so undertaking Or they so suffering. Then on good ground we fear, If we do fear this body hath a tail More perilous than the head. ARVIRAGUS. Let ordinance Come as the gods foresay it. Howsoeer, My brother hath done well. BELARIUS. I had no mind To hunt this day; the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016420 | boy Fideles sickness Did make my way long forth. GUIDERIUS. With his own sword, Which he did wave against my throat, I have taen His head from him. Ill throwt into the creek Behind our rock, and let it to the sea And tell the fishes hes the Queens son, Cloten. Thats all I reck. [_Exit._] BELARIUS. I fear twill | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016421 | be revengd. Would, Polydore, thou hadst not donet! though valour Becomes thee well enough. ARVIRAGUS. Would I had donet, So the revenge alone pursud me! Polydore, I love thee brotherly, but envy much Thou hast robbd me of this deed. I would revenges, That possible strength might meet, would seek us through, And put us to our answer. BELARIUS. Well, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016422 | tis done. Well hunt no more today, nor seek for danger Where theres no profit. I prithee to our rock. You and Fidele play the cooks; Ill stay Till hasty Polydore return, and bring him To dinner presently. ARVIRAGUS. Poor sick Fidele! Ill willingly to him; to gain his colour Id let a parish of such Clotens blood, And praise | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016423 | myself for charity. [_Exit._] BELARIUS. O thou goddess, Thou divine Nature, thou thyself thou blazonst In these two princely boys! They are as gentle As zephyrs blowing below the violet, Not wagging his sweet head; and yet as rough, Their royal blood enchafd, as the rudst wind That by the top doth take the mountain pine And make him stoop | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016424 | to th vale. Tis wonder That an invisible instinct should frame them To royalty unlearnd, honour untaught, Civility not seen from other, valour That wildly grows in them, but yields a crop As if it had been sowd. Yet still its strange What Clotens being here to us portends, Or what his death will bring us. Enter Guiderius. GUIDERIUS. Wheres | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016425 | my brother? I have sent Clotens clotpoll down the stream, In embassy to his mother; his bodys hostage For his return. [_Solemn music._] BELARIUS. My ingenious instrument! Hark, Polydore, it sounds. But what occasion Hath Cadwal now to give it motion? Hark! GUIDERIUS. Is he at home? BELARIUS. He went hence even now. GUIDERIUS. What does he mean? Since death | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016426 | of my dearst mother It did not speak before. All solemn things Should answer solemn accidents. The matter? Triumphs for nothing and lamenting toys Is jollity for apes and grief for boys. Is Cadwal mad? Enter Arviragus with Imogen as dead, bearing her in his arms. BELARIUS. Look, here he comes, And brings the dire occasion in his arms Of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016427 | what we blame him for! ARVIRAGUS. The bird is dead That we have made so much on. I had rather Have skippd from sixteen years of age to sixty, To have turnd my leaping time into a crutch, Than have seen this. GUIDERIUS. O sweetest, fairest lily! My brother wears thee not the one half so well As when thou | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016428 | grewst thyself. BELARIUS. O melancholy! Who ever yet could sound thy bottom? find The ooze to show what coast thy sluggish crare Mightst easiliest harbour in? Thou blessed thing! Jove knows what man thou mightst have made; but I, Thou diedst, a most rare boy, of melancholy. How found you him? ARVIRAGUS. Stark, as you see; Thus smiling, as some | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016429 | fly had tickled slumber, Not as deaths dart, being laughd at; his right cheek Reposing on a cushion. GUIDERIUS. Where? ARVIRAGUS. O th floor; His arms thus leagud. I thought he slept, and put My clouted brogues from off my feet, whose rudeness Answerd my steps too loud. GUIDERIUS. Why, he but sleeps. If he be gone hell make his | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016430 | grave a bed; With female fairies will his tomb be haunted, And worms will not come to thee. ARVIRAGUS. With fairest flowers, Whilst summer lasts and I live here, Fidele, Ill sweeten thy sad grave. Thou shalt not lack The flower thats like thy face, pale primrose; nor The azurd hare-bell, like thy veins; no, nor The leaf of eglantine, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016431 | whom not to slander, Out-sweetned not thy breath. The ruddock would, With charitable bill (O bill, sore shaming Those rich-left heirs that let their fathers lie Without a monument!) bring thee all this; Yea, and furrd moss besides, when flowrs are none, To winter-ground thy corse GUIDERIUS. Prithee have done, And do not play in wench-like words with that Which | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016432 | is so serious. Let us bury him, And not protract with admiration what Is now due debt. To th grave. ARVIRAGUS. Say, where shalls lay