| Pisanio |
How? of adultery? Wherefore write you not |
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What monster's her accuser? Leonatus, |
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O master! what a strange infection |
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Is fall'n into thy ear! What false Italian, |
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As poisonous-tongued as handed, hath prevail'd |
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On thy too ready hearing? Disloyal! No: |
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She's punish'd for her truth, and undergoes, |
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More goddess-like than wife-like, such assaults |
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As would take in some virtue. O my master! |
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Thy mind to her is now as low as were |
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Thy fortunes. How! that I should murder her? |
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Upon the love and truth and vows which I |
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Have made to thy command? I, her? her blood? |
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If it be so to do good service, never |
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Let me be counted serviceable. How look I, |
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That I should seem to lack humanity |
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so much as this fact comes to? |
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| Imogen |
Who? thy lord? that is my lord, Leonatus! |
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O, learn'd indeed were that astronomer |
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That knew the stars as I his characters; |
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He'ld lay the future open. You good gods, |
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Let what is here contain'd relish of love, |
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Of my lord's health, of his content, yet not |
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That we two are asunder; let that grieve him: |
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Some griefs are med'cinable; that is one of them, |
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For it doth physic love: of his content, |
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All but in that! Good wax, thy leave. Blest be |
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You bees that make these locks of counsel! Lovers |
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And men in dangerous bonds pray not alike: |
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Though forfeiters you cast in prison, yet |
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You clasp young Cupid's tables. Good news, gods! |
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'Justice, and your father's wrath, should he take me |
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in his dominion, could not be so cruel to me, as |
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you, O the dearest of creatures, would even renew me |
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with your eyes. Take notice that I am in Cambria, |
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at Milford-Haven: what your own love will out of |
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this advise you, follow. So he wishes you all |
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happiness, that remains loyal to his vow, and your, |
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increasing in love, |
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LEONATUS POSTHUMUS.'
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O, for a horse with wings! Hear'st thou, Pisanio? |
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He is at Milford-Haven: read, and tell me |
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How far 'tis thither. If one of mean affairs |
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May plod it in a week, why may not I |
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Glide thither in a day? Then, true Pisanio,-- |
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Who long'st, like me, to see thy lord; who long'st,-- |
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let me bate,-but not like me--yet long'st, |
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But in a fainter kind:--O, not like me; |
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For mine's beyond beyond--say, and speak thick; |
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Love's counsellor should fill the bores of hearing, |
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To the smothering of the sense--how far it is |
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To this same blessed Milford: and by the way |
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Tell me how Wales was made so happy as |
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To inherit such a haven: but first of all, |
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How we may steal from hence, and for the gap |
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That we shall make in time, from our hence-going |
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And our return, to excuse: but first, how get hence: |
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Why should excuse be born or e'er begot? |
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We'll talk of that hereafter. Prithee, speak, |
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How many score of miles may we well ride |
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'Twixt hour and hour? |
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| Imogen |
Why, one that rode to's execution, man, |
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Could never go so slow: I have heard of |
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riding wagers, |
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Where horses have been nimbler than the sands |
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That run i' the clock's behalf. But this is foolery: |
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Go bid my woman feign a sickness; say |
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She'll home to her father: and provide me presently |
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A riding-suit, no costlier than would fit |
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A franklin's housewife. |
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