Cymbeline
·III iv 39 ·
Verse
Imogen I false! Thy conscience witness! Iachimo, Thou didst accuse him of incontinency; Thou then look'dst like a villain; now methinks Thy favour's good enough. Some jay of Italy, Whose mother was her painting, hath betray'd him: Poor I am stale, a garment out of fashion, And, for I am richer than to hang by the walls, I must be ripp'd; to pieces with me! O! Men's vows are women's traitors! All good seeming, By thy revolt, O husband! shall be thought 48 Put on for villany; not born where 't grows, But worn a bait for ladies. True honest men being heard, like false Æneas, Were in his time thought false, and Sinon's weeping Did scandal many a holy tear, took pity From most true wretchedness; so thou, Posthumus, Wilt lay the leaven on all proper men; Goodly and gallant shall be false and perjur'd From thy great fail. Come, fellow, be thou honest; Do thou thy master's bidding. When thou seest him, A little witness my obedience; look! I draw the sword myself; take it, and hit The innocent mansion of my love, my heart. Fear not, 'tis empty of all things but grief; Thy master is not there, who was indeed The riches of it: do his bidding; strike. Thou mayst be valiant in a better cause, But now thou seem'st a coward. |