POSTHUMUS

Please your Highness, I will from hence to day. My Queen, my Mistress: Oh Lady, weep no more, least I give cause To be suspected of more tenderness Then does become a man. I will remain The loyalest husband, that did ere plighted troth. My residence in Room, at one Filorio is, Who, to my Father was a Friend, to me Known but by Letter; thither write (my Queen) And with mine eyes, I'll drink the words you send, Though Ink be made of Gall. Should we be taking leave As long a term as yet we have to live, The loathness to depart, would grow: Adieu. How, how? Another? You gentle Gods, give me but this I have, And sear up my embracements from a next, With bonds of death. Remain, remain thou here, While sense can keep it on: And sweetest, fairest, As I (my poor self) did exchange for you To your so infinite lose; so in our trifles I still win of you. For my sake wear this, It is a Manacle of Love, I'll place it Upon this fairest Prisoner. Alack, the King. The Gods protect you, And bless the good Remainders of the Court: I am gone. Since when, I have been debtor to you for court sies, which I will be ever to pay, and yet pay still. She holds her Virtue still, and I my mind. I praised her, as I rated her: so do I my Stone. More then the world enjoys. You are mistaken: the one may be sold or gi ven, or if there were wealth enough for the purchases, or merit for the gift. The other is not a thing for sale, and only the gift of the Gods. Which by their Graces I will keep. Your Italy, contains none so accomplished a Courtier to convince the Honour of my Mistress: if in the holding or lose of that, you term her frail, I do no thing doubt you have store of Thieves, notwithstanding I fear not my Ring. Sir, with all my heart. This worthy Signior I thank him, makes no stranger of me, we are familiar at first. No, no. You are a great deal abused in too bold a per suasion, and I doubt not you sustain what you are worthy of, by your Attempt. What Lady would you choose to assail? I embrace these Conditions, let us have Articles betwixt us: only thus far you shall answer, if you make your voyage upon her, and give me directly to un derstand, you have prevailed, I am no further your Ene my, she is not worth our debate. If she remain vnse duc'd, you not making it appear otherwise: for your ill opinion, and the assault you have made to her chastity, you shall answer me with your Sword. Agreed. Fear it not Sir: I would I were so sure To win the King, as I am bold, her Honour Will remain hers. Not any: but abide the change of Time, Quake in the present winter's state, and wish That warmer days would come: In these feared hope I barely gratify your love; they failing I must die much your debtor. I do believe (Statist though I am none, nor Like to be) That this will prove a War; and you shall hear The Legion now in Gallia, sooner landed In our not-fearing-Britaine, then have tidings Of any penny Tribute paid. Our Countrymen Are men more ordered, then when Julius Caesar Smiled at their lack of skill, but found their courage Worthy his frowning at. Their discipline, (Now wing-led with their courages) will make known To their Approvers, they are People, such That mend upon the world. The swiftest Hearts, have posted you by land; And Winds of all the Corners kissed your Sails, To make your vessel nimble. I hope the briefness of your answer, made The speediness of your return. And therewithal the best, or let her beauty Look through a Casement to allure false hearts, And be false with them. Their tenure good I trust. Was Caius Lucius in the Britain Court, When you were there? All is well yet, Sparkles this Stone as it was wont, or is't not Too dull for your good wearing? The Stones too hard to come by. Make note Sir Your lose, your Sport: I hope you know that we Must not continue Friends. If you can mak'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 looses, Your Sword, or mine, or Masterless leave both To who shall find them. Proceed. This is true: And this you might have herd of here, by me, Or by some other. So they must, Or do your Honour injury. This is a thing Which you might from Relation likewise reap, Being, as it is, much spoke of. This is her Honour: Let it be granted you have seen all this (and praise Be given to your remembrance) the description Of what is in her Chamber, nothing saves The wager you have laid. Jove— Once more let me behold it: Is