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On Common Friendships. Oh, world, thy slippery turns! Friends now fast sworn,

Whose double bosoms seem to wear one heart, Whose hours, whose bed, whose meal, and exercise,

Are still together, who twin, 'twere, in love,
Unseparable, shall within this hour,
On a dissension of a doit, break out
To bitterest enmity. So fellest foes,
Whose passions and whose plots have broke
their sleep

To take the one the other, by some chance, Some trick not worth an egg, shall grow dear friends,

And interjoin their issues.

Martial Friendship.
Let me twine

Mine arms about that body, where against
My grained ash an hundred times hath broke,
And scarr'd the moon with splinters! here I
The anvil of my sword; and do contest [clip
As hotly and as nobly with thy love,
As ever in ambitious strength I did
Contend against thy valor. Know thou first,
I lov'd the maid I married, never man
Sigh'd truer breath; but that I see thee here,
Thou noble thing! more dances my rapt heart,
Than when I first my wedded mistress saw
Bestride my threshold. Why, thou Mars! I

tell thee

We have a power on foot; and I had purpose Once more to hew thy target from thy brawn, Or lose my arm for't: thou hast beat me out Twelve several times; and I have nightly since Dreamt of encounters 'twixt thyself and me; We have been down together in my sleep, Unbuckling helms, fisting each other's throat, And wak'd half-dead with nothing.

The Season of Solicitation.

He was not taken well'; he had not din'd: The veins unfill'd, our blood is cold, and then We pout upon the morning, are unapt To give or to forgive; but when we have stuff'd These pipes and these conveyances of our blood, With wine and feeding, we have suppler souls Than in our priest-like fasts: therefore I'll Till he be dieted to my request. [watch him Obstinate Resolution.

My wife comes foremost; then the honor'd

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Be such a gosling to obey instinct; but stand,
As if a man were author of himself,
And knew no other kin.

Relenting Tenderness.
Like a dull actor now,
I have forgot my part, and I am out,
Even to a full disgrace. Best of my flesh,
Forgive my tyranny; but do not say,
For that, forgive our Romans.-O, a kiss,
Long as my exile, sweet as my revenge!
Now, by the jealous queen of heaven, that kiss
I carried from thee, dear; and my true lip
Hath virgin'd it e'er since. You gods! I prate,
And the most noble mother of the world'
Leave unsaluted: sink, my knee, i' th' earth;
Of thy deep duty more impression show
Than that of common sons.

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prove

To shame invulnerable, and stick i' the wars
Like a great sea-mark, standing every flaw,
And saving those that eye thee!

Coriolanus's Mother's pathetic Speech to him.
-Think with thyself,

How more unfortunate than all living women Are we come hither: since that thy sight, which should

Make our eyes flow with joy, hearts dance
with comforts,
[sorrow:
Constrains them weep, and shake with fear and
Making the mother, wife, and child, to see
The son, the husband, and the father, tearing
His country's bowels out. And to poor we
Thine enmity's most capital: thou barr'st us
Our prayers to the gods, which is a comfort
That all but we enjoy.

-We must find
An evident calamity, though we had [thou
Our wish, which side should win for either
Must, as a foreign recreant, be led
With manacles along our streets; or else
Triumphantly tread on thy country's ruin;
And bear the palm, for having bravely shed
Thy wife and children's blood. For myself, son,
I purpose not to wait on fortune, till [thee,
These wars determine: if I cannot persuade
Rather to show a noble grace to both parts,
Than seek the end of one, thou shalt no sooner
March to assault thy country, than to tread
Trust to 't thou shalt not) on thy mother's
That brought thee to this world. [womb,
Peace after a Siege.

Ne'er through an arch so hurried the blown tide, [hark you; As the recomforted through the gates. Why The trumpets, sack buts, psalteries, and fifes, Tabors, and cymbals, and the shouting Romans, Make the sun dance.

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Imo. THOU shouldst have made him
As little as a crow, or less, ere left
To after-eye him.

Pis. Madam, so I did.

Imo. I would have broke my eye-strings ; crack'd 'em, but

To look upon him: till the diminution
Of space had pointed him as sharp as my needle:
Nay, follow'd him, till he had melted from
The smallness of a gnat to air: and then
Have turn'd mine eye and wept. But, good
When shall we hear from him? [Pisanio,

Pis. Be assur'd, madam,
With his next vantage.

Imo. I did not take my leave of him, but had Most pretty things to say: ere I could tell him, How I would think of him, at certain hours, Such thoughts, and such; or I would make him swear,

The shes of Italy should not betray
Mine interest, and his honor; or have charg'd
[night,
At the sixth hour of morn, at noon, at mid-

him,

To encounter me with orisons, for then
I am in heaven for him; or ere I could
Give him that parting kiss, which I had set
Betwixt two charming words, comes in my
father,

And, like the tyrannous breathing of the north,
Shakes all our buds from growing.

