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Poll | Must be half-workers ? we are bastards all ;

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

lach. 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--l'll do fomething

(Exit. Phi. 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. S CE N E

Re-enter Posthumus.
S there no way for men to be, but women


And that most venerable man, which I
Did call my father, was I know not where,
When I was stampt. Some coiner with his tools
Made me a counterfeit; yet my mother seem'd
The Dian of that time; fo doth my wife
The non-pareil of this-Oh vengeance, vengeance !
Me of my lawful pleasure she reltrainod,
And pray'd me, oft, forbearance; did it with
A pudency so rosy, the sweet view on't sher
Might well have warm'd old Saturn— that I 'thought
As chaste, as unsunn'd snow. Oh, 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 churning on,
Cry'd oh! and mounied; found no opposition
From 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't lying, note it,
The woman's; flattering, hers ; deceiving, hers;
Lust, and rank thoughts, hers, hers; revenges, 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 even

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.



Cymbeline's Palace. Enter in State, Cymbeline, Queen, Cloten, and Lords

at one door; and at another, Caius Lucius and attendants.

OW say, what would Auguftus Cæfar with us?
Luc. When Julius Cæfar, (whose remembrance

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 Cæfar's praises, no whit less
Than in his feats deferving it) for him,
And his succession, granted Rome a Tribute,
Yearly three thousand pounds; which by thee lately
Is left untender'd.

Queen. And, to kill the marvail,
Shall be so ever.
Clot. There be many Cæfars,


Ere such another Julius : Britaine is
A world by't self; 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 ancestors : together with
The nat'ral Brav'ry of our Ille; which stands,
As Neptune's Park, ribbed and paled in
With rocks unikaleable, and roaring waters;
With Sands, that will not bear your enemies' boats,
But fuck them up to th' top-maft. A kind of Conquest
Cæfar 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 feas,
Like egg-shells mov'd upon their surges, crack'd
As easily 'gainst our rocks. For joy whereof,
The fam'd Calibelan, who was once at point
(Oh, giglet fortune!) to master Cæfar's sword,
Mad Lud's town with rejoicing fires bright,
And Britons strut with courage.

Clot. 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 Cæfars ; other of them may have crook'd noses, but, to own such ftrait arms, none.

Cym. Son, let your mother end.

Clot. We have yet many anong us can gripe as hard as Caffibelan; I do not say, I am one; but I have a hand-Why, Tribute ? Why should 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; else, Sir, no more Tribute, pray you now.

Cym. You must know, 'Till the injurious Roman did extort

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This tribute from us, We were free. Cæsar's ambition,
Which swellid so much, that it did almost stretch
The Gides o'th' world, against 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 Cæfar,
Our ancestor was that Mulmutius, who
Ordain'd our Laws, whose use the sword of Cæfar
Hath too much mangled; whose repair and franchise
Shall, by the power we hold , be our good deed,
Though Rome be therefore angry: That Mulmutius,
Who was the first of Britaine, which did put
His brows within a golden Crown, and callid
Himself a King.

Luc. I'm sorry, Cymbeline,
That I am to pronounce Augustus Cæfar
(Cæfar, that hath more Kings his servants, than
Thyself domestic officers) thine cnemy.
Receive it from me then.- War and Confusion
In Cafar's name pronounce I 'gainst thee: look
For Fury, not to be refifted. Thus defy'd,
I thank thee for myself

Cym. Thou'rt welcome, Caius;
Thy Cæfar knighted me; my youth I spent
Much under him: of him I gather'd honour,
Which he to seek of me again perforce,
Bchooves 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 shew the Britons cold:
So Cafar shall not find them.

Luc. Let proof speak.

Clot. His Majesty bids you welcome. Make paftime with us a day or two, or longer: If you

seck us afterwards on other terms, you shall find us in our salt-water girdle, if you beat us out of it, it is yours: if you fall in the adventure, our crows shall fare the better for you; and there's an end.


Luc. So, Sir.
Cym. I know your master's pleasure, and he mine:
All the Remain is, Welcome.


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Enter Pifanio, reading a Letter.
OW? of adultery? wherefore write you not,

What monsters have accus'd her? Leonatus!
Oh master, what a strange infection
Is fall'n into thy ear? what false Italian,
(As pois'nous-tongu'd, as handed) hath prevailid
On thy 100 ready Hearing ! Disloyal? no,
She's punith'd for her truth; and undergoes
More goddess-like, than wife-like, such assaults
As would take in some virtue. Oh, my master!
Thy mind to her's is now as low, as were
Thy fortunes. How? that I should murder her ?
Upon the love and truth and vows, which I
Have made to thy Command !-I, her!-her blood !
If it be so to do good service, never
Let me be counted serviceable. -How look I,
That I should seem to lack humanity,
So much as this fact comes to ? Do't-

-the letter,

That I have sent her, by her own command
Shall give thee opportunity.--Damn'd paper !
Black as the ink that's on thee : senseless bauble!
Art thou a fædarie for this act, and look'st
So virgin-like without? Lo, here she comes.

Enter Imogen.
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, indecd, were that aftrologer,
That knew the stars, as I his characters :


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