it that Which I left with her? May be, she plucked it off To send it me. Oh no, no, no, it's true. Here, take this too, 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: Love, Where there's another man. The Vows of Women, Of no more bondage be, to where they are made, Then they are to their Virtues, which is nothing: Oh, above measure false. Very true, And so I hope he came by't: back my Ring, Render to me some corporal sign about her More evident then this: for this was stolen. Hark you, he swears: by Jupiter he swears. It's true, nay keep the Ring; it's true: I am sure She would not lose it: her Attendants are All sworn, and honourable: they induced to steal it? And by a Stranger? No, he hath enjoyed her, The Cognisance of her incontinency Is this: she hath bought the name of Whore, thus dearly There, take thy hire, and all the Fiends of Hell Divide themselves between you. Never talk on't: She hath been colted by him. I, and it does confirm Another stain, as big as Hell can hold, Were there no more but it. Spare your Arethmaticke, Never count the Turns: Once, and a Million. No swearing: If you will swear you have not done't, you lie, And I will kill thee, if thou dost deny Thou'st made me Cuckold. Oh that I had her here, to tear her Limb-meale: I will go there and doo't, in the Court, before Her Father. I'll do something. Is there no way for Men to be, but Women Must be halfe-workers? We are all Bastards, And that most venerable man, which I Did call my Father, was, I know not where When I was stamped. Some Coiner with his Tools Made me a counterfeit: yet my Mother seemed The Dian of that time: so does my Wife The Non-pareill of this. O Vengeance, Vengeance! Me of my lawful pleasure she restrained, And prayed me oft forbearance: did it with A pudency so Rosy, the sweet view on't Might well have warmed old Saturn; That I thought her As Chaste, as vn-Sunn'd Snow. O, all the Devils! This yellow Jachimo in and hour, was't not? Or less; at first? Perchance he spoke not, but Like a full Acorned Boar, a Jarmen on, Cried o, and mounted; found no opposition But what he looked for, should oppose, and she Should from encounter guard. Could I find out The Woman's partly in me, for there's no motion That tends to vice in man, but I affirm It is the Woman's partly: be it Lying, note it, The woman's: Flattering, hers; Deceiving, hers: Lust, and rank thoughts, hers, hers: Revenges hers: Ambitions, Couetings, change of Prides, Disdain, Nice-longing, Slanders, Mutability; All Faults that name, nay, that Hell knows, Why hers, in partly, 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 it's greater Skill In a true Hate, to pray they have their will: The very Devils cannot plague them better. Yea bloody cloth. I'll keep thee: for I am wished Thou shouldst be coloured thus. You married ones, If each of you should take this course, how many Must murder Wives much better then themselves For wrying but a little? O Pisanio, Every good Servant do's not all Commands: No Bound, but to do joust ones. Gods, if you Should have 'tane vengeance on my faults, I never Had lived to put on this: so had you saved The noble Imogen, to repent, and struck Me (wretch) more worth your Vengeance. But alack, You snatch some hence for little faults; that's love To have them fallen no more: you some permit To second illes with illes, each elder worse, And make them dread it, to the doers thrift. But Imogen is your own, do your best wills, And make me blessed to obey. I am brought hither Among the Italian Gentry, and to fight Against my Ladies Kingdom: It's enough That (Britain) I have killed thy Mistress: Peace, I'll give no wound to thee: therefore good Heavens, Hear patiently my purpose. I'll disrobe me Of these Italian weeds, and suit my self As do's a Britain Pezant: so I'll fight Against the partly I come with: so I'll die For thee (Oh Imogen ) even for whom my life Is every breath, a death: and thus, unknown, Pitied, nor hated, to the face of peril My self I'll dedicate. Let me make men know More valour in me, then my habits show. Gods, put the strength of the Leonati in me: To shame the guise of the world, I will begin, The fashion less without, and more within. I did, Though you it seems come from the Fliers? No blame be to you Sir, for all was lost, But that the Heavens fought: the King himself Of his wings destitute, the Army broken, And but the backs of Britain's