him? GUIDERIUS. By good Euriphile, our mother. ARVIRAGUS. Bet so; And let us, Polydore, though now our voices Have got the mannish crack, sing him to th ground, As once to our mother; use like | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016433 | note and words, Save that Euriphile must be Fidele. GUIDERIUS. Cadwal, I cannot sing. Ill weep, and word it with thee; For notes of sorrow out of tune are worse Than priests and fanes that lie. ARVIRAGUS. Well speak it, then. BELARIUS. Great griefs, I see, medcine the less, for Cloten Is quite forgot. He was a queens son, boys; | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016434 | And though he came our enemy, remember He was paid for that. Though mean and mighty rotting Together have one dust, yet reverence, That angel of the world, doth make distinction Of place tween high and low. Our foe was princely; And though you took his life, as being our foe, Yet bury him as a prince. GUIDERIUS. Pray you | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016435 | fetch him hither. Thersites body is as good as Ajax, When neither are alive. ARVIRAGUS. If youll go fetch him, Well say our song the whilst. Brother, begin. [_Exit Belarius._] GUIDERIUS. Nay, Cadwal, we must lay his head to th East; My father hath a reason fort. ARVIRAGUS. Tis true. GUIDERIUS. Come on, then, and remove him. ARVIRAGUS. So. Begin. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016436 | SONG GUIDERIUS. _ Fear no more the heat o th sun, Nor the furious winters rages; Thou thy worldly task hast done, Home art gone, and taen thy wages. Golden lads and girls all must, As chimney-sweepers, come to dust._ ARVIRAGUS. _ Fear no more the frown o th great; Thou art past the tyrants stroke. Care no more to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016437 | clothe and eat; To thee the reed is as the oak. The sceptre, learning, physic, must All follow this and come to dust._ GUIDERIUS. _ Fear no more the lightning flash._ ARVIRAGUS. _ Nor th all-dreaded thunder-stone._ GUIDERIUS. _ Fear not slander, censure rash;_ ARVIRAGUS. _ Thou hast finishd joy and moan._ BOTH. _ All lovers young, all lovers must | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016438 | Consign to thee and come to dust._ GUIDERIUS. _ No exorciser harm thee!_ ARVIRAGUS. _ Nor no witchcraft charm thee!_ GUIDERIUS. _ Ghost unlaid forbear thee!_ ARVIRAGUS. _ Nothing ill come near thee!_ BOTH. _ Quiet consummation have, And renowned be thy grave!_ Enter Belarius with the body of Cloten. GUIDERIUS. We have done our obsequies. Come, lay him down. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016439 | BELARIUS. Heres a few flowers; but bout midnight, more. The herbs that have on them cold dew o th night Are strewings fitst for graves. Upon their faces. You were as flowrs, now witherd. Even so These herblets shall which we upon you strew. Come on, away. Apart upon our knees. The ground that gave them first has them again. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016440 | Their pleasures here are past, so is their pain. [_Exeunt all but Imogen._] IMOGEN. [_Awaking._] Yes, sir, to Milford Haven. Which is the way? I thank you. By yond bush? Pray, how far thither? Ods pittikins! can it be six mile yet? I have gone all night. Faith, Ill lie down and sleep. But, soft! no bedfellow. O gods and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016441 | goddesses! [_Seeing the body._] These flowrs are like the pleasures of the world; This bloody man, the care ont. I hope I dream; For so I thought I was a cave-keeper, And cook to honest creatures. But tis not so; Twas but a bolt of nothing, shot at nothing, Which the brain makes of fumes. Our very eyes Are sometimes, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016442 | like our judgements, blind. Good faith, I tremble still with fear; but if there be Yet left in heaven as small a drop of pity As a wrens eye, feard gods, a part of it! The dreams here still. Even when I wake it is Without me, as within me; not imagind, felt. A headless man? The garments of Posthumus? | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016443 | I know the shape ofs leg; this is his hand, His foot Mercurial, his Martial thigh, The brawns of Hercules; but his Jovial face Murder in heaven! How! Tis gone. Pisanio, All curses madded Hecuba gave the Greeks, And mine to boot, be darted on thee! Thou, Conspird with that irregulous devil, Cloten, Hath here cut off my lord. To | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016444 | write and read Be henceforth treacherous! Damnd Pisanio Hath with his forged letters (damnd Pisanio) From this most bravest vessel of the world Struck the main-top. O Posthumus! alas, Where is thy head? Wheres that? Ay me! wheres that? Pisanio might have killd thee at the heart, And left this head on. How should this be? Pisanio? Tis he and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016445 | Cloten; malice and lucre in them Have laid this woe here. O, tis pregnant, pregnant! The drug he gave me, which he said was precious And cordial to me, have I not found it Murdrous to th senses? That confirms it home. This is Pisanios deed, and Cloten. O! Give colour to my pale cheek with thy