POST.

Jove!

Once more let me behold it: Is it that

Which I left with her?

IACH.

Sir, (I thank her,) that:
She stripp'd it from her arm; I see her yet;
Her pretty action did outsell her gift,
And yet enrich'd it too: She gave

And said she priz'd it once.

POST.

To send it me.

IACH.

it me,

May be she pluck'd it off,

She writes so to you? doth she?

POST. O, no, no, no; 't is true.

It is a basilisk unto mine eye,

Here, take this too;

[Gives the ring.

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!

PHI.

Have patience, sir, And take your ring again; 't is not yet won:

It may be probable she lost it; or,

-

Who knows if one of her women, being corrupted,
Hath stolen it from her?

And so I hope he came by 't:-Back my ring;—
Render to me some corporal sign about her,
More evident than this; for this was stolen.

IACH. By Jupiter, I had it from her arm.

POST. Hark you, he swears; by Jupiter he swears.
T is true;-nay, keep the ring—'t is 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:

The cognizance of her incontinency

Is this,—she hath bought the name of whore thus dearly. There, take thy hire; and all the fiends of hell

Divide themselves between you!

PHI.

Sir, be patient!

This is not strong enough to be believ'd

Of one persuaded well of

POST.

Never talk on 't;

She hath been colted by him.

IACH.

If you seek
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; and it gave me present hunger
To feed again, though full. 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: never count the turns; Once, and a million!

IACH.

POST.

I'll be sworn,—

No swearing.

If you will swear you have not done 't, you lie;
And I will kill thee, if thou dost deny

Thou hast made me cuckold.

IACH.

I'll 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
Her father:-I'll do something-

PHI.
Quite besides
The government of patience!-You have won:
Let's follow him, and pervert the present wrath
He hath against himself.

[Exit.

POST. Is there no way for men to be, but women

Must be half-workers? We are all bastards;

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!
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:-O, all the devils!-
This yellow Iachimo, in an hour,—was 't not?—
Or less, at first: Perchance he spoke not; but,
Like a full-acorn'd boar, a German one,
Cry'd, oh! and mounted: found no opposition
But what he look'd for should oppose, and she
Should from encounter guard. Could I find out
The woman's part in me! For there's no motion
That 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;
Ambitions, covetings, change of prides, disdain,
Nice longings, slanders, mutability,

All faults that may be nam'd, nay, that hell knows,
Why, hers, in part or all; but rather, all:

For ev'n 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 't is greater skill
In a true hate, to pray they have their will:
The very devils cannot plague them better.

[Exit.

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.

CYм. 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
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

For wearing our own noses.

QUEEN.

That opportunity,

Which then they had to take from us, to resume
We have again.-Remember, sir, my liege,
The kings your ancestors; together with
The natural bravery of your isle, which stands
As Neptune's park, ribbed and paled in

With rocks unscaleable, and roaring waters;

With sands that will not bear your enemies' boats,

But suck them up to the top-mast. A kind of conquest
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 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.

CYм. 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
Did put the yoke upon us; which to shake off
Becomes a warlike people, whom we reckon
Ourselves to be. We do 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 franchise
Shall, by the power we hold, be our good deed,

Though Rome be therefore angry;) Mulmutius made our laws,
Who was the first of Britain which did put
His brows within a golden crown, and call'd
Himself a king.

Luc.

I am sorry, Cymbeline,

That I am to pronounce Augustus Cæsar
(Cæsar that hath more kings his servants than
Thyself domestic officers) thine enemy:
Receive it from me, then :-War, and confusion,
In Cæsar's name pronounce I 'gainst thee: look
For fury not to be resisted:-Thus defied,

I thank thee for myself.

Сум.

Thou art welcome, Caius. Thy Cæsar knighted me; my youth I spent