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For further satisfying, under her breast
(Worthy the pressing,) lies a mole, right proud Of that most delicate lodging: By my life,
I kiss'd it.
You do remember
This stain upon her?
Post. Ay, and it doth confirm Another stain, as big as hell can hold, Were there no more but it?
Iach. Will you hear more?
Post. Spare your arithmetic; ne'er count the turns; Once, and a million!
Iach. I'll be sworn
Post. No swearing:
If thou wilt swear thou hast not done't, thou liest; And I will kill thee, if thou dost deny
Thou hast made me cuckold.
Iach. I will deny nothing.
Post. O, that I had her here, to tear her limbmeal!
I will go there, and do't, i' the court, before
Phil. Quite besides
The government of patience!—You have won:
Iach. With all my heart.
Cymbeline, Queen, Cloten, the Two Lords, Caius Lucius, and Attendants discovered.
Cym. Now say, what would Augustus Cæsar with
Luc. When Julius Cæsar
Was in this Britain,
And conquer'd it, Cassibelan, thine uncle,
Queen. And, to kill the marvel,
Shall be so ever.
Cloten. There be many Cæsars,
Ere such another Julius.
A world by itself; and we will nothing pay
For wearing our own noses.
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.
Cym. You must know,
Till the injurious Roman did extort
This tribute from us, we were free:
Say then to Cæsar,
Our ancestor was that Mulmutius, which
Ordain'd our laws; whose use the sword of Cæsar Hath too much mangled; whose repair, and fran chise,
Shall, by the power we hold, be our good deed,
Luc. I am sorry, Cymbeline,
That I am to pronounce Augustus Cæsar
Receive it from me then :—War, and confusion,
Cym. Thou art welcome, Caius.
Cloten. His majesty bids you welcome. pastime with us a day, or two, or longer: If you seek us afterwards in 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.
[Drums and Trumpets—Exeunt:
An Apartment in Cymbeline's Palace.
Enter Pisanio; a Letter in his Hand. Pisanio. How! of adultery? Wherefore write
What monster's her accuser-Leonatus!
Oh, master! what a strange infection
Thy fortunes. How! that I should murder her?
Let me be counted serviceable. How look I,
So much as this fact comes to? [Reading the Letter.
Do't: The letter,
That I have sent her, by her own command
Shall give thee opportunity :—Oh, damn'd paper!
Lo, here she comes.
I am ignorant in what I am commanded.
Imog. How now, Pisanio?
Pisanio. Madam, here is a letter from lord. Imog. Who? thy lord? that is my lord? Leona[IMOGEN takes the Letter. Oh, learn'd indeed were that astronomer, That knew the stars, as I his characters; He'd lay the future open.—You good gods,
Let what is here contain'd relish of love,
Of my lord's health, of his content!
Good wax, thy leave:—Bless'd be,
You bees, that make these locks of counsel !
[Reading.] Justice, and your father's wrath, should he take me in his dominions, could not be so cruel to me,
as you, Oh, the dearest of creatures, would not even renew me with your eyes. Take notice, that I am in Cambria, at Milford Haven: What your own love will, out of this, advise you, follow. So, he wishes you all happiness, that remains loyal to his vow, and your, increasing in love,
O, for a horse with wings!—Hear'st thou, Pisanio?
Glide thither in a day?--Then, true Pisanio,
To this same blessed Milford?
How may we steal from hence?
I pr'ythee, speak,
How many score of miles may we well ride 'Twixt hour and hour?
Pisanio. One score, 'twixt sun and sun, Madam, is enough for you; and too much too. Imog. Why, one that rode to his execution, man, Could never go so slow:—
But this is foolery :
Go, bid my woman feign a sickness; say
She'll home to her father: and provide me, presently,
Pisanio Madam, you're best consider,—
Imog. I see before me, man, nor here, nor here, Nor what ensues; but have a fog in them, That I cannot look through. Away, I pr'ythee; Do as I bid thee: there's no more to say; Accessible is none but Milford way.