blood, That we | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016446 | the horrider may seem to those Which chance to find us. O, my lord, my lord! [_Falls fainting on the body._] Enter Lucius, Captains and a Soothsayer. CAPTAIN. To them the legions garrisond in Gallia, After your will, have crossd the sea, attending You here at Milford Haven; with your ships, They are in readiness. LUCIUS. But what from Rome? | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016447 | CAPTAIN. The Senate hath stirrd up the confiners And gentlemen of Italy, most willing spirits, That promise noble service; and they come Under the conduct of bold Iachimo, Siennas brother. LUCIUS. When expect you them? CAPTAIN. With the next benefit o th wind. LUCIUS. This forwardness Makes our hopes fair. Command our present numbers Be musterd; bid the captains look | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016448 | tot. Now, sir, What have you dreamd of late of this wars purpose? SOOTHSAYER. Last night the very gods showd me a vision (I fast and prayd for their intelligence) thus: I saw Joves bird, the Roman eagle, wingd From the spongy south to this part of the west, There vanishd in the sunbeams; which portends, Unless my sins abuse | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016449 | my divination, Success to th Roman host. LUCIUS. Dream often so, And never false. Soft, ho! what trunk is here Without his top? The ruin speaks that sometime It was a worthy building. How? a page? Or dead or sleeping on him? But dead, rather; For nature doth abhor to make his bed With the defunct, or sleep upon the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016450 | dead. Lets see the boys face. CAPTAIN. Hes alive, my lord. LUCIUS. Hell then instruct us of this body. Young one, Inform us of thy fortunes; for it seems They crave to be demanded. Who is this Thou makst thy bloody pillow? Or who was he That, otherwise than noble nature did, Hath alterd that good picture? Whats thy interest | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016451 | In this sad wreck? How camet? Who ist? What art thou? IMOGEN. I am nothing; or if not, Nothing to be were better. This was my master, A very valiant Briton and a good, That here by mountaineers lies slain. Alas! There is no more such masters. I may wander From east to occident; cry out for service; Try many, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016452 | all good; serve truly; never Find such another master. LUCIUS. Lack, good youth! Thou movst no less with thy complaining than Thy master in bleeding. Say his name, good friend. IMOGEN. Richard du Champ. [_Aside._] If I do lie, and do No harm by it, though the gods hear, I hope Theyll pardon it.Say you, sir? LUCIUS. Thy name? IMOGEN. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016453 | Fidele, sir. LUCIUS. Thou dost approve thyself the very same; Thy name well fits thy faith, thy faith thy name. Wilt take thy chance with me? I will not say Thou shalt be so well masterd; but, be sure, No less belovd. The Roman Emperors letters, Sent by a consul to me, should not sooner Than thine own worth prefer | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016454 | thee. Go with me. IMOGEN. Ill follow, sir. But first, ant please the gods, Ill hide my master from the flies, as deep As these poor pickaxes can dig; and when With wild wood-leaves and weeds I ha strewd his grave, And on it said a century of prayers, Such as I can, twice oer, Ill weep and sigh; And | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016455 | leaving so his service, follow you, So please you entertain me. LUCIUS. Ay, good youth; And rather father thee than master thee. My friends, The boy hath taught us manly duties; let us Find out the prettiest daisied plot we can, And make him with our pikes and partisans A grave. Come, arm him. Boy, he is preferrd By thee | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016456 | to us; and he shall be interrd As soldiers can. Be cheerful; wipe thine eyes. Some falls are means the happier to arise. [_Exeunt._] SCENE III. Britain. Cymbelines palace. Enter Cymbeline, Lords, Pisanio and Attendants. CYMBELINE. Again! and bring me word how tis with her. [_Exit an Attendant._] A fever with the absence of her son; A madness, of which | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016457 | her lifes in danger. Heavens, How deeply you at once do touch me! Imogen, The great part of my comfort, gone; my queen Upon a desperate bed, and in a time When fearful wars point at me; her son gone, So needful for this present. It strikes me past The hope of comfort. But for thee, fellow, Who needs must | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016458 | know of her departure and Dost seem so ignorant, well enforce it from thee By a sharp torture. PISANIO. Sir, my life is yours; I humbly set it at your will; but for my mistress, I nothing know where she remains, why gone, Nor when she purposes return. Beseech your Highness, Hold me your loyal servant. LORD. Good my liege, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016459 | The day that she was missing he was here. I dare be bound hes true and shall perform All parts of his subjection loyally. For