« PreviousContinue »
ACT THE THIRD.
An Apartment in Philario's House.
Enter Posthumus and Philario.
Phil. What means do you make to him?
Post. Not any; but abide the change of time; Quake in the present winter's state, and wish That warmer days would come: In these fear'd
hopes, I barely gratify your love; they failing, I must die much your debtor.
Phil. Your very goodness, and your company,
Post. I do believe
In our not fearing Britain, than have tidings
Phil. See! Iachimo !
Enter Iachimo. Post. The swiftest harts have posted you by land; And winds of all the corners kiss'd your sails, To make your vessel nimble.
Phil. Welcome, sir !
Post. I hope, the briefness of your answer made The speediness of your return.
Iach. Your lady
Post. And, therewithal, the best; or let her beauty
you. Post. Their tenour good, I trust. Iach. 'Tis
[posthumus reads the Letters. Post. Was Caius Lucius in the Britain Court, When you were there?
Iach. He was, my lord :—but I
Phil. All is well yet.-
Iach. If I have lost it,
A second night of such sweet shortness, which
Post. The stone's too hard to come by.
Iach. Not a whit, Your lady being so easy.
Post. Make not, sir,
Iach. Good sir, we must,
wills. Post. If you can make it apparent That you
have tasted her in bed, my hand, And ring, is yours: if not, the foul opinion You had of her pure honour, gains, or loses, Your sword, or mine; or masterless, leaves both To who shall find them.
Iach. Sir, my circumstances Being so near the truth, as I will make them, Must first induce you to believe: whose strength I will confirm with oath ; which, I doubt nor, You'll give me leave to spare, when you shall find You need it not.
Iach. First, her bed-chamber, (Where, I confess, I slept not; but, profess, Had that, was well worth watching,) It was hang'd With tapestry of silk and silver; the story, Proud Cleopatra, when she met her Roman; A piece of work So bravely done, so rich, that it did strive In workmanship and value.
Post. This is true;
Iach. More particulars
Post. So they must,
Iach. The chimney
Post. This is a thing,
Iach. The roof o'the chamber
Post. This is her honour !
Iach. Then, if you can,
[Pulling out the Bracelet. And now 'tis up again.
Iach. Sir, I thank her, that :
me, And said, she priz'd it once.
Post. May be, she pluck'd it off, To send it me.
Iach. She writes so to you—doth she? Post. Oh, bo, no, no! 'tis true! Here, take this too;
[Gives the Ring. It is a basilisk unto mine eye, 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 !
Phil. Have patience, sir,
Post. Very true ;
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 could not lose it: her attendants are All sworn, and honourable :—They induced to steal it! 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
Phil. Sir, be patient ;
Post. Never talk on't: