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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,
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
Sir, be patient:
Never talk on't;
seek For further satisfying, under her breast
• The cognizance-] The badge; the token; the visible proof.
(Worthy the pressing,) lies a mole, right proud
Ay, and it doth confirm
Will you hear more? Post. Spare your arithmetick: never count the
turns; Once, and a million! Iach.
I'll be sworn,
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.
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
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
And, to kill the marvel,
There be many Cæsars,
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 (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.