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SCENE II.
A Field between the British and Roman Camps.Enter Posthumus with a bloody Handkerchief.
Post.
Yea bloody Cloth, I'll keep thee; for I wisht
Thou should'st be colour'd thus. You married ones
If each of you would take this Course, how many
Must murder Wives much better than yourselves,
For wrying but a little? Oh Pisanio;
Every good Servant does not all Commands—
No Bond, but to do just ones. Gods! if you
Should have ta'en Vengeance on my Faults, I never
Had liv'd to put on this; so had you saved
The noble Imogen to repent, and strook
Me, 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 permit
To second Ills with Ills, each worse than other,
And make them dreaded to the Doers thrift;
But Imogen is your own, do your best Wills,
And make me blest to obey. I am brought hither
Amongst the Italian Gentry, and to fight
66
That Britain, I have kill'd thy Mistress: Peace,
I'll give no Wound to thee; therefore good Heav'ns,
Hear patiently my Purpose, I'll disrobe me
Of these Italian Weeds, and suit myself
As does a Britain Peasant; so I'll fight
Against the Part O come with: so I'll die
For thee, O Imogen, for whom my Life
Is every Breath, a Death; and thus unknown,
Pitied, nor hated, to the Face of Peril,
Myself I'll dedicate. Let me make Men know
More Valour in me, than my Habit's Show;
Gods, put the strength o'th' Leonati in me;
To shame the Guise o'th' World, I will begin,
The Fashion less without, and more within.
[Exit.
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