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To be but nam'd of thee. His meanest garment,
That ever hath but clipp'd his body, is dearer,
In my respect, than all the hairs above thee,
Were they all made such men.-How now, Pisanio?

Clo. His garment? Now, the devil-
Imo. To Dorothy my woman hie thee presently:
Clo. His garment?
I am sprighted with a fool;
Frighted, and anger'd worse :-Go, bid my woman
Search for a jewel, that too casually
Hath left mine arm; it was thy master's: 'shrew me,
If I would lose it for a revenue
Of any king's in Europe. I do think,
I saw't this morning: confident I am,
Last night 'twas on mine arm; I kiss'd it:
I hope, it be not gone, to tell my lord
That I kiss aught but he.


"Twill not be lost.

Imo. I hope so: go, and search.


His meanest garment?

[Exit Pis. You have abus'd me :

Ay; I said so, sir.

Clo. I will inform your father. Imo.


If you will mak't an action, call witness to't.

Your mother too: She's my good lady; and will conceive, I hope, But the worst of me. So I leave you, sir, To the worst of discontent. Clo.

[Exit. I'll be reveng'd:His meanest garment?-Well. Exit. SCENE IV.-Rome. An Apartment in Philario's


Enter POSTHUMUS and PHILARIO. Post. Fear it not, sir: I would, I were so sure To win the king, as I am bold, her honour Will remain hers.


What means do you make to him? Post. Not any; but abide the change of time; Quake in the present winter's state, and wish That warmer days would come: In these fear'd I barely gratify your love; they failing, I must die much your debtor.


Phi. Your very goodness, and your company, O'erpays all I can do. By this, your king Hath heard of great Augustus: Caius Lucius Will do his commission throughly: And, I think, He'll grant the tribute, send the arrearages, Or look upon our Romans, whose remembrance Is yet fresh in their grief.

Post. I do believe, (Statist though I am none, nor like to be,) That this will prove a war; and you shall hear The legions, now in Gallia, sooner landed In our not-fearing Britain, than have tidings Of any penny tribute paid. Our countrymen Are men more order'd, than when Julius Cæsar Smil'd at their lack of skill, but found their courage Worthy his frowning at: Their discipline (Now mingled with their courages) will make known To their approvers, they are people, such That mend upon the world.



See! Iachimo?

Post. The swiftest harts have posted you by land: And winds of all the corners kiss'd your sails, To make your vessel nimble.

Welcome, sir.

Phi. Post. I hope, the briefness of your answer made The speediness of your return. Iach. Your lady Is one the fairest, that I have look'd upon.

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If you can make't apparent That you have tasted her in bed, my hand And ring is yours: If not, the foul opinion You had of her pure honour, gains, or loses, Your sword, or mine; or masterless leaves both To who shall find them.

Iach. Sir, my circumstances, Being so near the truth, as I will make them, Must first induce you to believe: whose strength I will confirm with oath; which, I doubt not, You'll give me leave to spare, when you shall find You need it not.

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First, her bed-chamber, Had that was well worth watching,) It was hang'd (Where, I confess, I slept not; but, profess, With tapestry of silk and silver; the story Proud Cleopatra, when she met her Roman, And Cydnus swell'd above the banks, or for The press of boats, or pride: A piece of work So bravely done, so rich, that it did strive In workmanship, and value; which, I wonder'd, Could be so rarely and exactly wrought, Since the true life on't was

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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 it me, and said, She priz'd it once. Post. May be, she pluck'd it off, Iach. She writes so to you? doth she? Post. O, no, no, no; 'tis true. Here, take this too; (Gives the ring.)

To send it me.

It is a basilisk unto mine eye,
Kills me to look on't:-Let there be no honour,
Where there is beauty; truth, where semblance;

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 !

Have patience, sir,
And take your ring again; 'tis 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?

Very true;

Post. 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. "Tis true;-nay, keep the ring 'tis true: I am She would not lose it: her attendants are All sworn, and honourable :-They indue'd to steal it!


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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?

Ay, and it doth confirm
Another stain, as big as hell can hold,
Were there no more but it.

Will you hear more?
Post. Spare your arithmetic: never count the
Once, and a million!


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.
I will deny nothing.
Post, O, that I had her here, to tear her limb-

I will go there, and do't; i'the court; before
Her father:-I'll do something-


[Exit. Quite besides

The government of patience!-You have won:

Let's follow him, and pervert the present wrath
He hath against himself.

