Cymbeline
·III ii 29 ·
Verse
Imogen Who? thy lord? that is my lord, Leonatus. O! learn'd indeed were that astronomer That knew the stars as I his characters; He'd lay the future open. You good gods, Let what is here contain'd relish of love, Of my lord's health, of his content, yet not That we two are asunder; let that grieve him,-- Some griefs are med'cinable; that is one of them, For it doth physic love,--of his content, All but in that! Good wax, thy leave. Bless'd be You bees that make these locks of counsel! Lovers And men in dangerous bonds pray not alike; Though forfeiters you cast in prison, yet You clasp young Cupid's tables. Good news, gods! Justice, and your father's wrath, should he take me in his dominion, could not be so cruel to me, as you, O the dearest of creatures, would not even renew me with your eyes. Take notice that I am in Cambria, at Milford-Haven; what your own love will out of this advise you, follow. So, he wishes you all happiness, that remains loyal to his vow, and your, increasing in love, LEONATUS POSTHUMUS.
O! for a horse with wings! Hear'st thou, Pisanio? |