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To the oath of loyalty; this object, which
Takes prisoner the wild motion of mine eye,
Fixing it only here: should I (damn'd then)
Slaver with lips as common as the stairs
That mount the capitol, join gripes with hands
Made hard with hourly falshood (as
With labor), then lie peeping in an eye,
Base and unlustrous as the smoky light
That 's fed with stinking tallow it were fit,
That all the plagues of hell should at one time
Encounter such revolt.

Imogen's Bed-chamber; in one part of it a large Trunk.

Imogen is discovered reading. Imo. -Mine eyes are weak : Fold down the leaf where I have left: To bed: Take not away the taper, leave it burning; And if thou canst awake by four o' th' clock, I pr'ythee call me-Sleep hath seiz'd me wholly. [Exit Lady. To your protection I commend me, gods!

From fairies, and the tempters of the night, Guard me, beseech ye!

[Sleeps.

Iachimo rises from the Trunk. Iach. The crickets sing, and man's, o'erlabor'd sense

Repairs itself by rest: our Tarquin thus
Did softly press the rushes, ere he waken'd
The chastity he wounded.-Cytherea,
How bravely thou becom'st thy bed! fresh lily!
And whiter than the sheets! That I might
touch!

How dearly they do 't!-Tis her breathing that
But kiss; one kiss!-Rubies unparagon'd
Perfumes the chamber thus; the flame o' the
taper

Bows towards her; and would under-peep her To see th' inclosed lights, now canopied [lids Under these windows: white and azure, fac'd With blue of heaven's own tinct-but my de

sign?

To note the chamber:-I will write all downSuch, and such, pictures; there the window : such

Th' adornment of her bed ;—the arras, figures,
Why, such, and such and the contents o'
the story,
Ah, but some natural notes about her body,

Above ten thousand meaner moveables,
Would testify t' enrich mine inventory:
And be her sense but as a monument,
O sleep, thou ape of death, lie dull upon her!
Thus in a chapel lying! Come off, come off;
[Taking off her bracelet.

As slippery, as the Gordian knot was hard!
'Tis mine: and this will witness outwardly,
As strongly as the conscience does within,
To the madding of her lord. On her left breast
I bottom of a cowslip: Here's a voucher,
A mole cinque spotted, like the crimson drops
Stronger than ever law could make this secret
Will force him think I have pick'd the lock
and ta'en
The treasure of her honor. No more.-To
[what end?
Why should I write this down, that's rivetted,
Screw'd to my memory? She had been reading
late

The tale of Tereus; here the leaf's turn'd down,
Where Philomel gave up ;-I have enough:
To the trunk again, and shut the spring of it.
Swift, swift, you dragons of the night! that
dawning

May bear the raven's eye: I lodge in fear;
Though this a heavenly angel, hell is here.

[He goes into the Trunk; the Scene closes.

Gold.

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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 Din o' that time; so doth my wife
The nonpareil of this.-O, vengeance! ven-
geance!

Me of my lawful pleasure she restrain'd,
And pray'd me, oft, forbearance; did it with
A pudency so rosy, the sweet view on 't
Might well have warm'd old Saturn;-that I
thought her

As chaste as unsunn'd snow.

- - Could I find out [tion The woman's part in me!-for there's no moThat tends to vice in man, but I affirm It is the woman's part: be it lying, note it, The woman's, flattering, hers; deceiving, hers; Lust, and rank thoughts, hers, hers; revenges, hers; [dain, Ambitions, covetings, change of prides, disNice-longings, slanders, mutability:

All faults that name, 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.

A Wife's Impatience to meet her Husband.
O, for a horse with wings!-Hear'st thou,
Pisanio?

He is at Milford-Haven: read, and tell me
How far 'tis thither. If one of mean affairs
May plod it in a week, why may not I
Glide thither in a day? Then, true Pisanio,
(Who long'st, like me, to see thy lord, who
long'st-

O, let me 'bate-but not like me :-yet long'st,
But in a fainter kind :-O, not like me;
For mine's beyond beyond)-say, and speak
thick,

(Love's counsellor should fill the bores of hearing

To the smothering of the sense)-how far it is
To this same blessed Milford: And, by th' way
Tell me how Wales was made so happy, as
Tinherit such a haven: But first of all,
How may we steal from hence; and for the gap
That we shall make in time, from our hence-
going,
[hence?
And our return, t'excuse; but first, how get
Why should excuse be born, or e'er begot?
We'll talk of that hereafter: Pr'ythee, speak,
How many score of miles may we well ride
"Twixt hour and hour?

Pis. One score, 'twixt sun and sun, Madam, 's enough for you; and too much too. Imo. Why, one that rode to his execution,

man,

Could never go so slow: I have heard of riding wagers,

Where horses have been nimbler than the sand

That run i' the clock's behalf. But this is foolery.