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!
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 [ber
Might well have warm'd old Saturn; that I thought
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; bat,
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 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. [Exit.

SCENE I.-Britain. A Room of State in Cymber line'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 as

Luc. When Julius Cæsar (whose remembrance yet [tongues, Lives in men's eyes; and will to ears, and 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.


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.
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'
But suck them up to the top-mast. 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 (0, giglot fortune!) to master Cæsar'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.

Thy fortunes.-How! that I should murder her?
Upon the love, and truth, and vows which I
Have made to thy command?-I, her?—her blood?
If it be so to do good service, never

Let me be counted serviceable. How look I,
That I should seem to lack humanity,

So much as this fact comes to? Do't: The letter (Reading.)

That I have sent her, by her own commmand
Shall give thee opportunity:-O damn'd paper!
Black as the ink that's on thee! Senseless bauble,
Art thou a feodary for this act, and look'st
So virgin-like without? Lo, here she comes.

I am ignorant in what I am commanded.
Imo. How now, Pisanio?

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 tri-O, learn'd indeed were that astronomer, bute, pray you now.

Cym. You must know,

Till the injurious Romans did extort


Pis. Madam, here is a letter from my lord.
Imo. Who? thy lord? that is my lord? Leonatus?


That knew the stars, as I his characters;
He'd lay the future open.-You good gods,
Let what is here contain'd relish of love,
Of my lord's health, of his content,-yet not,
That we two are asunder, let that grieve him,-
(Some griefs are med'cinable;) that is one of them,
For it doth physic love;-of his content,
All but in that!-Good wax, thy leave:-Bless'd
You bees, that make these locks of counsel! Lovers,
And men in dangerous bonds, pray not alike;
Though forfeiters you cast in prison, yet
fran-You clasp young Cupid's tables.-Good news,gods!

This tribute from us, we were free: Cæsar's am-
(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

Shall, by the power we hold, be our good deed,
Though Rome be therefore angry;) Mulmutius,
Who was the first of Britain, which did put
His brows within a golden crown, and call'd
Himself a king.

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.
Thou art welcome, Caius.
Thy Cæsar knighted me: my youth I spent
Much under him; of him I gather'd honour;
Which be, to seek of me again, perforce,
Behoves me keep at utterance; I am perfect,
That the Pannonians and Dalmatians, for
Their liberties, are now in arms: a precedent
Which, not to read, would shew the Britons cold:
So Cæsar shall not find them.

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Justice, and your father's wrath, should he take me in his dominion, should not be so cruel to me, as you, O the dearest of creatures, would not even renew me with your eyes. Take notice, that I am in Cambria, at Milford-Haven: What your own love will, out of this, advise you, follow. So, he wishes you all happiness, that remains loyal to his vow, and your, increasing in love, LEONATUS POSTHUMUS. 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; wholong'st,Ò, 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 the way, Tell me how Wales was made so happy, as To inherit such a haven: But, first of all, How we may steal from hence; and, for the gap That we shall make in time, from our hence-going, And our return, to excuse :-but first, how get hence :

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.

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

Where horses have been nimbler than the sands

Pis. How! of adultery? Wherefore write you That run i'the clock's behalf:-But this is foolery:


What monster's her accuser?-Leonatus!

O, master! what a strange infection
Is fallen into thy ear? What false Italian
(As poisonous tongue'd, as handed,) hath prevail'd
On thy too ready hearing?-Disloyal? No :
She's punish'd for her truth; and undergoes,
More goddess-like than wife-like, such assaults
As would take in some virtue :-O, my master!
Thy mind to her is now as low, as were

Go, bid my woman feign a sickness; say
She'll home to her father; and provide me, pre-
A riding suit; no costlier than would fit
A franklin's housewife.



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! bid thee: There's no more to say; Accessible is none but Milford way.


SCENE III.-Wales. A mountainous Country, with a Cave.

Bel. A goodly day not to keep house, with such
Whose roof's as low as ours! Stoop, boys: This gate
Instructs you how to adore the heavens; and bows

To morning's holy office: The gates of monarchs
Are arch'd so high, that giants may jet through
And keep their impious turbands 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.
Hail, heaven!