seen; all flying Through a strait Lane, the Enemy full-hearted, Lolling the Tongue with slaughtering: having work More plentiful, then Tools to doo't: struck down Some mortally, some slightly touched, some falling Merely through fear, that the strait pass was dammed With deadmen, hurt behind, and Cowards living To die with lengthened shame. Close by the battle, ditched, & walled with turph, Which gave advantage to and ancient Soldier (And honest one I warrant) who deserved So long a breeding, as his white beard came to, In doing this for's Country. Athwart the Lane, He, with two striplings (Lads more Like to run The Country base, then to commit such slaughter, With faces fit for Masks, or rather fairer Then those for preservation cased, or shame) Made good the passage, cried to those that fled. Our Britain's hearts die flying, not our men, To darkness fleet souls that fly backwards; stand, Or we are Romans, and will give you that Like beasts, which you shun beastly, and may save But to look back in frown: Stand, stand. These three, Three thousand confident, in act as many: For three performers are the File, when all The rest do nothing. With this word stand, stand, Accommodated by the Place; more Charming With their own Nobleness, which could have turned A Distaff, to a Lance, guilded pale looks; Partly shame, partly spirit renewed, that some turned coward But by example (O a sin in War, Damned in the first beginners) gan to look The way that they did, and to grin Like Lyons Upon the Pikes of the Hunter's. Then began A stop in the Chaser; a Retire: Anon A Rout, confusion thick: forthwith they fly Chickens, the way which they stopped Eagles: Slaves The strides the Victor's made: and now our Cowards Like Fragments in hard Voyages became The life of the needs: having found the back door open Of the unguarded hearts: heavens, how they wound, Some slain before some dying; some their Friends Overborne in the former wave, ten chaced by one, Are now each one the slaughterman of twenty: Those that would die, or ere resist, are grown The mortal bugs of the Field. Nay, do not wonder at it: you are made Rather to wonder at the things you hear, Then to work any. Will you Rhyme upon it, And vent it for a Mockery? Here is one: "Two Boys, and Oldman (twice a Boy) a Lane, "Preserved the Britain's, was the Romans bane. Lack, to what end? Who dares not stand his Foe, I'll be his Friend: For if he'll do, as he is made to do, I know he'll quickly fly my friendship too. You have put me into Rhyme. Still going? This is a Lord: O Noble misery To be in the Field, and ask what news of me: To day, how many would have given their Honours To have saved their Carcases? Took heel to doo't, And yet died too. I, in mine own woe charmed Could not find death, where I did hear him groan, Nor feel him where he struck. Being and ugly Monster, It's strange he hides him in fresh Cups, soft Beds, Sweet words; or hath more ministers then we That draw his knives in the War. Well I will find him: For being now a Favourer to the Britain, No more a Britain, I have resumed again The partly I came in. Fight I will no more, But yield me to the veriest Hind, that shall Once touch my shoulder. Great the slaughter is Here made by' the Roman; great the Answer be Britain's must take. For me; my Ransom's death, On either side I come to spend my breath; Which neither here I'll keep, nor bear again, But end it by some means for Imogen. A Roman, Who had not now been drooping here, if Seconds Had answered him. Most welcome bondage; for thou art a way (I think) to liberty: yet am I better Then one that's sick of the Gout, since he had rather Groan so in perpetuity, then be cured By 'th sure Physician, Death; who is the key T'vnbarre these Locks. My Conscience, thou art fettered More then my shanks, & wrists: you good Gods give me The penitent Instrument to pick that Bolt, Then free for ever. Is't enough I am sorry? So Children temporal Father's do appease; Gods are more full of mercy. Must I repent, I cannot do it better then in Gives, Desired, more then constrained, to satisfy If of my Freedom it's the main partly, take No stricter render of me, then my All. I know you are more clement then vild men, Who of their broken Debtors take a third, A sixth, a tenth, letting them thrive again On their abatement; that's not my desire. For Imogens deer life, take mine, and though It's not so deer, yet it's a