Cloten, There wants no diligence in seeking him, And will no doubt be found. CYMBELINE. The time is troublesome. [_To Pisanio._] Well slip you for a season; but our jealousy Does yet depend. LORD. So | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016460 | please your Majesty, The Roman legions, all from Gallia drawn, Are landed on your coast, with a supply Of Roman gentlemen by the Senate sent. CYMBELINE. Now for the counsel of my son and queen! I am amazd with matter. LORD. Good my liege, Your preparation can affront no less Than what you hear of. Come more, for more youre | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016461 | ready. The want is but to put those powrs in motion That long to move. CYMBELINE. I thank you. Lets withdraw, And meet the time as it seeks us. We fear not What can from Italy annoy us; but We grieve at chances here. Away! [_Exeunt all but Pisanio._] PISANIO. I heard no letter from my master since I wrote | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016462 | him Imogen was slain. Tis strange. Nor hear I from my mistress, who did promise To yield me often tidings. Neither know I What is betid to Cloten, but remain Perplexd in all. The heavens still must work. Wherein I am false I am honest; not true, to be true. These present wars shall find I love my country, Even | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016463 | to the note o th King, or Ill fall in them. All other doubts, by time let them be cleard: Fortune brings in some boats that are not steerd. [_Exit._] SCENE IV. Wales. Before the cave of Belarius. Enter Belarius, Guiderius and Arviragus. GUIDERIUS. The noise is round about us. BELARIUS. Let us from it. ARVIRAGUS. What pleasure, sir, find | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016464 | we in life, to lock it From action and adventure? GUIDERIUS. Nay, what hope Have we in hiding us? This way the Romans Must or for Britons slay us, or receive us For barbarous and unnatural revolts During their use, and slay us after. BELARIUS. Sons, Well higher to the mountains; there secure us. To the Kings party theres no | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016465 | going. Newness Of Clotens death (we being not known, not musterd Among the bands) may drive us to a render Where we have livd, and so extort froms that Which we have done, whose answer would be death, Drawn on with torture. GUIDERIUS. This is, sir, a doubt In such a time nothing becoming you Nor satisfying us. ARVIRAGUS. It | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016466 | is not likely That when they hear the Roman horses neigh, Behold their quarterd fires, have both their eyes And ears so cloyd importantly as now, That they will waste their time upon our note, To know from whence we are. BELARIUS. O, I am known Of many in the army. Many years, Though Cloten then but young, you see, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016467 | not wore him From my remembrance. And, besides, the King Hath not deservd my service nor your loves, Who find in my exile the want of breeding, The certainty of this hard life; aye hopeless To have the courtesy your cradle promisd, But to be still hot summers tanlings and The shrinking slaves of winter. GUIDERIUS. Than be so, Better | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016468 | to cease to be. Pray, sir, to th army. I and my brother are not known; yourself So out of thought, and thereto so oergrown, Cannot be questioned. ARVIRAGUS. By this sun that shines, Ill thither. What thing ist that I never Did see man die! scarce ever lookd on blood But that of coward hares, hot goats, and venison! | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016469 | Never bestrid a horse, save one that had A rider like myself, who neer wore rowel Nor iron on his heel! I am ashamd To look upon the holy sun, to have The benefit of his blest beams, remaining So long a poor unknown. GUIDERIUS. By heavens, Ill go! If you will bless me, sir, and give me leave, Ill | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016470 | take the better care; but if you will not, The hazard therefore due fall on me by The hands of Romans! ARVIRAGUS. So say I. Amen. BELARIUS. No reason I, since of your lives you set So slight a valuation, should reserve My crackd one to more care. Have with you, boys! If in your country wars you chance to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016471 | die, That is my bed too, lads, and there Ill lie. Lead, lead. [_Aside._] The time seems long; their blood thinks scorn Till it fly out and show them princes born. [_Exeunt._] ACT V SCENE I. Britain. The Roman camp. Enter Posthumus alone, with a bloody handkerchief. POSTHUMUS. Yea, bloody cloth, Ill keep thee; for I wishd Thou shouldst be | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016472 | colourd thus. You married ones, If each of you should take this course, how many Must murder wives much better than themselves For wrying but a little! O Pisanio! Every good servant does not all commands; No bond but to do just ones. Gods! if you Should have taen vengeance on my faults, I never Had livd to put on | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016473 | this; so had you saved The noble Imogen to repent, and struck Me, wretch more worth your vengeance. But alack, You snatch some hence for little faults; thats love, To have them fall no more. You some permit To second ills with ills, each elder worse, And make them dread it, to the doers thrift. But Imogen is your own. