Who knows if one of her women, being corrupted, Hath stolen it from her. Post. Very true; And so, I hope, he came by't:-Back my ring;— Post. Hark you, he swears; by Jupiter he swears. 'Tis true;-nay, keep the ring-'tis true: I am sure, She would not lose it: her attendants are All sworn and honourable.-They induc'd to steal it! And by a stranger?-No, he hath enjoy'd her. Is this, she hath bought the name of whore thus dearly. There, take thy hire; and all the fiends of hell Phi. This is not strong enough to be believ'd Of one persuaded well of Post. She hath been colted by him. Iach. Sir, be patient: Never talk on't; If you seek Post. Ay, and it doth confirm 4 The badge; the token. Another stain, as big as hell can hold, No swearing. 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: Let's follow him, and pervert the present wrath He hath against himself. Iach. With all my heart. [Exeunt. SCENE V. The same. Another Room in the same. Enter POSTHUMUS. Post. Is there no way for men 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 Made me a counterfeit: Yet my mother seem'd The Dian of that time: so doth my wife The nonpareil of this.-O vengeance, vengeance! 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'd, nay, that hell knows, They are not constant, but are changing still Not half so old as that. I'll write against them, 5 Modesty. SCENE I. ACT III. 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, Is left untender'd. Queen. Shall be so ever. Clo. And, to kill the marvel, There be many Cæsars, Ere such another Julius. Britain is A world by itself: and we will nothing pay, Queen. With rocks unscaleable, and roaring waters; conquest A kind of 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 (O, giglot fortune!) to master Caesar'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 The sides o'the world,) against all colour, here |