Kills me to look on't:-Let there be no honour, Where there is beauty; truth, where semblance; love, Where there's another man: The vows of women Of no more bondage be, to where they are made, Than they are to their virtues; which is nothing:O, above measure false ! Phi. Have patience, sir, And take your ring again; 'tis not yet won: It may be probable, she lost it; or, Who knows if one of her women, being corrupted, Hath stolen it from her. Post. Very true; And so, I hope, he came by't:-Back my ring;- Iach. By Jupiter, I had it from her arm. Post. Hark you, he swears; by Jupiter he swears. 'Tis true;-nay, keep the ring-'tis true: I am sure, She would not lose it: her attendants are All sworn, and honourable:-They induc'd to steal it! And by a stranger?-No, he hath enjoy'd her: Is this, she hath bought the name of whore thus dearly. There, take thy hire; and all the fiends of hell Divide themselves between you! Phi. This is not strong enough to be believ'd Of one persuaded well of Post. She hath been colted by him. Iach. Sir, be patient: Never talk on't; If you seek For further satisfying, under her breast • The cognizance-] The badge; the token; the visible proof. (Worthy the pressing,) lies a mole, right proud Post. Were there no more but it. If you will swear you have not done't, you lie; Thou hast made me cuckold. lach. I will deny nothing. Post. O, that I had her here, to tear her limb meal! I will go there, and do't; i'the court; before Phi. [Exit. Quite besides The government of patience!-You have won : Let's follow him, and pervert the present wrath' He hath against himself. Iach. With all my heart. [Exeunt. SCENE V. The same. Another Room in the same. Enter POSTHUMUS. Post. Is there no way for men to be, but women Must be half-workers? We are bastards all; pervert the present wrath—] for avert. And that most venerable man, which I Might well have warm'd old Saturn; that I thought her As chaste as unsunn'd snow:-O, all the devils!- All faults that may be nam'd, nay, that hell knows, They are not constant, but are changing still Not half so old as that. I'll write against them, [Exit. ACT III. SCENE I. Britain. A Room of State in Enter CYMBELINE, Queen, CLOTEN, and Lords, at one Door; and at another, CAIUS LUCIUS, and Attendants. Cym. Now say, what would Augustus Cæsar with us? 8 Luc. When Julius Cæsar (whose remembrance yet Lives in men's eyes; and will to ears, and tongues, Be theme, and hearing ever,) was in this Britain, And conquer'd it, Cassibelan, thine uncle, (Famous in Cæsar's praises, no whit less Than in his feats deserving it,) for him, And his succession, granted Rome a tribute, Yearly three thousand pounds; which by thee lately Is left untender'd. Queen. Shall be so ever. Clo. And, to kill the marvel, There be many Cæsars, Ere such another Julius. Britain is A world by itself; and we will nothing pay, Queen. thine uncle,] Cassibelan was great uncle to Cymbeline, who was son to Tenantius, the nephew of Cassibelan. With rocks unscaleable, and roaring waters; quest Cæsar made here; but made not here his brag Of, came, and saw, and overcame: with shame (The first that ever touch'd him,) he was carried From off our coast, twice beaten; and his shipping, (Poor ignorant baubles!) on our terrible seas, Like egg-shells mov'd upon their surges, crack'd As easily 'gainst our rocks: For joy whereof, The fam'd Cassibelan, who was once at point (0, giglot fortune!) to master Cæsar's sword, Made Lud's town with rejoicing fires bright, And Britons strut with courage. Clo. Come there's no more tribute to be paid: Our kingdom is stronger than it was at that time; and, as I said, there is no more such Cæsars: other of them may have crooked noses; but, to owe such straight arms, none. Cym. Son, let your mother end. Clo. We have yet many among us can gripe as hard as Cassibelan: I do not say, I am one; but I have a hand. Why 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. Cym. You must know, Till the injurious Romans did extort This tribute from us, we were free: Cæsar's am bition, (Which swell'd so much, that it did almost stretch The sides o'the world,) against all colour,' here 9 (0, giglot fortune !] O false and inconstant fortune! A giglot was a strumpet. against all colour,] Without any pretence of right. |