mother: every Jack-slave hath his bellyful of
fighting, and I must go up and down like a cock that
nobody can match.
You are cock and capon too; and you crow,
cock, with your comb on.
Sayest thou?
It is not fit your lordship should undertake every
companion that you give offence to.
No, I know that: but it is fit I should commit
offence to my inferiors.
Ay, it is fit for your lordship only.
Why, so I say.
Did you hear of a stranger that's come to court to-night?
A stranger, and I not know on't!
He's a strange fellow himself, and knows it
not.
There's an Italian come; and, 'tis thought, one of
Leonatus' friends.
Leonatus! a banished rascal; and he's another,
whatsoever he be. Who told you of this stranger?
One of your lordship's pages.
Is it fit I went to look upon him? is there no
derogation in't?
You cannot derogate, my lord.
Not easily, I think.
You are a fool granted; therefore your
issues, being foolish, do not derogate.
Come, I'll go see this Italian: what I have lost
to-day at bowls I'll win to-night of him. Come, go.
I'll attend your lordship.
That such a crafty devil as is his mother
Should yield the world this ass! a woman that
Bears all down with her brain; and this her son
Cannot take two from twenty, for his heart,
And leave eighteen. Alas, poor princess,
Thou divine Imogen, what thou endurest,
Betwixt a father by thy step-dame govern'd,
A mother hourly coining plots, a wooer
More hateful than the foul expulsion is
Of thy dear husband, than that horrid act
Of the divorce he'ld make! The heavens hold firm
The walls of thy dear honour, keep unshaked
That temple, thy fair mind, that thou mayst stand,
To enjoy thy banish'd lord and this great land!
Who's there? my woman Helen?
Please you, madam
What hour is it?
Almost midnight, madam.
I have read three hours then: mine eyes are weak:
Fold down the leaf where I have left: to bed:
Take not away the taper, leave it burning;
And if thou canst awake by four o' the clock,
I prithee, call me. Sleep hath seized me wholly
To your protection I commend me, gods.
From fairies and the tempters of the night
Guard me, beseech ye.
The crickets sing, and man's o'er-labour'd sense
Repairs itself by rest. Our Tarquin thus
Did softly press the rushes, ere he waken'd
The chastity he wounded. Cytherea,
How bravely thou becomest thy