The Bodleian First Folio

A digital facsimile of the First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Bodleian Arch. G c.7.

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Reference: zz5v - Tragedies, p. 374

Left Column

The Tragedy of Cymbeline.
[Act 1, Scene 6] Scena Septima. Enter Imogen alone. Imo. A Father cruell, and a Stepdame false,
A Foolish Suitor to a Wedded‑Lady, That hath her Husband banish'd: O, that Husband, My supreame Crowne of griefe, and those repeated Vexations of it. Had I bin Theefe‑stolne, As my two Brothers, happy: but most miserable
Is the desires that's glorious. Blessed be those How meane so ere, that haue their honest wills, Which seasons comfort. Who may this be? Fye.
Enter Pisanio, and Iachimo. Pisa. Madam, a Noble Gentleman of Rome, Comes from my Lord with Letters. Iach.
Change you, Madam: The Worthy Leonatus is in safety, And greetes your Highnesse deerely.
Imo. Thanks good Sir, You're kindly welcome. Iach.
All of her, that is out of doore, most rich: If she be furnish'd with a mind so rare She is alone th'Arabian‑Bird; and I Haue lost the wager. Boldnesse be my Friend: Arme me Audacitie from head to foote,
Orlike the Parthian I shall flying fight, Rather directly fly.
Imogen reads.

He is one of the Noblest note, to whose kindnesses I am most in­

finitely tied. Reflect vpon him accordingly, as you value your




So farre I reade aloud. But euen the very middle of my heart Is warm'd by'th'rest, and take it thankefully. You are as welcome (worthy Sir) as I
Haue words to bid you, and shall finde it so In all that I can do.
Iach. Thankes fairest Lady: What are men mad ? Hath Nature giuen them eyes To see this vaulted Arch, and the rich Crop
Of Sea and Land, which can distinguish 'twixt The firie Orbes aboue, and the twinn'd Stones Vpon the number'd Beach, and can we not Partition make with Spectales so pretious Twixt faire, and foule?
What makes your admiration?
Iach. It cannot be i'th'eye: for Apes, and Monkeys 'Twixt two such She's, would chatter this way, and Contemne with mowes the other. Nor i'th'iudgment: For Idiots in this case of fauour, would
Be wisely definit: Nor i'th'Appetite. Sluttery to such neate Excellence, oppos'd Should make desire vomit emptinesse, Not so allur 'd to feed.
Imo. What is the matter trow ? Iach.
The Cloyed will: That satiate yet vnsatisfi'd desire, that Tub Both fill'd and running: Rauening first the Lambe, Longs after for the Garbage.
Imo. What, deere Sir,
Thus rap's you? Are you well?

Right Column

Iach. Thanks Madam well: Beseech you Sir, Desire my Man's abode, where I did leaue him: He's strange and peeuish. Pisa. I was going Sir,
To giue him welcome.
Exit. Imo. Continues well my Lord? His health beseech you? Iach. Well, Madam. Imo. Is he dispos'd to mirth? I hope he is. Iach.
Exceeding pleasant: none a stranger there, So merry, and so gamesome: he is call'd The Britaine Reueller.
Imo. When he was heere He did incline to sadnesse, and oft times
Not knowi ng why.
Iach. I neuer saw him sad. There is a Frenchman his Companion, one An eminent Monsieur, that it seemes much loues A Gallian‑Girle at home. He furnaces
The thicke sighes from him; whiles the iolly Britaine, (Your Lord I meane) laughes from's free lungs: cries oh, Can my sides hold, to think that man who knowes By History, Report, or his owne proofe What woman is, yea what she cannot choose
But must be: will's free houres languish: For assured bondage?
Imo. Will my Lord say so? Iach. I Madam, with his eyes in flood with laughter, It is a Recreation to be by
And heare him mocke the Frenchman: But Heauen's know some men are much too blame.
Imo. Not he I hope. Iach. Not he: But yet Heauen's bounty towards him, might
Be vs'd more thankfully. In himselfe 'tis much; In you, which I account his beyond all Talents. Whil'st I am bound to wonder, I am bound To pitty too.
Imo. What do you pitty Sir? Iach.
Two Creatures heartyly.
Imo. Am I one Sir? You looke on me: what wrack discerne you in me Deserues your pitty? Iach. Lamentable: what
To hide me from the radiant Sun, and solace I'th'Dungeon by a Snuffe.
Imo. I pray you Sir, Deliuer with more opennesse your answeres To my demands. Why do you pitty me? Iach.
That others do, (I was about to say) enioy your ⸺but It is an office of the Gods to venge it, Not mine to speake on't.
Imo. You do seeme to know
Something of me, or what concernes me; pray you Since doubting things go ill, often hurts more Then to be sure they do. For Certainties Either are past remedies; or timely knowing, The remedy then borne. Discouer to me
What both you spur and stop.
Iach' Had I this cheeke To bathe my lips vpon: this hand, whose touch, (Whose euery touch) would force the Feelers soule To'th'oath of loyalty. This obiect, which
Takes prisoner the wild motion of mine eye, Fiering it onely heere, should I (damn'd then) Slauer

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