SCENE IBritain. Before Cymbeline's palace.
Enter CLOTEN and two Lords.
Was there ever man had such luck!
when I kissed the jack, upon an up-cast to be
hit away! I had a hundred pound on't: and
then a whoreson jackanapes must take me up
for swearing; as if I borrowed mine oaths of
him and might not spend them at my pleasure.
What got he by that? You
have broke his pate with your bowl.
If his wit had been like
him that broke it, it would have run all out.
When a gentleman is disposed to
swear, it is not for any standers-by to curtail
his oaths, ha?
No, my lord; [Aside]
nor crop the ears of them.
Whoreson dog! I give him satisfaction?
Would he had been one of my rank!
To have smelt like a
I am not vexed more at any thing in
the earth: a pox on't! I had rather not be so
noble as I am; they dare not fight with me,
because of the queen my mother: every Jack-
slave hath his bellyful of fighting, and I must
go up and down like a cock that nobody can
You are cock and capon
too; and you crow, cock, with your comb
It is not fit your lordship should
undertake every companion that you give offence
No, I know that: but it is fit I should
commit offence to my inferiors.
Ay, it is fit for your lordship
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, (41)
'tis thought, one of Leonatus' friends.
Leonatus! a banish'd 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
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. [Exeunt Cloten and First Lord.
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, (61)
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 honor, keep unshak'd (69)
That temple, thy fair mind, that thou mayst stand,
To enjoy thy banish'd lord and this great land! [Exit.