Go bid my woman feign a sickness; say, [sently
She'll home t' her father: and provide me pre-
A riding suit; no costlier than would fit
A franklin's housewife.

Pis. Madam, you 're best consider.

Imo. 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.

A Forest, with a Cave, in Wales. Enter Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus. Bel. A goodly day not to keep house, with such [gate Whose roof's as low as ours. Stoop, boys; this Instructs you how t'adore the heavens! and bows you [narchs To morning's holy office. The gates of moAre arch'd so high that giants may jet through And keep their impious turbans on, without Good-morrow to the sun-Hail thou fair heaven!

We house i' the rock, yet use thee not so hardly As prouder livers do.

Guid. Hail, heaven! Arv. Hail, heaven!

[yon hill : Bel. Now for our mountain sport: up to Your legs are young! I'll tread these flats. Consider,

When you above perceive me like a crow, "That it is place which lessens, and sets off. And you may then revolve what tales I've told

you,

Of courts, of princes, of the tricks in war:
This service is not service, so being done,
But being so allow'd: To apprehend thus,
Draws us a profit from all things we see ;
And often, to our comfort, shall we find
The sharded beetle in a safer hold
Than is the full-wing'd eagle. O, this life
Is nobler, than attending for a check;
Richer, than doing nothing for a bauble!
Prouder, than rustling in unpaid-for silk:
Such gain the cap of him that makes them fine,
Yet keeps his book uncross'd; no life to ours.
Guid. Out of your proof you speak; we, poor
unfledg'd,

Have never wing'd from view o' the nest; nor

know not

What air's from home. Haply, this life is best
If quiet life be best; sweeter to you,
That have a sharper known; well correspond-
With your stiff age; but, unto us, it is [ing
A cell of ignorance; travelling a-bed;
A prison for a debtor that not dares
To stride a limit.

Arv. What should we speak of
When we are as old as you?' when we shall hear
The rain and wind beat dark December, how,
In this our pinching cave, shall we discourse
The freezing hours away? We have seen no-
thing:

We are beastly; subtle as the fox, for prey : Like warlike as the wolf, for what we eat : Our valor is, to chase what flies; our cage

We make a quire, as doth the prison'd bird,
And sing our bondage freely.
Bel. How you speak!

Did you but know the city's usuries, [court,
And felt them knowingly: the heart o' the
As hard to leave, as keep; whose top to climb
Is certain falling, or so slipp'ry, that
The fear's as bad as falling; the toil of the war,
A pain that only seems to seek out danger
I the name of fame, and honor: which dies
i' the search;

And hath as oft a sland'rous epitaph,
As record of fair act; nay, many times
Doth ill deserve, by doing well; what's worse,
Must curt'sy at the censure: O, boys, this story
The world may read in me: my body's mark'd
With Roman swords; and my report was once
First with the best of note: Cymbeline lov'd me,
And when a soldier was the theme, my name
Was not far off: then was I as a tree
Whose boughs did bend with fruit: but, in
one night,

And left me bare to weather.
Guid. Uncertain favor!

A storm, or robbery, call it what you will, Shook down my mellow hangings, nay, my [leaves, [you oft) Bel. My fault being nothing, (as I have told But that two villains, whose false oaths prevail'd

Before my perfect honor, swore to Cymbeline, I was confederate with the Romans: so Follow'd my banishment; and, this twenty [world:

years,

This rock, and these demesnes, have been my
Where I have liv'd at honest freedom; paid
More pious debts to heaven, than in all [tains;
The fore-end of my time.-But up to the moun-
This is not hunter's language: he that strikes
The venison first, shall be the lord o' th' feast;
To him the other two shall minister;
And we will fear no poison, which attends
In place of greater state.

The Force of Nature.

How hard it is, to hide the sparks of nature! These boys know little, they are sons to th' king; Nor Cymbeline dreams that they are alive. They think they're mine; and though train'd up thus meanly

I' the cave, wherein they bow, their thoughts do hit

The roofs of palaces; and nature prompts them,
In simple and low things, to prince it, much
Beyond the trick of others. This Polydore,
The heir of Cymbeline and Britain, whom
The king his father call'd Guiderius, Jove!
When on my three-foot stool I sit, and tell
The warlike feats I've done, his spirits fly out
Into my story: say-thus mine enemy
fell;
And thus I set my foot on his neck;-even then
The princely blood flows in his cheek, he
[posture
Strains his young nerves, and puts himself in
That acts my words. The younger brother,
Cadwal,

sweats,

(Once, Arviragus) in as like a figure [more Strikes life into my speech, and shows much His own conceiving.

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A Wife's Innocency.

False to his bed! What is it to be false? To lie in watch there, and to think on him? To weep 'twixt clock and clock?—If sleep charge nature, To break it with a fearful dream of him, And cry myself awake? That's faise to 's bed? Woman in Man's Dress.

