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Britain. The Roman Camp. | |
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Enter POSTHUMUS, with a bloody handkerchief. | |
Post. Yea, bloody cloth, Ill keep thee, for I wishd | |
Thou shouldst be colourd thus. You married ones, | |
If each of you should take this course, how many | 5 |
Must murder wives much better than themselves | |
For wrying but a little! O Pisanio! | |
Every good servant does not all commands; | |
No bond but to do just ones. Gods! if you | |
Should have taen vengeance on my faults, I never | 10 |
Had livd to put on this; so had you savd | |
The noble Imogen to repent, and struck | |
Me, wretch more worth your vengeance. But, alack! | |
You snatch some hence for little faults; thats love, | |
To have them fall no more; you some permit | 15 |
To second ills with ills, each elder worse, | |
And make them dread it, to the doers thrift. | |
But Imogen is your own; do your best wills, | |
And make me blessd to obey. I am brought hither | |
Among the Italian gentry, and to fight | 20 |
Against my ladys kingdom; tis enough | |
That, Britain, I have killd thy mistress-piece! | |
Ill give no wound to thee. Therefore good heavens, | |
Hear patiently my purpose: Ill disrobe me | |
Of these Italian weeds, and suit myself | 25 |
As does a Briton peasant; so Ill fight | |
Against the part I come with, so Ill die | |
For thee, O Imogen! even for whom my life | |
Is, every breath, a death: and thus, unknown, | |
Pitied nor hated, to the face of peril | 30 |
Myself Ill dedicate. Let me make men know | |
More valour in me than my habits show. | |
Gods! put the strength o the Leonati in me. | |
To shame the guise o the world, I will begin | |
The fashion, less without and more within. [Exit. | 35 |
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