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Thou art too slow to do thy master's bidding,
O gracious lady,
Do't, and to bed then.
But to win time
Talk thy tongue weary ; speak :
Not so, neither :
son proposed out; but this is ib. blind. This was sup
less suitable to the rhythm. plied by Hanmer, Ff, by an evident error, reading: “I'll
be unbent, stand with wake mine eyeballs first.' John- unbent bow.
Some villain, ay, and singular in his art,
Imo. Some Roman courtezan.
No, on my life.
Why, good fellow, 130
'll back to the court-
If not at court,
Where then ?
I am most glad
135. harsh, rude.
suitable to one of obscure staib. noble, ironically said of tion. Cloten's high birth in contrast 148. That which can only with his rudeness and simplicity.
appear itself to you own peril 147. Dark as your fortuner (viz. your rank and sex).
But by self-danger, you should tread a course
O, for such means !
Well, then, here's the point:
Nay, be brief:
First, make yourself but like one. 170
150. Pretty and full of view, ably, 'this too hard heart of seemly, and with full oppor
mine which makes such a protunity of observation.
posal.' 16o. it, its.
166. common-kissing Titan, 162. quarrelous as the weasel; the sun, which shines on all the weasel was proverbial for its alike. spleen.
167. laboursome . . trims, 164. the harder heart; prob- elaborate personal adornments.
And with what imitation you can borrow
know, If that his head have ear in music,-doubtless With joy he will embrace you, for he's honour
Thou art all the comfort
Imo. Amen: I thank thee. [Exeunt, severally.
177. happy, skilled.
for your support in your wanib. which you'll make him
derings. know; Hanmer's emendation of
184. even all that good time Ff which will make him
will give us, be even with, make know.'
the most of, our opportunities.
186. I am soldier to, I enter 179. embrace, welcome.
upon with a soldier's resolution. 180. Your means abroad, as 190. carriage, conveyance.
SCENE V. A room in Cymbeline's palace.
Lords, and Attendants.
Thanks, royal sir.
Our subjects, sir,
So, sir : I desire of you
And you !
Your hand, my lord.
forth I wear it as your enemy. Luc.
Sir, the event Is yet to name the winner : fare you well. Cym. Leave not the worthy Lucius, good my
lords, Till he have cross'd the Severn. Happiness!
[Exeunt Lucius and Lords. Queen. He goes hence frowning : but it honours