| Posthumus |
Most welcome, bondage! for thou art away, |
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I think, to liberty: yet am I better |
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Than one that's sick o' the gout; since he had rather |
5 |
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Groan so in perpetuity than be cured |
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By the sure physician, death, who is the key |
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To unbar these locks. My conscience, thou art fetter'd |
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More than my shanks and wrists: you good gods, give
me |
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The penitent instrument to pick that bolt, |
10 |
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Then, free for ever! Is't enough I am sorry? |
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So children temporal fathers do appease; |
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Gods are more full of mercy. Must I repent? |
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I cannot do it better than in gyves, |
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Desired more than constrain'd: to satisfy, |
15 |
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If of my freedom 'tis the main part, take |
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No stricter render of me than my all. |
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I know you are more clement than vile men, |
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Who of their broken debtors take a third, |
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A sixth, a tenth, letting them thrive again |
20 |
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On their abatement: that's not my desire: |
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For Imogen's dear life take mine; and though |
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'Tis not so dear, yet 'tis a life; you coin'd it: |
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'Tween man and man they weigh not every stamp; |
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Though light, take pieces for the figure's sake: |
25 |
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You rather mine, being yours: and so, great powers, |
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If you will take this audit, take this life, |
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And cancel these cold bonds. O Imogen! |
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I'll speak to thee in silence. |
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| Sicilius |
No more, thou thunder-master, show |
30 |
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Thy spite on mortal flies: |
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With Mars fall out, with Juno chide, |
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That thy adulteries |
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Rates and revenges. |
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Hath my poor boy done aught but well, |
35 |
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Whose face I never saw? |
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I died whilst in the womb he stay'd |
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Attending nature's law: |
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Whose father then, as men report |
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Thou orphans' father art, |
40 |
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Thou shouldst have been, and shielded him |
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From this earth-vexing smart. |
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| Jupiter |
No more, you petty spirits of region low, |
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Offend our hearing; hush! How dare you ghosts |
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Accuse the thunderer, whose bolt, you know, |
95 |
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Sky-planted batters all rebelling coasts? |
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Poor shadows of Elysium, hence, and rest |
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Upon your never-withering banks of flowers: |
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Be not with mortal accidents opprest; |
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No care of yours it is; you know 'tis ours. |
100 |
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Whom best I love I cross; to make my gift, |
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The more delay'd, delighted. Be content; |
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Your low-laid son our godhead will uplift: |
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His comforts thrive, his trials well are spent. |
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Our Jovial star reign'd at his birth, and in |
105 |
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Our temple was he married. Rise, and fade. |
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He shall be lord of lady Imogen, |
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And happier much by his affliction made. |
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This tablet lay upon his breast, wherein |
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Our pleasure his full fortune doth confine: |
110 |
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and so, away: no further with your din |
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Express impatience, lest you stir up mine. |
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Mount, eagle, to my palace crystalline. |
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| Posthumus |
[Waking] Sleep, thou hast been a grandsire, and
begot |
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A father to me; and thou hast created |
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A mother and two brothers: but, O scorn! |
125 |
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Gone! they went hence so soon as they were born: |
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And so I am awake. Poor wretches that depend |
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On greatness' favour dream as I have done, |
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Wake and find nothing. But, alas, I swerve: |
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Many dream not to find, neither deserve, |
130 |
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And yet are steep'd in favours: so am I, |
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That have this golden chance and know not why. |
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What fairies haunt this ground? A book? O rare one! |
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Be not, as is our fangled world, a garment |
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Nobler than that it covers: let thy effects |
135 |
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So follow, to be most unlike our courtiers, |
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As good as promise. |
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'When as a lion's whelp shall, to himself
unknown, |
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without seeking find, and be embraced by a piece
of tender |
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air; and when from a stately cedar shall be lopped
branches, |
140 |
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which, being dead many years, shall after revive,
be jointed to |
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the old stock and freshly grow; then shall Posthumus
end his |
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miseries, Britain be fortunate and flourish in peace
and plenty.' |
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'Tis still a dream, or else such stuff as madmen |
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Tongue and brain not; either both or nothing; |
145 |
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Or senseless speaking or a speaking such |
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As sense cannot untie. Be what it is, |
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The action of my life is like it, which |
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I'll keep, if but for sympathy. |
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| Gaoler |
A heavy reckoning for you, sir. But the
comfort is, |
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you shall be called to no more payments, fear no
more |
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tavern-bills; which are often the sadness of parting,
as |
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the procuring of mirth: you come in flint for want
of |
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meat, depart reeling with too much drink; sorry that |
160 |
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you have paid too much, and sorry that you are paid |
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too much; purse and brain both empty; the brain the |
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heavier for being too light, the purse too light,
being |
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drawn of heaviness: of this contradiction you shall |
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now be quit. O, the charity of a penny cord! It sums |
165 |
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up thousands in a trice: you have no true debitor
and |
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creditor but it; of what's past, is, and to come,
the |
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discharge: your neck, sir, is pen, book and counters;
so |
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the acquittance follows. |
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| Gaoler |
Unless a man would marry a gallows and
beget |
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young gibbets, I never saw one so prone. Yet, on
my |
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conscience, there are verier knaves desire to live,
for all |
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he be a Roman: and there be some of them too that
die |
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against their wills; so should I, if I were one.
I would |
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we were all of one mind, and one mind good; O, there |
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were desolation of gaolers and gallowses! I speak |
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against my present profit, but my wish hath a preferment
in 't. |
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