If you will fwear you have not done't, you lie.
And I will kill thee, if thou doft deny
Thou'ft made me cuckold.
Iach. I'll deny nothing.
Poft. O, that I had her here, to tear her limb-meal! I will go there, and do't i' th' Court, before Her father-I'll do fomething
The government of patience! you have won;
Let's follow him, and pervert the present wrath
He hath against himself.
SCENE VII.
Re-enter Pofthumus.
Pof. Is no for men te e balla vo all;
S there no way for men to be, but women
And that moft venerable man, which I
Did call my father, was I know not where,
When I was ftampt. Some coiner with his tools
Made me a counterfeit; yet my mother feem'd
The Dian of that time; fo doth my wife
The non-pareil of this-Oh vengeance, vengeance!
Me of my lawful pleafure fhe reftrain'd,
And pray'd me, oft, forbearance; did it with
A pudency fo rofy, the sweet view on't
Might well have warm'd old Saturn—that I 'thought
As chafte, as unfunn'd fnow. Oh, all the Devils!
This yellow Iachimo in an hour-was't not ?-
Or lefs at firft? perchance, he spoke not, but
Like a full-acorn'd Boar, a churning on,
Cry'd oh! and mounted; found no oppofition
From what he look'd for fhould oppofe, and fhe
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't lying, note it,
The woman's; flattering, hers; deceiving, hers;
Luft, and rank thoughts, hers, hers; revenges, hers;
Ambitions, covetings, change of prides, disdain,
Nice longings, flanders, mutability:
All faults that may be nam'd, nay, that hell knows,
Why, hers, in part, or all; but rather all.—for even
They are not conftant, but are changing ftill;
One vice, but of a minute old, for one
Not half fo old as that.. I'll write against them,
Deteft them, curfe them- -yet 'tis greater fkill,
In a true hate to pray, they have their Will;
The very Devils cannot plague them better.
SCENE I.
Cymbeline's Palace.
Enter in State, Cymbeline, Queen, Cloten, and Lords at one door; and at another, Caius Lucius and attendants.
OW fay, what would Auguftus Cæfar with us?
Luc. When Julius Cæfar, (whofe remembrance
yet
Lives in men's eyes, and will to ears and tongues
Be theme, and hearing ever) was in this Britaine,
And conquer'd it, Caffibelan, thine uncle,
(Famous in Cafar's praifes, no whit lefs
Than in his feats deferving it) for him,
And his fucceffion, granted Rome a Tribute,
Yearly three thousand pounds; which by thee lately
Is left untender'd.
Queen. And, to kill the marvail,
Shall be fo ever.
Clot. There be many Cæfars,
Ere fuch another Julius: Britaine is
A world by't felf; and we will nothing pay
For wearing our own noses.
Queen. That opportunity,
Which then they had to take from's, to resume
We have again. Remember, Sir, my liege,
The Kings your anceftors: together with
The nat'ral Brav'ry of our Ifle; which stands,
As Neptune's Park, ribbed and paled in
With rocks unfkaleable, and roaring waters;
With Sands, that will not bear your enemies' boats,
But fuck them up to th' top-maft. A kind of Conqueft
Cæfar made here, but made not here his brag
Of, came, and faw, and overcame. With fhame,
(The firft, that ever touch'd him) he was carried
From off our coaft, twice beaten; and his fhipping,
(Poor ignorant baubles) on our terrible feas,
Like egg-fhells mov'd upon their furges, crack'd
As eafily 'gainft our rocks. For joy whereof,
The fam'd Caffibelan, who was once at point
(Oh, giglet fortune!) to mafter Cæfar's fword,
Mad Lud's town with rejoicing fires bright,
And Britons ftrut with courage.
Clot. Come, there's no more Tribute to be paid. Our Kingdom is ftronger than it was at that time; and, as I faid, there is no more fuch Cæfars; other of them may have crook'd noses, but, to own fuch ftrait arms, none.
Cym. Son, let your mother end.
Clot. We have yet many among us can gripe as hard as Caffibelan; I do not fay, I am one; but I have a hand.—Why, Tribute? Why fhould we pay Tribute? if Cæfar can hide the Sun from us with a blanket, or put the Moon in his pocket, we will pay him Tribute for light; elfe, Sir, no more Tribute, pray you now.
Cym. You must know,
'Till the injurious Roman did extort
This tribute from us, We were free. Cafar's ambition,
Which fwell'd so much, that it did almost stretch
The fides o' th' world, againft all colour, here
Did put the yoke upon's; which to shake off,
Becomes a warlike people (which we reckon
Ourselves to be) to do. Say then to Cafar,
Our ancestor was that Mulmutius, who
Ordain'd our Laws, whofe ufe the fword of Cæfar
Hath too much mangled; whofe repair and franchise
Shall, by the power we hold, be our good deed,
Though Rome be therefore angry: That Mulmutius,
Who was the firft of Britaine, which did put
His brows within a golden Crown, and call'd
Himself a King.
Luc. I'm forry, Cymbeline,
That I am to pronounce Auguftus Cæfar
(Cæfar, that hath more Kings his fervants, than
Thyfelf domeftic officers) thine enemy.
Receive it from me then.-War and Confufion
In Cafar's name pronounce I 'gainft thee: look
For Fury, not to be refifted. Thus defy'd,
I thank thee for myself
Cym. Thou'rt welcome, Caius;
Thy Cafar knighted me; my youth I spent
Much under him: of him I gather'd honour,
Which he to feek of me again perforce,
Behooves me keep at utterance. I am perfect,
That the Pannonians and Dalmatians, for
Their Liberties, are now in arm: a Precedent
Which, not to read, would fhew the Britons cold:
So Cæfar fhall not find them.
Clot. His Majefty bids you welcome. Make paftime with us a day or two, or longer: If you feck us afterwards on other terms, you fhall find us in our falt-water girdle, if you beat us out of it, it is yours: if you fall in the adventure, our crows fhall fare the better for you; and there's an end.
Cym. I know your mafter's pleasure, and he mine: All the Remain is, Welcome.
P..HOW? of adultery? wherefore write you not,
Oh mafter, what a ftrange infection
Is fall'n into thy ear? what false Italian,
(As pois'nous-tongu'd, as handed) hath prevail'd
On thy too ready Hearing! Difloyal? no,
She's punifh'd for her truth; and undergoes
More goddefs-like, than wife-like, fuch affaults
As would take in fome virtue. Oh, my mafter!
Thy mind to her's is now as low, as were
Thy fortunes. How? that I fhould murder her?
Upon the love and truth and vows, which I
Have made to thy Command!-I, her!—her blood!
If it be fo to do good feivice, never
Let me be counted serviceable.-
That I fhould feem to lack humanity,
So much as this fact comes to? Do't-the letter,
That I have fent her, by her own command
Shall give thee opportunity.Damn'd paper!
Black as the ink that's on thee: fenfelefs bauble!
Art thou a fœdarie for this act, and look'st
So virgin-like without? Lo, here she comes.
I'm ignorant in what I am commanded.
Imo. How now, Pifanio?
Pif. Madam, here is a letter from my lord.
Imo. Who! thy lord? that is my lord Leonatus :
Oh, learn'd, indeed, were that aftrologer,
That knew the ftars, as I his characters:
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