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Clot. Yes, and a gentlewoman's fon.

Lady. That's more

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Than fome, whofe tailors are as dear as yours,

Can justly boast of: what's your lordship's pleasure? Clot. Your lady's perfon; is fhe ready?.

Lady. Ay, to keep her chamber.

Clot. There is gold for you, fell me your good re

port.

Lady. How, my good name? or to report of you What lefhallethink is good? The Princess

Enter Imogen.

Clot. Good morrow, faireft: fifter, your sweet hand. Imo. Good morrow, Sir; you lay out too much pains

For purchafing but trouble; the thanks I give,
Is telling you that I am poor of thanks,

And fcarce can fpare them.

Clot. Still I fwear I love you.

A

Imo. If you but faid fo, 'twere as deep with me: If you fwear ftill, your recompence is ftill s That I regard it not.

Clot. This is no answer.

Imo. But that you fhall not fay I yield, being filent, I would not speak. I pray you, fpare me; faith, I fhall unfold equal difcourtefie

To your best kindness: one of your great knowing Should learn (being taught) forbearance.

Clot. To leave you in your madness, 'twere my fin (14)

I will not.

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(14) To leave you in your Madness, were my Sin z

I will not.

Imo. Fools are not Madfolks.

* Clot. Do you call me fool?

Imo. As I am mad, I do.]

Imo.

But does the really call him Fool? The foundeft Logician wou'd be puzzled to find it out, as the Text ftands. The reafoning is per le c'd in a flight Corruption; and we must reftare, as Mr. Warburton likewise faw,

Fools cure not Madfolks.

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Imo. Fools cure not mad folks. pa nadi odw 39Y) Clot. Do you call me fool? di moda Oj Imo. As Liam mad, I dose Sus asid La If you'll be patient, I'll no more be mad; 20Y 35 Y That cures us both. I am much forry, Sir,non ad You put me to forget a lady's manners (15)501q2sT By being fo verbal and learn now for all, gikini A That I, who know my heart, do here pronouncesę A By th' very truth of it, I care not for you:19 And am for near the lack of charity gods 10W T'accuse my felf, I hate you: which I had rather a You felt, than make my boaft. mong aid ad T Clot. You fin against To ne ed orava Obedience, which you owe your father; formoƆ The Contract you pretend with that bafe wretch, I' (One, bred of alms, and fofter'd with cold dishes, of With fcraps o'th' Court,) it is no Contract, none: And though it be allow'd in meaner parties, (16) |

to yourself. cur'd Madness.

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You are mad, fays He, and it would be a Crime in me to leave you Nay, fays fhe, why fhould you ftay? A Fool never Do you call me e Fool? replies he, &c. All this is eafy and natural. And that cure was certainly the Poet's Word, I think is very evident from what Imogen immediately fubjoins.

If you'll be patient, I'll no more be mad,

That cures us both.

... That cures a

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i. e. If you'll ceafe to torture me with your foolish Sollicitations, I'll cease to fhew towards you any Thing like Madness: fo a double Cure will be effected, of your Folly, and my fuppos'd Frenzy.

(15) You put me to forget a Lady's Manners

By being fo verbal.]

This Reflexion of Imogen upon her own Sex, that it ill becomes a Lady to be be loquacious, might very well be borrow'd from what Ajax says to Tecmeffa, in Sophocles;

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Γύναι, γυναιξὶ κόσμον ἡ σιγὴ φέρει. Ajac. Flagell. v. 295.
Woman, to Women Silence adds a Grace.

(16) And tho it be allow'd in meaner Parties,

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(Yet who than He more mean ?) to knit their Souls

(On whom there is no more Dependency stood sij
But Brats and Beggary) in felf figur'd Knot both

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Tho' I have not difturb'd the Text, Mr. Warburton and I have both concurr'd in fufpecting that the Poet wrote

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in felf finger'd Knot:

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(Yet who than he, more mean?) to knit their fouls
(On whom there is no more dependency y
But brats and beggary,) in delf-figur'd knot; -
Yet you are curb'd from that enlargement by
The confequence o'th' Grown; and muft not fail
The precious note of it with a base slave,sme
A hilding for a livery, a fquire's cloth
A pantler, not fo eminent.

Imo. Prophane fellow!

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Wert thou the fon of Jupiter, and no more
But what thou art besides, thou werts too bafe
To be his groom: thou wert dignify'd enough,
Ev'n to the point of Envy, if 'twere made
Comparative for your virtues, to be ftil'd
The under-hangman of his Realm; and hated
For being preferr'd fo well.

Clot. The fouth-fog rot him!