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016474 | Do your best wills, And make me blest to obey. I am brought hither Among th Italian gentry, and to fight Against my ladys kingdom. Tis enough That, Britain, I have killd thy mistress; peace! Ill give no wound to thee. Therefore, good heavens, Hear patiently my purpose. Ill disrobe me Of these Italian weeds, and suit myself As does | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016475 | a Britain peasant. So Ill fight Against the part I come with; so Ill die For thee, O Imogen, even for whom my life Is every breath a death. And thus unknown, Pitied nor hated, to the face of peril Myself Ill dedicate. Let me make men know More valour in me than my habits show. Gods, put the strength | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016476 | o th Leonati in me! To shame the guise o th world, I will begin The fashion less without and more within. [_Exit._] SCENE II. Britain. A field of battle between the British and Roman camps. Enter Lucius, Iachimo and the Roman army at one door, and the British army at another, Leonatus Posthumus following like a poor soldier. They | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016477 | march over and go out. Alarums. Then enter again, in skirmish, Iachimo and Posthumus. He vanquisheth and disarmeth Iachimo and then leaves him. IACHIMO. The heaviness and guilt within my bosom Takes off my manhood. I have belied a lady, The Princess of this country, and the air ont Revengingly enfeebles me; or could this carl, A very drudge of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016478 | natures, have subdud me In my profession? Knighthoods and honours borne As I wear mine are titles but of scorn. If that thy gentry, Britain, go before This lout as he exceeds our lords, the odds Is that we scarce are men, and you are gods. [_Exit._] The battle continues; the Britons fly; Cymbeline is taken. Then enter to his | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016479 | rescue Belarius, Guiderius and Arviragus. BELARIUS. Stand, stand! We have th advantage of the ground; The lane is guarded; nothing routs us but The villainy of our fears. GUIDERIUS and ARVIRAGUS. Stand, stand, and fight! Enter Posthumus and seconds the Britons; they rescue Cymbeline and exeunt. Then re-enter Lucius and Iachimo with Imogen. LUCIUS. Away, boy, from the troops, and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016480 | save thyself; For friends kill friends, and the disorders such As war were hoodwinkd. IACHIMO. Tis their fresh supplies. LUCIUS. It is a day turnd strangely. Or betimes Lets reinforce or fly. [_Exeunt._] SCENE III. Another part of the field. Enter Posthumus and a Briton Lord. LORD. Camst thou from where they made the stand? POSTHUMUS. I did: Though you, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016481 | it seems, come from the fliers. LORD. I did. POSTHUMUS. No blame be to you, sir, for all was lost, But that the heavens fought. The King himself Of his wings destitute, the army broken, And but the backs of Britons seen, all flying, Through a strait lane; the enemy, full-hearted, Lolling the tongue with slaughtring, having work More plentiful | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016482 | than tools to dot, struck down Some mortally, some slightly touchd, some falling Merely through fear, that the strait pass was dammd With dead men hurt behind, and cowards living To die with lengthned shame. LORD. Where was this lane? POSTHUMUS. Close by the battle, ditchd, and walld with turf, Which gave advantage to an ancient soldier, An honest one, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016483 | I warrant, who deservd So long a breeding as his white beard came to, In doing this fors country. Athwart the lane He, with two striplings (lads more like to run The country base than to commit such slaughter; With faces fit for masks, or rather fairer Than those for preservation casd or shame) Made good the passage, cried to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016484 | those that fled Our Britains harts die flying, not our men. To darkness fleet souls that fly backwards! Stand; Or we are Romans and will give you that, Like beasts, which you shun beastly, and may save But to look back in frown. Stand, stand! These three, Three thousand confident, in act as many For three performers are the file | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016485 | when all The rest do nothingwith this word Stand, stand! Accommodated by the place, more charming With their own nobleness, which could have turnd A distaff to a lance, gilded pale looks, Part shame, part spirit renewd; that some turnd coward But by example (O, a sin in war Damnd in the first beginners) gan to look The way that | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016486 | they did and to grin like lions Upon the pikes o th hunters. Then began A stop i th