 | Cymbeline |  |
SCENE III.
A Field of Battle.A Grand Fight between the Romans and Britons, the Romans are drove off.
Enter Posthumus and Iachimo Fighting. Iachimo drops his Sword.
Post.
Or yield thee, Roman, or thou dy'st.
Iach.
Peasant, behold my Breast.
Post.
No, take thy Life and mend it.
[Exit Post.
Iach.
The Heaviness and sin within my Bosom
Takes off my Manhood, I've bely'd a Lady,
The Princess of this Country, and the Air on't
Revengingly enfeebles me, or could this carle,
A very Drudge of Nature, have subdu'd me,
In my Profession; Knighthoods and Honours borne
As I wear mine, are Titles but of Scorn;
With Heav'n against me, what is Sword or Shield,
My Guilt, my Guilt, o'er powers me, and I yield.
[Exit.
| Cymbeline | |