Imo. He never can meet more mifchance, than come
To be but nam'd of thee. His meaneft garment,
That ever hath but clipt his body, 's dearer

In my refpect, than all the hairs above thee,
Were they all made fuch men. How now, Pifanie?
Enter Pifanio.

Clot. His garment? now, the devil

A

Imo. To Dorothy, my woman, hye thee presently.

Clot. His garment?

Imo. I am fprighted with a fool,

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Frighted, and angred worse go, bid
Search for a jewel, that too cafually

my woman

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Hath left mine arm-it was thy mafter's. "Shrew me, If I would lose it for a revenue

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i. e. a Match made up without more Ceremony, than barely the Parties ftriking Hands. It is our Author's Mode of Expreffion. So in Troil, and Creffida.

The Bonds of Heav'n are flip'd, diffolv'd, and loos'd,
And with another Knot five-finger-tied, &c. -

And fo, in the Merry Wives of Windfor;

No, he fhall not knit a knot in his Fortunes with the Finger of my fubftance.

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Of

Of any King in Europe. I do think,

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I faw't this morning; confident Ham, nagu slob! 19"}
Laft night 'twas on my arm 3 Ikiffed it. da je I
I hope, it be not gone, to tell my lord
That I kifs ought but him.

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Pif. Twill not be lost.

Imo. I hope fo; go, and fearch.

Clot. You have abus'd me

His meaneft Garment?

Imo. Ay, I faid fo, Sir,

of

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If you will make't an action, call witness to'ts hmm? Člot. I will inform your father.

Imo. Your mother too;

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balgaida wel She's my good lady; and will conceive, I hope,ad: T But the worst of me. So I leave you, Sir, basm A To th' worst of discontent.

Clot. I'll be reveng'd; His meanest garment?

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Poft.

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well.

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Enter Pofthumus, and Philario. Wo ba? EAR it not, Sir, I would, I were fo fure To win the King, as I am bold, her Honour Will remain hers."

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Phi. What means do you make to him?

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Poft. Not any, but abide the change of times si Quake in the prefent winter's ftate, and wifh,

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That warmer days would come; in thefe fear'd hopes,
I barely gratifie your love; they failing,

I muft die much your debtor.com wind may ANT
Phi. Your very goodness, and your company,
O'er-pay's all I can do. By this, your King
Hath heard of great Auguftus; Caius Lucius
Will do's commiffion throughly. And, I think, (17)

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What a ftrange loose Inference do the Editors here make Philario

He'll grant the tribute; fend th' arrearages: 10
E'er look upon our Romans, whofe remembrance) I
Is yet fresh in their grief.chi mà chữ
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Poft. I do believe,gam As

(Statift though I am none, nor like to be,)

That this will prove a war; and you fhall hear (18)
The legions, now in Gallia, fooner landed
In our not-fearing Britain, than have tidings
Of any penny tribute paid. Our Countrymen
Are men more order'd, than when Julius Cæfar
Smil'd at their lack of skill, but found their courage
Worthy his frowning at. Their discipline,

Now mingled with their courages, will make known
To their approvers, they are people fuch
As mend upon the world.

guilty of, that Cymbeline would do One Thing, or t'other; either fubmit to pay Tribute, or difpute the Demand at Sword's Point? Who doubts it? But this was none of the Speaker's Meaning: he would give it as his Thought, that the Britains would pay, e'er they would conteft the Matter: and so I have reform'd the Text. I have shewn in my 21ft Note on Titus Andronicus, from CHAUCER, and the Old Gloffaries, that Or was formerly us'd fot eer, before: but this Ufage, as I there obferv'd, was become too obfolete for Shakespeare's Days.

7

(18)

And you fall hear
The Legion now in Gallia fooner landed

In our not fearing Britaine, &c.]

Pofthumus is faying, that the Britons are much ftrengthen'd fince the Time of Julius Cæfar's Attack upon them: Would then the Romans think now of invading them with a fingle Legion? The Poet certainly

wrote;

The Legions now in Gallia, &c.

So, in four feveral Paffages afterwards:

The Pow'rs, that he already hath in Gallia,
Will foon be drawn, &c.

To Them, the Legions garrifon'd in Gallia,
After your Will, bave crofs'd the Sea

And that the Legions now in Gallia are
Full weak to undertake our War against
The fall'n-off Britains; that we do incite
The Gentry to this Bufinefs.

So pleafe your Majefty,

The Roman Legions, all from Gallia drawn,

Are landed on your C.aft, with large Supply

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F

Of Roman Gentlemen.

Enter

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