chaser, a retire; anon A rout, confusion thick. Forthwith they fly, Chickens, the way which they stoopd eagles; slaves, The strides they victors made; and now our cowards, Like fragments in hard voyages, became The life o th need. Having found | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016487 | the back-door open Of the unguarded hearts, heavens, how they wound! Some slain before, some dying, some their friends Oerborne i th former wave. Ten chasd by one Are now each one the slaughterman of twenty. Those that would die or ere resist are grown The mortal bugs o th field. LORD. This was strange chance: A narrow lane, an | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016488 | old man, and two boys. POSTHUMUS. Nay, do not wonder at it; you are made Rather to wonder at the things you hear Than to work any. Will you rhyme upont, And vent it for a mockry? Here is one: Two boys, an old man (twice a boy), a lane, Preservd the Britons, was the Romans bane. LORD. Nay, be | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016489 | not angry, sir. POSTHUMUS. Lack, to what end? Who dares not stand his foe Ill be his friend; For if hell do as he is made to do, I know hell quickly fly my friendship too. You have put me into rhyme. LORD. Farewell; youre angry. [_Exit._] POSTHUMUS. Still going? This is a lord! O noble misery, To be i | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016490 | th field and ask What news? of me! Today how many would have given their honours To have savd their carcasses! took heel to dot, And yet died too! I, in mine own woe charmd, Could not find death where I did hear him groan, Nor feel him where he struck. Being an ugly monster, Tis strange he hides him | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016491 | in fresh cups, soft beds, Sweet words; or hath moe ministers than we That draw his knives i th war. Well, I will find him; For being now a favourer to the Briton, No more a Briton, I have resumd again The part I came in. Fight I will no more, But yield me to the veriest hind that shall | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016492 | Once touch my shoulder. Great the slaughter is Here made by th Roman; great the answer be Britons must take. For me, my ransoms death; On either side I come to spend my breath, Which neither here Ill keep nor bear again, But end it by some means for Imogen. Enter two British Captains and soldiers. FIRST CAPTAIN. Great Jupiter | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016493 | be praisd! Lucius is taken. Tis thought the old man and his sons were angels. SECOND CAPTAIN. There was a fourth man, in a silly habit, That gave th affront with them. FIRST CAPTAIN. So tis reported; But none of em can be found. Stand! whos there? POSTHUMUS. A Roman, Who had not now been drooping here if seconds Had | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016494 | answerd him. SECOND CAPTAIN. Lay hands on him; a dog! A leg of Rome shall not return to tell What crows have peckd them here. He brags his service, As if he were of note. Bring him to th King. Enter Cymbeline, Belarius, Guiderius, Arviragus, Pisanio and Roman captives. The Captains present Posthumus to Cymbeline, who delivers him over to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016495 | a gaoler. [_Exeunt omnes._] SCENE IV. Britain. A prison. Enter Posthumus and two Gaolers. FIRST GAOLER. You shall not now be stoln, you have locks upon you; So graze as you find pasture. SECOND GAOLER. Ay, or a stomach. [_Exeunt Gaolers._] POSTHUMUS. Most welcome, bondage! for thou art a way, I think, to liberty. Yet am I better Than one | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016496 | thats sick o th gout, since he had rather Groan so in perpetuity than be curd By th sure physician death, who is the key T unbar these locks. My conscience, thou art fetterd More than my shanks and wrists; you good gods, give me The penitent instrument to pick that bolt, Then, free for ever! Ist enough I am | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016497 | sorry? So children temporal fathers do appease; Gods are more full of mercy. Must I repent, I cannot do it better than in gyves, Desird more than constraind. To satisfy, If of my freedom tis the main part, take No stricter render of me than my all. I know you are more clement than vile men, Who of their broken | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016498 | debtors take a third, A sixth, a tenth, letting them thrive again On their abatement; thats not my desire. For Imogens dear life take mine; and though Tis not so dear, yet tis a life; you coind it. Tween man and man they weigh not every stamp; Though light, take pieces for the figures sake; You rather mine, being yours. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000016499 | And so, great powrs, If you will take this audit, take this life, And cancel these cold bonds. O Imogen! Ill speak to thee in silence. [_Sleeps._] Solemn music. Enter, as in an apparition, Sicilius Leonatus, father to Posthumus, an old man attired like a warrior; leading in his hand an ancient matron, his wife and Mother to Posthumus, with | 60 | gutenberg |
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.