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, matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave This viperous slander enters.-What cheer, madam? Imo. 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? That's false to his bed? Is it?
Imo. I false? Thy conscience witness: Iachimo, Thou didst accuse him of incontinency;
Thou then look'dst like a villain; now, methinks, Thy favour's good enough.-Some jay of Italy, Whose mother was her painting, hath betray'd him: Poor I am stale, a garment out of fashion; And, for I am richer than to hang by the walls, I must be ripp'd:-to pieces with me!-O, Men's vows are women's traitors! All good seeming, By thy revolt, O husband, shall be thought
Pat on for villany; not born, where't grows; But worn, a bait for ladies.
Imo. True honest men being heard, like false Æneas, Were, in his time, thought false: and Sinon's 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 perjur'd, From thy great fail.-Come, fellow, be thou honest: Do thou thy master's bidding: When thou see'st him, A little witness my 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 may'st be valiant in a better cause; But now thou seem'st a coward.
Thou shalt not damn my hand.
And if I do not by thy hand, thou art
No servant of thy master's : Against self-slaughter There is a prohibition so divine,
That cravens my weak hand. Come, here's my heart: Something's afor't:-Soft, soft; we'll no defence; Obedient as the scabbard.-What is here?
The scriptures of the loyal Leonatus, All turn'd 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 betray'd Do feel the treason sharply, yet the traitor Stands in worse case of woe.
And thou, Posthumus, thou that didst set up My disobedience 'gainst 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 disedg'd by her That now thou tir'st on, how thy memory
Will then be pang'd by me.-Pr'ythee, despatch: The lamb entreats the butcher. Where's thy knife? Thon art too slow to do thy master's bidding, When I desire it too.
Since I receiv'd command to do this business, I have not slept one wink.
Pis. I'll wake mine eye-balls blind first.
Didst undertake it? Why hast thou abus'd So many miles, with a pretence? this place? Mine action, and thine own? our horses' labour? The time inviting thee? the perturb'd court,
For my being absent; whereunto I never Purpose return? Why hast thou gone so far, To be unbent, when thou hast ta'en thy stand, The elected deer before thee?
Pis. But to win time To lose so bad employment: in the which I have consider'd of a course; Good lady, Hear me with patience.
Imo. 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.
Talk thy tongue weary; speak:
I thought you would not back again. Imo.
Bringing me here to kill me.
But if I were as wise as honest,
My purpose would prove well. It cannot be, But that my master is abus'd:
Some villain, ay, and singular in his art, Hath done you both this cursed injury.
Imo. Some Roman courtezan.
Pis. I'll give but notice you are dead, and send him Some bloody sign of it; for 'tis commanded I should do so: You shall be miss'd at court, And that will well confirm it.
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? Pis. If you'll back to the court,- Imo. No court, no father; nor no more ado With that harsh, noble, simple, nothing: That Cloten, whose lovesuit hath been to me As fearful as a siege.
Then not in Britain must you bide.
Hath Britain all the sun that shines? Day, night,
Are they not but in Britain? I'the world's volume Our Britain seems as of it, but not in it; In a great pool, a swan's nest: Pr'ythee, think There's livers out of Britain.
Pis.. I am most glad You think of other place. The embassador, Lucius the Roman, comes to Milford Haven To-morrow: Now, if you would wear a mind Dark as your fortune is; and but disguise That, which, to appear itself, must not yet be, But by self-danger; you should tread a course Pretty, and full of view: yea, haply, 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 moves.
O, for such means! Though peril to my modesty, not death on't, I would adventure.
Pis. Well then, here's 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 its pretty self), to a waggish courage; Ready in gibes, quick-answer'd, saucy, and As quarrellous 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.
Nay, be brief: I see into thy end, and am almost
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 Lucios
Present yourself, desire his service, tell him Wherein you are happy (which you'll make him know, If that his head have ear in music), doubtless,
With joy he will embrace you; for he's honourable, And, doubling that, most holy. Your means abroad You have me, rich; and I will never fail
Beginning, nor supplyment.
Imo. Thou art all the comfort The gods will diet me with. Pr'ythee, away: There's more to be consider'd; but we'll even All that good time will give us: This attempt I'm soldier to, and will abide it with
A prince's courage. Away, I pr'ythee.
Pis. Well, madam, we must take a short farewell; Lest, being miss'd, I be suspected of
Your carriage from the court. My noble mistress, Here is a box; I had it from the queen; What's in't is precious; if you are sick at sea, Or stomach-qualm'd 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!! Imo.
SCENE V. A Room in CYMBELINE'S Palace.
Enter CYMBELINE, QUEEN, CLOTEN, LUCIUS, and
Cym. Thus far; and so farewell.
Thanks, royal sir./ My emperor hath wrote; I must from hence; And am right sorry, that I must report ye My master's enemy.
Cym. Our subjects, sir, Will not endure his yoke; and for ourself To show less sovereignty than they, must needs Appear unkinglike.
A conduct over land, to Milford-Haven.- Madam, all joy befall your grace, and you!
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