Hail, beaven!
Bel. Now, for our mountain sport: Up to yon hill,
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 have 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 babe;
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.
Gui. Out of your proof you speak: we, poor
Have never wing'd from view o'the nest; nor know
What airs from home. Haply, this life is best,
If quiet life be best: sweeter to you,

That have a sharper known; well corresponding
With your stiff age: but, unto us, it is
A cell of ignorance; travelling abed;
A prison for a debtor, that not dares
To stride a limit.

What should we speak of,
When we are 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 nothing:
We are beastly; subtile as the fox, for prey;
Like warlike as the wolf, for what we eat:
Our valour is, to chase what flies; our cage
We make a quire, as doth the prison'd bird,
And sing our bondage freely,

How you speak!
Did you but know the city's usuries,
And felt them knowingly: the art o'the court,
As hard to leave, as keep; whose top to climb
Is certain falling, or so slippery, 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 honour; which dies i'the
And hath as oft a slanderous epitaph, [search;
As record of fair act; nay, many times,
Doth ill deserve by doing well; what's worse,
Must court'sey 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,
A storm, or robbery, call it what you will,
Shook down my mellow hangings, nay, my leaves,
And left me bare to weather.

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| 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 hunters' language:-He, that strikes
The venison first, shall be the lord o' the feast;
To him the other two shall minister;
And we will fear no poison, which attends
In place of greater state. I'll meet you in the
[Exeunt Gui. and Arv.
How hard it is, to hide the sparks of nature!
These boys know little, they are sons to the king;
Nor Cymbeline dreams that they are alive.
They think, they are mine: and, though train'd up
thus meanly

I'the cave, wherein they bow, their thoughts do bit
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 called Guiderius,-Jove!
When on my three-foot stool I sit, and tell
The warlike feats I have 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 sweats,
Strains his young nerves, and puts himself in

That acts my words. The younger brother, Cadwal,
(Once, Arvirágus,) in as like a figure,

Strikes life into my speech, and shews much more
His own conceiving. Hark! the game is rous'd!—
O Cymbeline! heaven, and my conscience, knows,
Thou didst unjustly banish me; whereon,
At three, and two years old, I stole these babes;
Thinking to bar thee of succession, as
Thou reft'st me of my lands. Euriphile,
Thou wast their nurse; they took thee for their

And every day do honour to her grave:
Myself, Belarius, that am Morgan call'd,
They take for natural father. The game is up. [Erit.
SCENE IV.-Near Milford-Haven.


Imo. Thou told'st me, when we came from horse,

the place

Was near at hand :-Ne'er long'd my mother so
To see me first, as I have now:-Pisanio! Man!
Where is Posthumus? What is in thy mind,
That makes thee stare thus? Wherefore breaks
that sigh

From the inward of thee? One, but painted thus,
Would be interpreted a thing perplex'd
Beyond self-explication: Put thyself

Into a haviour of less fear, ere wildness
Vanquish my staider senses. What's the matter?
Why tender'st thou that paper to me, with
A look untender? If it be summer news,
Smile to't before: if winterly, thou need'st
But keep that countenance still.-My husband's

That drug-damn'd Italy hath out-craftied him,
And he's at some hard point.-Speak, man; thy

May take off some extremity, which to read
Would be even mortal to me.

Please you, read;
And you shall find me, wretched man, a thing
The most disdain'd of fortune.

Imo. (Reads.) Thy mistress, Pisanio, hath played the strumpet in my bed; the testimonies whereof lie bleeding in me. I speak not out of weak surmises; but from proof as strong as my grief, and as certain as I expect my revenge. That part, thou, Pisanio, must act for me, if thy faith be not tainted with the breach of hers. Let thine own hands take away her life: I shall give thee opportunities at Milford-Haven; she hath my letter for the purpose: Where, if thou fear to strike, and to make me certain it is done, thou art the

Pis. What shall I need to draw my sword? the paper

Hath out her throat already.-No, 'tis slander,
Whose edge is sharper than the sword; whose tongue
Outvenoms all the worms of Nile; whose breath
Rides on the posting winds, and doth belie
All corners of the world: kings, queens, and states,
Maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave
This viperous slander enters. What cheer, madam?
Imo. 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 false to his bed,
Is it?

Pis. Alas, good lady!