You must forget to be a woman; change Command into obedience; fear and niceness

(The handmaids of all women, or more truly
Woman its pretty self), to a waggish courage,
As quarrellous as the weazel: nay, you must
Ready in gibes, quick-answer'd, saucy and
Forget that rarest treasure of your cheek,
Exposing it (but O, the harder heart!
Of common kissing Titan; and forget
Alack, no remedy!) to the greedy touch
Your laborsome and dainty trims, wherein
You made
Juno angry.
great

The Forest and Cave.

Enter Imogen in Boy's Clothes. Imo. I see, a man's life is a tedious one: I've tir'd myself; and for two nights together Have made the ground my bed. I should be sick, But that my resolution helps me.— e.-Milford, When from the mountain-top Pisanio show'd thee,

Thou wast within a ken. O, Jove! I think,
Foundations fly the wretched: such, I mean,
Where they should be reliev'd. Two beggars
told me,

I could not miss my way: will poor folks lie
That have afflictions on them; knowing tis
A punishment, or trial? Yes: no wonder,
When rich ones scarce tell true. To lapse in
fulness

Is sorer than to lie for need; and falsehood
Is worse in kings than beggars.-My dear lord!
Thou art one o' the false ones: now I think on
thee,

My hunger's gone; but even before I was, At point to sink for food.-But what is this? [Seeing the Cave.

Here is a path to it:-'tis some savage hold;
I were best not call; I dare not call: yet famine,
Ere clean it o'erthrow nature, makes it valiant.
Plenty and peace breed cowards: hardness ever
Of hardiness is mother.

Labour. -Weariness

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Thou divine nature, how thyself thou blazon'st
In these two princely boys! They are as gentle
As zephyrs, blowing below the violet,
Not wagging his sweet head; and yet as rough
Their royal blood enchaf'd, as the rud'st wind,
That by the top doth take the mountain pine,
And make him stoop to the vale. "Tis wonderful
That an invisible instinct should frame them
To royalty unlearn'd; honor untaught;
Civility not seen from other; valor,

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for Cloten

Is quite forgot. He was a queen's son, boys; And, though he came our enemy, remember He was paid for that: though mean and mighty rotting

Together have one dust; yet reverence (That angel of the world) doth make distinction Of place 'tween high and low. Our foe was princely;

And though you took his life, as being our foe, Yet bury him as a prince.

Guid. Pray you fetch him hither. Thersites' body is as good as Ajax, When neither are alive.

Funereal Dirge.

That wildly grows in them, but yields a crop, Guid. Fear no more the heat o' the sun,

As if it had been sow'd!

Enter Arviragus, with Imogen as dead, bearing

her in his Arms.

Bel. Look, here he comes,

And brings the dire occasion in his arms,

Of what we blame him for!

Aru. The bird is dead

That we have made so much on. I had rather Have skipp'd from sixteen years of age to sixty, To have turn'd my leaping time into a crutch, Than have seen this.

Arv.

Nor the furious winter's

rages;
Thou thy worldly task hast done,
Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages:
Golden lads and girls all must,

As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.
Fear no more the frown o' the great,
Thou art past the tyrant's stroke;
Care no more to clothe and eat;
To thee the reed is as the oak:
The sceptre, learning, physic, must
All follow this, and come to dust.
Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone;
Guid. Fear no more the lightning flash,
Guid. Fear not slander, censure rash;
Arv. Thou hast finish'd joy and moan.

Guid. O, sweetest, fairest lily!
My brother wears thee not the one half so well, Arv.
As when thou grew'st thyself.

Bel. O, melancholy!

Who ever yet could sound thy bottom? find The ooze, to show what coast thy sluggish crare Might eas'liest harbor in? Thou blessed thing! Jove knows what man thou mightst have made; but I,

Thou diedst, a most rare boy, of melancholy! How found you him?

Aru. Stark, as you see;

Thus smiling, as some fly had tickled slumber,
Not as death's dart, being laugh'd at: his right
Reposing on a cushion.
[cheek

Guid. Where?

Arv. O'the floor: [put His arms thus leagued: I thought he slept; and My clouted brogues from off my feet, whose Answer'd my steps too loud. [rudeness

Imogen awaking.

Yes, Sir, to Milford-Haven; which is the way?

I thank you by yond' bush? pray how far thither?

Ods pitikins!-can it be six miles yet?

I have gone all night-'faith, I'll lie down and sleep.

But soft! no bedfellow:-O gods and goddesses! [Seeing the body. These flow'rs are like the pleasures of the world; This bloody man, the care on't. I hope I dream; For, so, I thought I was a cave-keeper, And cook to honest creatures: but 'tis not so: 'Twas but a bolt of nothing, shot at nothing,

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