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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.

Very true;
And so, I hope, he came by't:-Back my ring ;-
Render to me some corporal sign about her,
More evident than this; for this was stolen.

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

And by a stranger?—No, he hath enjoy'd her:
The cognizance of her incontinency
Is this,—she hath bought the name of whore thus

There, take thy hire; and all the fiends of hell
Divide themselves between you!

Sir, be patient:
This is not strong enough to be believ'd
Of one persuaded well of

Never talk on't;
She hath been colted by him.


seek For further satisfying, under her breast

The cognizance-] The badge; the token; the visible proof.

(Worthy the pressing,) lies a mole, right proud
Of that most delicate lodging: By my life,
I kiss'd it; and it gave me present hunger
To feed again, though full. You do remember
This stain upon her?

Ay, and it doth confirm
Another stain, as big as hell can hold,
Were there no more but it.

Will you hear more? Post. Spare your arithmetick: never count the

turns; Once, and a million! Iach.

I'll be sworn,

No swearing.
If you will swear you have not done't, you lie;
And I will kill thee, if thou dost deny
Thou hast made me cuckold.

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 Her father:-I'll do something.

Erit. Phi.

Quite besides
The government of patience!—You have won :
Let's follow him, and pervert the present wrath?
He hath against himself.

With all




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
Did call my father, was I know not where
When I was stamp'd; some coiner with his tools
Made me a counterfeit: Yet my mother seem'd
The Dian of that time: so doth my wife
The nonpareil of this.-O vengeance, vengeance!
Me of my lawful pleasure she restrain'd,
And pray'd me, oft, forbearance: did it with
A pudency so rosy, the sweet view on't
Might well have warm’d old Saturn; that I thought

As chaste as unsunn'd snow:-0, all the devils !-
This yellow Iachimo, in an hour,—was't not?-
Or less,-at first: Perchance he spoke not; but,
Like a full-acorn'd boar, a German one,
Cry'd, oh! and mounted: found no opposition
But what he look'd for should oppose, and she
Should from encounter guard. Could I find out
The woman's part in me! For there's no motion
That tends to vice in man, but I affirm
It is the woman's part: Be it lying, note it,
The woman's; flattering, hers; deceiving, hers;
Ambitions, covetings, change of prides, disdain,
Nice longings, slanders, mutability,
All faults that may be nam'd, nay, that hell knows,
Why, hers, in part, or all; but, rather, all:
For ev'n to vice
They are not constant, but are changing still
One vice, but of a minute old, for one
Not half so old as that. I'll write against them,
Detest them, curse them:-Yet 'tis greater skill
In a true hate, to pray they have their will:
The very devils cannot plague them better. [Exit.


SCENE I. Britain. A Room of State in

Cymbeline's Palace.

Enter CYMBELINE, Queen, Cloten, and Lords,

at one Door; and at another, Caius Lucius, and Attendants. Cym. Now say, what would Augustus Cæsar with

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,8
(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.

And, to kill the marvel,
Shall be so ever.

There be many Cæsars,
Ere such another Julius. Britain is
A world by itself; and we will nothing pay,
For wearing our own noses.

That opportunity,
Which then they had to take from us, to resume
We have again.—Remember, sir, my liege,
The kings your ancestors; together with
The natural bravery of your isle; which stands
As Neptune's park, ribbed and paled in

thine uncle,) Cassibelan was great uncle to Cymbeline, who was son to Tenantius, the nephew of Cassibelan.

With rocks unscaleable, and roaring waters;
With sands, that will not bear your enemies' boats,
But suck them up to the top-mast. A kind of con-

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 (O, 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. .

Cío. We have yet many ainong 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's 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.

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