« AnteriorContinuar »
I had rather thou shouldst live while nature will Than die ere I hear more: strive, man, and speak.
Iach. Upon a time,-unhappy was the clock
What should I say? he was too good to be
For beauty that made barren the swell'd boast
Loves woman for, besides that hook of wiving,
Most like a noble lord in love and one
That had a royal lover, took his hint;
And, not dispraising whom we praised, therein
His mistress' picture; which by his tongue being
And then a mind put in 't, either our brags
Were crack'd of kitchen-trulls, or his description
164. straight-pight, erect. 165. condition, mind and
172. hint, occasion.
178. unspeaking sots, fools unable to express ourselves.
Cym. Iach. Your daughter's chastity-there it begins. He spake of her, as Dian had hot dreams, And she alone were cold: whereat I, wretch, Made scruple of his praise; and wager'd with him Pieces of gold 'gainst this which then he wore Upon his honour'd finger, to attain
Nay, nay, to the purpose.
In suit the place of's bed and win this ring
Than I did truly find her, stakes this ring;
your chaste daughter the wide difference
208. the forfeit, the fine paid for breach of a 'bond' or contract.
Ay me, most credulous fool,
Egregious murderer, thief, any thing
That's due to all the villains past, in being,
To come! O, give me cord, or knife, or poison,
That all the abhorred things o' the earth amend
Peace, my lord; hear, hearPost. Shall's have a play of this? Thou scorn
There lie thy part.
[Striking her: she falls.
O, gentlemen, help!
Mine and your mistress! O, my lord Posthumus! 230 You ne'er kill'd Imogen till now. Help, help!
Cym. If this be so, the gods do mean to strike
How fares my mistress?
To death with mortal joy.
Imo. O, get thee from my sight;
Thou gavest me poison: dangerous fellow, hence !
The tune of Imogen !
The gods throw stones of sulphur on me, if
It poison'd me.
I left out one thing which the queen confess'd,
As I would serve a rat.'
Do their due functions. Have you ta'en of it?
There was our error.
This is, sure, Fidele.
Imo. Why did you throw your wedded lady
250. temper, mix.
Think that you are upon a rock; and now
Throw me again.
Till the tree die!
Hang there like fruit, my soul,
What, makest thou me a dullard in this act?
How now, my flesh, my child!
[Kneeling] Your blessing, sir.
Bel. [To Guiderius and Arviragus] Though you did love this youth, I blame ye not;
You had a motive for 't.
Prove holy water on thee!
Thy mother's dead.
My tears that fall
I am sorry for 't, my lord.
Cym. O, she was naught; and long of her it was
Now fear is from me, I'll speak troth.
Upon my lady's missing, came to me
With his sword drawn; foam'd at the mouth, and
If I discover'd not which way she was gone,
It was my instant death. By accident,
I had a feigned letter of my master's
Then in my pocket; which directed him
To seek her on the mountains near to Milford;
Where, in a frenzy, in my master's garments,
262. upon a rock, i.e. 'as a