Edge, sting, or operation, I am safe: ... Noblest of men, woo't die ? Hast thou no care of me? shall I abide In this dull world, which in thy absence is Beneath the visiting moon. Charmian. Iris. She is dead too, our sovereign. (She faints.) O! quietness, lady! Charmian. Peace, peace, Iras. Cleopatra. No more, but e'en a woman; and commanded By such poor passions as the maid that milks, And does the meanest chares.-It were for me To throw my sceptre at the injurious gods, To rush into the secret house of death, : We'll bury him and then what's brave, what's noble, And make death proud to take us. Come, away: He'll make demand of her; and spend that kiss, (To the asp, which she applies to her breast) With thy sharp teeth this knot intrinsicate Of life at once untie; poor venomous fool, Be angry and despatch Charmian. Now boast thee, death! in thy possession lies A lass unparalleled.-Act 5, Sc. 2. CYMBELINE. This play has many just sentiments, some natural dialogues, and some pleasing scenes, but they are obtained at the expense of much incongruity. To remark the folly of the fiction, the absurdity of the conduct, the confusion of the names and manners of different times, and the impossibility of the events in any system of life, were to waste criticism upon unresisting imbecility, upon faults too evident for detection, and too gross for aggravation.-Johnson. Iachimo. Strange fowl light upon neighbouring ponds.Act 1, Sc. 5. Imogen. Most miserable Is the desire that's glorious: Blessed be those, Iachimo. What! are men mad? Hath nature given them eyes To see this vaulted arch, and the rich crop Had I this cheek To bathe my lips upon; this hand, whose touch, 2nd Lord. Alas! poor princess, Thou divine Imogen, what thou endur'st. The heavens hold firm The walls of thy dear honour; keep unshak'd That temple, thy fair mind.-Act 2, Sc. 1. Iachimo. The crickets sing, and man's o'erlabour'd sense Repairs itself by rest: . . . 'Tis her breathing that Perfumes the chamber thus: The flame o' the taper To see the enclosed lights, now canopied Under these windows: white and azure, lac'd With blue of heaven's own tinct.-Sc. 2. Cloten. Hark! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings, And Phoebus 'gins arise, His steeds to water at those springs On chalic'd flowers that lies; And winking Mary-buds begin With everything that pretty bin: Arise, arise.-Sc. 3. Britain is A world by itself; and we will nothing pay, Queen.... Remember, sir, my liege, With rocks unscaleable, and roaring waters; Cloten. We have yet many among us can gripe as hard as Cassibelan: I do not say, I am one; but I have a handWhy tribute? why should we pay tribute? If Cæsar can hide the sun from us with a blanket, or put the moon in his pocket, we will pay him tribute for light; else, sir, no more tribute, pray you now.-Act 3, Sc. 1. Imogen. You good gods, Let what is here contain❜d relish of love, Of my lord's health, of his content,-yet not All but in that!-Good wax, thy leave:-bless'd be, Then, true Pisanio, say, and speak thick, how far it is To this same blessed Milford: And, by the way, To inherit such a haven.-Sc. 2. Belarius. ... To apprehend thus, Draws us a profit from all things we see: And often to our comfort shall we find Than is the full-wing'd eagle. O! this life How hard it is to hide the sparks of nature! They think, they are mine: and, though train'd up thus meanly I' the cave, wherein they bow, their thoughts do hit Pisanio. Slander; Whose edge is sharper than the sword; whose tongue All corners of the world: kings, queens, and states, Imogen. Our Britain seems as of it, but not in it; Imogen. O! thou goddess, Is breach of all.-Act 4, Sc. 2. I' the world's volume Thou divine nature, how thyself thou blazon'st Not wagging his sweet head: and yet as rough, With finest flowers, Arviragus. The azur'd harebell, like thy veins; no, nor Out-sweeten'd not thy breath: the ruddock would, .. bring thee all this; Yea, and furr'd moss besides, when flowers are none, And let us, Polydore, though now our voices Have got the mannish crack, sing him to the ground, Guiderius. Cadwal, I cannot sing: I'll weep, and word it with thee: Than priests and fanes that lie. Arviragus. Belarius. Great griefs, I see, Is quite forgot. We'll speak it then. medicine the less: for Cloten If you'll go fetch him, We'll say our song the whilst.-Brother begin. (Erit BELARIUS.) Guiderius. Nay, Cadwal, we must lay his head to the east ; My father hath a reason for't. 'Tis true. Guiderius. Come on then, and move him. Arviragus. Arviragus. So.-Begin. SONG. Guiderius. Fear no more the heat o' the sun, Nor the furious winter's rages; Thou thy worldly task hath done, Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages: (Re-enter BELARIUS, with the body of CLOTEN.) We have done our obsequies: Come, lay him down. Belarius. Here's a few flowers, but about midnight, more The herbs, that have on them cold due o' the night, Are strewings fitt'st for graves.-Id. TITUS ANDRONICUS. Tamora. Sweet mercy is nobility's true badge.-Act 1, Sc. 2. Titus. Lavinia is surpris'd. Saturninus. Surpris'd, by whom? Bassianus. By him that justly may Bear his betroth'd from all the world away.-Id. |