Cymbeline - Act 5 Scene 1

Cymbeline

Britain. The Roman Camp.

Enter POSTHUMUS, with a bloody handkerchief.

Post. Yea, bloody cloth, I'll keep thee, for I wish'd

Thou shouldst be colour'd thus. You married ones,

If each of you should take this course, how many

Must murder wives much better than themselves

For wrying but a little! O Pisanio!

Every good servant does not all commands;

No bond but to do just ones. Gods! if you

Should have ta'en vengeance on my faults, I never

Had liv'd to put on this; so had you sav'd

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 fall no more; you some permit

To second ills with ills, each elder worse,

And make them dread it, to the doers' thrift.

But Imogen is your own; do your best wills,

And make me bless'd to obey. I am brought hither

Among the Italian gentry, and to fight

Against my lady's kingdom; 'tis enough

That, Britain, I have kill'd thy mistress-piece!

I'll give no wound to thee. Therefore good heavens,

Hear patiently my purpose: I'll disrobe me

Of these Italian weeds, and suit myself

As does a Briton peasant; so I'll fight

Against the part I come with, so I'll die

For thee, O Imogen! even for whom my life

Is, every breath, a death: and thus, unknown,

Pitied nor hated, to the face of peril

Myself I'll dedicate. Let me make men know

More valour in me than my habits show.

Gods! put the strength o' the Leonati in me.

To shame the guise o' the world, I will begin

The fashion, less without and more within. [Exit.