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A pudency so rosy, the sweet view on't
509 The woman's; flattering, her's ; deceiving, her's; Lust and rank thoughts, her's, her's; revenges, her's; Ambitions, covetings, change of prides, disdain, Nice longings, slanders, mutability, All faults that may be nam'd, nay, that hell knows, Why, her's, 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 525 In a true hate, to pray they have their will: The
very devils cannot plague them better. [Exit.
ACT III. SCENE I.
Cymbeline's Palace. Enter, in State, CYMBELINE,
Queen, CLOTEN, and Lords, at one "Door; and at another, Calus Lucius, and Attendants.
Cymbeline. Now say, what would Augustus Cæsar with us ?
Luc. When Julius Cæsar (whose remembrance yet Lives in men's eyes; and will to ears, and tongues, 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. And, to kill the marvel,
Clot. There be many Cæsars,
Queen. That opportunity,
With rocks unscaleable, and roaring waters;
quest 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,
30 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, giglet fortunel) to master Cæsar's sword, Made Lud's town with rejoicing fires bright, And Britons strut with courage.
Clot. 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 crook'd noses; but, to own such strait arms, none.
Cym. Son, let your mother end.
Clot. 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 tribute, pray you now. Cym. You must know,
50 'Till the injurious Roman did extort
This tribute from us, we were free: Cæsar's ambia
tion (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 franchise,
60 Shall, by the power we hold, be our good deed, Though Rome be therefore angry. Mulmutius made
Luc. I am sorry, Cymbeline,
Cym. Thou art welcome, Caius.
That the Pannonians and Dalmatians, for
Luc. Let proof speak.
Clot. His majesty bids you welcome. time with us a day, or two, or longer : If you seek us afterwards in other terms, you shall find us in our salt-water girdle: if you beat us out of it, it is your's; if you fall in the adventure, our crows shall fare the better for you; and there's an end.
Luc. So, sir. Cym. I know your master's pleasure, and he mine: All the remain is, welcome.
Another Room. . Enter PISANIO.
Pis. How! of adultery? Wherefore write you not What monsters her accuse?—Leonatus! O, master! what a strange infection Is fallen into thy ear? What false Italian (As poisonous tongu'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 100 As would take in some virtue. -O my master ! Thy mind to her is now as low, as were Thy fortunes.--How! that I should murder her ?