Act V · Scene I
Britain. The Roman camp.
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Enter POSTHUMUS, with a bloody handkerchief
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS
Yea, bloody cloth, I'll keep thee, for I wish'dThou shouldst be colour'd thus. You married ones,If each of you should take this course, how manyMust murder wives much better than themselvesFor wrying but a little! O Pisanio!Every good servant does not all commands:No bond but to do just ones. Gods! if youShould have ta'en vengeance on my faults, I neverHad lived to put on this: so had you savedThe noble Imogen to repent, and struckMe, wretch more worth your vengeance. But, alack,You snatch some hence for little faults; that's love,To have them fall no more: you some permitTo second ills with ills, each elder worse,And make them dread it, to the doers' thrift.But Imogen is your own: do your best wills,And make me blest to obey! I am brought hitherAmong the Italian gentry, and to fightAgainst my lady's kingdom: 'tis enoughThat, Britain, I have kill'd thy mistress; peace!I'll give no wound to thee. Therefore, good heavens,Hear patiently my purpose: I'll disrobe meOf these Italian weeds and suit myselfAs does a Briton peasant: so I'll fightAgainst the part I come with; so I'll dieFor thee, O Imogen, even for whom my lifeIs every breath a death; and thus, unknown,Pitied nor hated, to the face of perilMyself I'll dedicate. Let me make men knowMore valour in me than my habits show.Gods, put the strength o' the Leonati in me!To shame the guise o' the world, I will beginThe fashion, less without and more within.
Exit