life; you coined it, Between man, and man, they weigh not every stamp: Though light, take Pieces for the figures sake, (You rather) mine being yours: and so great Powers, If you will take this Audit, take this life, And cancel these cold Bonds. O Imogen, I'll speak to thee in silence. Sleep, thou hast been a Grandsire, and begotten A Father to me: and thou h st created A Mother, and two Brother's. But (o scorn) Gone, they went hence so soon as they were born: And so I am awake. Poor Wretches, that depend On Greatness, Favour; Dream as I have done, Wake, and find nothing. But (alas) I swerve: Many Dream not to find, neither deserve, And yet are steeped in Favours; so am I That have this Golden chance, and know not why: What Fairies haunt this ground? A Book? O rare one, Be not, as is our fangled world, a Garment Nobler then that it covers. Let thy effects So follow, to be most unlike our Courtiers, As good, as promise. WHen as a Lyons whelp, shall to himself unknown, with out seeking find, and be embraced by a piece of tender Air: And when from a stately Cedar shall be lopped branches, which being dead many years, shall after revive, be jointed to the old Stock, and freshly grow, then shall Posthumus end his Misery's, Britain be fortunate, and flourish in Peace and Plen tie. It's still a Dream: or else such stuff as Madmen Tongue, and brain not: either both, or nothing, Or senseless speaking, or a speaking such As sense cannot untie. Be what it is, The Actium of my life is Like it, which I'll keep If but for sympathy. Ouer-roasted rather: ready long ago. So if I prove a good repast to the Spectators, the dish pays the shot. I am merrier to die, then thou art to live. Yes indeed do I, fellow. I tell thee, Fellow, there are none want eyes, to direct them the way I am going, but such as wink, and will not use them. Thou bringest good news, I am called to be made free. Thou shalt be then freer then a Gaoler; no bolt, for the dead. What's that to him? I so thou dost, Italian Fiend. Aye me, most credulous Fool, Egregious murderer, Thief, any thing That's endue to all the Villains passed, in being To come. O give me Cord, or knife, or poison, Some upright Justicer. Thou King, send out For Torturors ingenious: it is I That all the abhorred things of the earth amend By being worse then they. I am Posthumus, That killed thy Daughter: Villain-like, I lie, That caused a lesser villain then my self, A sacrilegious Thief to doo't. The Temple Of Virtue was she; yea, and she her self. Spit, and throw stones, cast mire upon me, set The dogs of the street to bay me: every villain Be called Posthumus Leonatus, and Be villainy less then 'twas. O Imogen ! My Queen, my life, my wife: o Imogen, Imogen, Imogen. Shall's have a play of this? Thou scornful Page, there lie thy partly. Hang there Like fruit, my soul, Till the Tree die. I am Sir The Soldier that did company these three In poor beseeming: 'twas a fitment for The purpose I then followed. That I was he, Speak Jachimo, I had you down, and might Have made you finish. Kneel not to me: The pour that I have on you, is to spare you: The malice towards you, to forgive you. Live And deal with others better. Your Servant Princes Good my Lord of Room Call forth your Soothsayer: As I slept, me thought Great Jupiter upon his Eagle backed Appeared to me, with other sprightly shows Of mine own Kindred. When I waked, I found This Label on my bosom; whose containing Is so from sense in hardness, that I can Make no Collection of it. Let him show His skill in the construction. By your pardon Sir, I was then a young Travel ler, rather shunned to go even with what I herd, then in my every Actium to be guided by others experiences: but upon my mended judgement (if I offend to say it is men dead) my Quarrel was not altogether slight. Being so far provoked as I was in France: I would abate her nothing, though I profess my self her Adorer, not her Friend. A Repulse though your Attempt (as you call it) deserve more; a punishment too. How comes these staggers on me? I will wage against your Gold, Gold to it: My Ring I hold deer as my finger, it's partly of it. This is but a custom in your tongue: you bear a graver purpose I hope. Will you? I shall but lend my Diamond till your return: let there be Covenants drawn between. My Mistress exceeds in goodness, the hugeness of your unworthy thinking I dare you to this match: here's my Ring.