Our courtiers say, all's savage, but at court: Experience, O, thou disprov'st report ! The imperious seas breed monsters; for the dish, I am sick still; heart-sick :-Pisanio, 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. * * With fairest flowers, Whilst summer lasts, and I live here, Fidele, I'll sweeten thy sad grave: Thou shalt not lack Yea, and furr'd moss besides, when flowers are none, ACT V. SCENE I. Posthumus. Yea, bloody cloth, I'll keep thee; for I wish'd Thou should'st be colour'd thus. You married ones If each of you would take this course, how many Every good servant does not all commands: Should have ta'en vengeance on my faults, I never But, alack, The noble Imogen to repent; and struck But Imogen is your own: Do your best wills, Against my lady's kingdom: 'Tis enough That, Britain, I have kill'd thy mistress; peace! I'll give no wound to thee. Therefore, good heavens, Hear patiently my purpose: I'll disrobe me Of these Italian weeds, and suit myself As does a Briton peasant: so I'll fight Against the part I come with; so I'll die For thee, O Imogen, even for whom my Is, every breath, a death; and thus, unknown, Pitied nor hated, to the face of peril life Myself I'll dedicate. Let me make men know SCENE II. Iachimo. The heaviness and guilt within my bosom Takes off my manhood: I have belied a lady, H The princess of this country, and the air on 't If that thy gentry, Britain, go before Iachimo. SCENE V. That paragon, thy daughter, For whom my heart drops blood, and my false spirits Cymbeline. My daughter! what of her? Renew thy strength: I had rather thou should'st live while nature will, Iachimo. Upon a time (unhappy was the clock For beauty that made barren the swell'd boast Loves woman for; besides, that hook of wiving, Posthumus. Ay, so thou dost, Italian fiend! Ah me, most credulous fool, That's due to all the villains past, in being, To come!-O, give me cord, or knife, or poison, That all the abhorred things o' the earth amend, Be villainy less than 'twas !—O Imogen ! Imogen. Peace, my lord; hear, hear Posthumus. Shall's have a play of this? Thou scornful page, There lie thy part. Pisanio. [Striking her; she falls. O, gentlemen, help, help, Mine, and your mistress :-O, my Lord Posthumus! Imogen. Why did you throw your wedded lady from you? Think, that you are upon a rock; and now Throw me again. Posthumus. Till the tree die ! [Embracing him. Hang there like fruit, my soul, * Cymbeline. The forlorn soldier, that so nobly fought, He would have well becom'd this place, and grac'd The thankings of a king. The soldier that did company these three In poor beseeming; 'twas a fitment for The purpose I then follow'd ;-That I was he, Iachimo. I am down again : [Kneeling. But now my heavy conscience sinks my knee, As then your force did. Take that life, 'beseech you, Posthumus. Kneel not to me; The power that I have on you, is to spare you; |