Imo. I false? Thy conscience witness:-Iachimo, Thou didst accuse him of incontinency; Thou then look'dst like a villain; now, methinks, Thy favour's good enough. Some jay of Italy, Whose mother was her painting, hath betray'dhim: Poor I am stale, a garment out of fashion; And, for I am richer than to hang by the walls, I must be ripp'd:-to pieces with me!-0, Men's vows are women's traitors! All good seeming, By thy revolt, O husband, shall be thought Put on for villany; not born, where't grows; But worn, a bait for ladies.

Pis. Good madam, hear me. Imo. True honest men being heard, like false Æneas, [weeping Were, in his time, thought false: and Sinon's Did scandal many a holy tear; took pity [mus, From most true wretchedness: So, thou, PosthuWilt lay the leaven on all proper men; Goodly, and gallant, shall be false and perjur'd, From thy great fail.-Come, fellow, be thou honest; Do thou thy master's bidding: When thou see'st A little witness my obedience: Look! I draw the sword myself: take it; and bit The innocent mansion of my love, my heart: Fear not; 'tis empty of all things, but grief: Thy master is not there; who was, indeed, The riches of it: Do his bidding; strike. Thou may'st be valiant in a better cause; But now thou seem'st a coward.



Hence, vile instrument!

Thou shalt not damn my hand.

Why, I must die;
And if I do not by thy hand, thou art
No servant of thy master's: Against self-slaughter
There is a prohibition so divine,

That cravens my weak hand. Come, here's my
Something's afore't:-Soft, soft; we'll no defence;
Obedient as the scabbard.-What is here?
The scriptures of the loyal Leonatus,
All turn'd to heresy? Away, away,
Corrupters of my faith! you shall no more

Be stomachers to my heart! Thus may poor fools Believe false teachers: Though those, that are betray'd,

Do feel the treason sharply, yet the traitor
Stands in worse case of woe.

And thou, Posthumus, thou that did'st set up
My disobedience 'gainst the king my father,
And make me put into contempt the suits
Of princely fellows, shalt hereafter find
It is no act of common passage, but
A strain of rareness: and I grieve myself,
To think, when thou shalt be disedg'd by her
That now thou tir'st on, how thy memory
Will then be pang'd by me.-Pr'ythee, despatch:
The lamb entreats the butcher: Where's thy knife?
Thou art too slow to do thy master's bidding,
When I desire it too.


O gracious lady, Since I receiv'd command to do this business,

I have not slept one wink.


Do't, and to bed then.

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Not so, neither:
But if I were as wise as honest, then
My purpose would prove well. It cannot be,
But that my master is abus'd:

Some villain, ay, and singular in his art,
Hath done you both this cursed injury.
Imo. Some Roman courtezan.

No, on my life.

I'll give but notice you are dead, and send him
Some bloody sign of it; for 'tis commanded
I should do so: You shall be miss'd at court,
And that will well confirm it.
Why, good fellow,
What shall I do the while? Where bide? How live?
Or in my life what comfort, when I am
Dead to my husband?
If you'll back to the court,-
Imo. No court, no father; nor no more ado
With that harsh, noble, simple nothing;
That Cloten, whose love-suit hath been to me
As fearful as a siege.


If not at court, Then not in Britain must you bide.

Where then?

Imo. Hath Britain all the sun that shines? Day, night, Are they not but in Britain? I'the world's volume Our Britain seems as of it, but not in it; In a great pool, a swan's nest; Pr'ythee, think There's livers out of Britain.


I am most glad

You think of other place. The embassador,
Lucius the Roman, comes to Milford-Haven
To-morrow: Now, if you could wear a mind
Dark as your fortune is ; and but disguise
That, which, to appear itself, must not yet be,
But by self-danger; you should tread a course
Pretty, and full of view: yea, haply, near
The residence of Posthumus: so nigh, at least,
That though his actions were not visible, yet
Report should render him hourly to your ear,
As truly as he moves.

O, for such means!
Though peril to my modesty, not death on't,
I would adventure.

Well, then, here's the point:
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;
Ready in gibes, quick-answer'd, saucy, and
As quarrellous as the weasel: nay, you must
Forget that rarest treasure of your cheek,
Exposing it (but, O, the harder heart!
Alack, no remedy!) to the greedy touch
Of common-kissing Titan; and forget
Your laboursome and dainty trims, wherein
You made great Juno angry.
Nay, be brief:

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