Online Book Reader

Home Category

The Complete Works of William Shakespeare - Israel Gollancz William Shakespeare [1117]

By Root 21825 0

Jove!

Once more let me behold it. Is it that

Which I left with her?

IACHIMO.

Sir- I thank her- that.

She stripp'd it from her arm; I see her yet;

Her pretty action did outsell her gift,

And yet enrich'd it too. She gave it me, and said

She priz'd it once.

POSTHUMUS.

May be she pluck'd it of

To send it me.

IACHIMO.

She writes so to you, doth she?

POSTHUMUS.

O, no, no, no! 'tis true. Here, take this too;

[Gives the ring]

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

Than they are to their virtues, which is nothing.

O, above measure false!

PHILARIO.

Have patience, sir,

And take your ring again; 'tis not yet won.

It may be probable she lost it, or

Who knows if one her women, being corrupted

Hath stol'n it from her?

POSTHUMUS.

Very true;

And so I hope he came by't. Back my ring.

Render to me some corporal sign about her,

More evident than this; for this was stol'n.

IACHIMO.

By Jupiter, I had it from her arm!

POSTHUMUS.

Hark you, he swears; by Jupiter he swears.

'Tis true- nay, keep the ring, 'tis true. I am sure

She would not lose it. Her attendants are

All sworn and honourable- they induc'd to steal it!

And by a stranger! No, he hath enjoy'd her.

The cognizance 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!

PHILARIO.

Sir, be patient;

This is not strong enough to be believ'd

Of one persuaded well of.

POSTHUMUS.

Never talk on't;

She hath been colted by him.

IACHIMO.

If you seek

For further satisfying, under her breast-

Worthy the pressing- lies a mole, right proud

Of that most delicate lodging. By my life,

I kiss'd it; and it gave me present hunger

To feed again, though full. You do remember

This stain upon her?

POSTHUMUS.

Ay, and it doth confirm

Another stain, as big as hell can hold,

Were there no more but it.

IACHIMO.

Will you hear more?

POSTHUMUS.

Spare your arithmetic; never count the turns.

Once, and a million!

IACHIMO.

I'll be sworn-

POSTHUMUS.

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.

IACHIMO.

I'll deny nothing.

POSTHUMUS.

O that I had her here to tear her limb-meal!

I will go there and do't, i' th' court, before

Her father. I'll do something- Exit

PHILARIO. Quite besides

The government of patience! You have won.

Let's follow him and pervert the present wrath

He hath against himself.

IACHIMO.

With all my heart. Exeunt

SCENE V. Rome. Another room in PHILARIO'S house

Enter POSTHUMUS

POSTHUMUS.

Is there no way for men to be, but women

Must be half-workers? We are all bastards,

And that most venerable man which I

Did call my father was I know not where

When I was stamp'd. Some coiner with his tools

Made me a counterfeit; yet my mother seem'd

The Dian of that time. So doth my wife

The nonpareil of this. O, vengeance, vengeance!

Me of my lawful pleasure she restrain'd,

And pray'd me oft forbearance; did it with

A pudency so rosy, the sweet view on't

Might well have warm'd old Saturn; that I thought her

As chaste as unsunn'd snow. O, all the devils!

This yellow Iachimo in an hour- was't not?

Or less!- at first? Perchance he spoke not, but,

Like a full-acorn'd boar, a German one,

Cried 'O!' and mounted; found no opposition

But what he look'd for should oppose and she

Should from encounter guard. Could I find out

The woman's part in me! For there's no motion

That tends to vice in man but I affirm

It is the woman's part. Be it lying, note it,

The woman's; flattering, hers; deceiving, hers;

Lust and rank thoughts, hers, hers; revenges, hers;

Ambitions, covetings, change of prides, disdain,

Nice longing, slanders, mutability,

All faults that man may name, nay, that hell knows,

Why, hers, in part or all; but

Return Main Page Previous Page Next Page

®Online Book Reader