For further satisfying, under her breast I kiss'd it; and it gave me present hunger Post. Ay, and it doth confirm. If you will swear you have not done't, you lie; Thou hast made me cuckold. Iach. 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 Phi. [Exit. Quite besides The government of patience!-You have won: Post. Is there no way for nien to be, but women Must be half workers? We are bastards all; And that most venerable man, which I Did call my father, was I know not where When I was stamp'd; some coiner with his tools The nonpareil of this.-O vengeance, vengeance! Might well have warm'd old Saturn; that I thought her As chaste as unsunn'd snow:-O, all the devils!- It is the woman's part: Be it lying, note it, All faults that may be nam'ɖ, nay that hell knows, They are not constant, but are changing still [Exit * Modesty. ACT III. SCENE I. Britain. A room of state in Cymbeline's palace. Enter Cymbeline, Queen, Cloten, and Lords, at one door; and at another, Caius Lucius, and Attendants. Cym. Now say, what would Augustus Cæsar with us? Luc. When Julius Cæsar (whose remembrance yet Lives in men's eyes; and will to ears, and tongues, Be theme, and hearing ever), was in this Britain, And conquer'd it, Cassibelan, thine uncle, (Famous in Cæsar's praises, no whit less Than in his feats deserving it), for him, And his succession, granted Rome a tribute, Yearly three thousand pounds; which by thee lately Ere such another Julius. Britain is A world by itself; and we will nothing pay, Queen. That opportunity, Which then they had to take from us, to resume With sands, that will not bear your enemies' boats, 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 (0, 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. Clo. We have yet many among 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 ambition. (Which swell'd so much, that it did almost stretch Ordain'd our laws; (whose use the sword of Cæsar chise, Shall, by the power we hold, be our good deed, • Strumpet. His brows within a golden crown, and call'd Luc. I am sorry, Cymbeline, Receive it from me, then :-War, and confusion, Cym. Let proof speak. Luc. Clo. His majesty bids you welcome. Make pastime with us a day, or two, 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. At the extremity of defiance. + Well, informed.. [Exeunt. |