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