Post. All is well yet. Sparkles this stone as it was wont? or is't not Iach. If I have lost it, I should have lost the worth of it in gold. Your lady being so easy. Post. Not a whit, Make not, sir, Your loss your sport: I hope, you know that we Must not continue friends. Iach. Good sir, we must, Post. If you can make't apparent, The ring is yours: If not, the foul opinion You had of her pure honour, gains, or loses, Your sword, or mine; or masterless leaves both To who shall find them. Iach. Sir, my circumstances, Being so near the truth, as I will make them, Must first induce you to believe: whose strength I will confirm with oath; which, I doubt not, You'll give me leave to spare, when you shall find You need it not. Post. Iach. Proceed. First, her bed-chamber, (Where, I confess, I slept not ;) It was hang'd With tapestry of silk and silver? the story Proud Cleopatra, when she met her Roman, And Cydnus swell'd above the banks, or for The press of boats, or pride: A piece of work Since the true life on't was Post. This is true; And this you might have heard of here, by me, Or by some other. Iach. Must justify my knowledge. Post. More particulars So they must, The chimney Or do your honour injury. Iach. Post. Iach. The roof o'the chamber With golden cherubins is fretted: Her andirons (I had forgot them,) were two winking Cupids Of silver, each on one foot standing, nicely Depending on their brands. Post. This is her honour! Let it be granted, you have seen all this, (and praise Be given to your remembrance,) the description The wager you have laid. Iach. Then if you can, [Pulling out the Bracelet. Be pale; I beg but leave to air this jewel: See! 8 Ornamented iron bars which support wood burnt in chimneys. And now 'tis up again: It must be married Post. Once more let me behold it: Is it that Which I left with her? Iach. Jove! Sir, (I thank her,) that: She stripp'd it from her arm ; I see her yet; Her pretty action did outsell her gift, And yet enrich'd it too: She gave it me, and said, She priz'd it once. Post. To send it me. Iach. 'May be, she pluck'd it off, She writes so to you? doth she? Post. Ò, no, no, no; 'tis true. Here, take this [Gives the Ring. too; It is a basilisk unto mine eye, Kills me to look on't: - Let there be no honour, Where there is beauty; truth, where semblance; ⚫ love, Where there's another man: The vows of women Of no more bondage be, to where they are made, Than they are to their virtues; which is nothing: O, above measure false ! Phi. Have patience, sir, And take your ring again; 'tis not yet won: It may be probable, she lost it; or, Who knows if one of her women, being corrupted, Hath stolen it from her. Post. Very true; And so, I hope, he came by't:- Back my ring; Render to me some corporal sign about her, More evident than this; for this was stolen.. Iach. By Jupiter, I had it from her arm. Post. Hark you, he swears; by Jupiter he swears. nay, keep the ring. 'tis true: I am 'Tis true; sure, She would not lose it: her attendants are induc'd to steal it! And by a stranger? No, he hath enjoy'd her. Phi. This is not strong enough to be believ'd Post. Iach. Sir, be patient: Never talk on't. If you seek For further satisfying, under her breast Post. Ay, and it doth confirm Iach. Post. Spare your arithmetick. Iach. I'll be sworn, Post. Will you hear more? No swearing. If you will swear you have not done't, you lie ; Thou hast made me cuckold. Iach. I will deny nothing. Post. O, that I had her here, to tear her limb-.. meal! I will go there, and do't; i'the court; before Phi. [Exit. Quite besides The government of patience! You have won : Let's follow him, and pervert the present wrath He hath against himself. Iach. With all my heart. [Exeunt. SCENE V. Another Room in the same. Enter POSThumus. Post. Is there no way for men to be, but women Must be half workers? We are bastards all. I am a counterfeit. Yet my mother seem'd The Dian of that time: so doth my wife The nonpareil of this. O vengeance, vengeance! I thought her chaste as unsunn'd snow. Could I find out The woman's part in me! For there's no motion It is the woman's part: Be it lying, note it, All faults that may be nam'd, nay that hell knows, They are not constant, but are changing still Not half so old as that. I'll write against them, 11 The very devils cannot plague them better. [Exit. |