Cymbeline quotes

O blest, that I might not!

I chose an eagle, And did avoid a puttock.

Thou took’st a beggar; wouldst have made my throne A seat for baseness.

Aside.

She shines not upon fools, lest the reflection should hurt her.

Come, I’ll to my chamber. Would there had been some hurt done!

we’ll try with tongue too: if none will do, let her remain; but I’ll never give o’er. First, a very excellent good-conceited thing; after, a wonderful sweet air, with admirable rich words to it: and then let her consider.

Hark, hark! the lark at heaven’s gate sings, And Phoebus ’gins arise,

His steeds to water at those springs On chaliced flowers that lies; And winking Mary-buds begin To ope their golden eyes: With every thing that pretty is, My lady sweet, arise: Arise, arise.

To leave you in your madness, ’twere my sin: I will not.

Fools are not mad folks.

Do you call me fool?

Another room in Philario’s house.

Is there no way for men to be but women Must be half-workers?

We are all bastards; And that most venerable man which I Did call my father, was I know not where When I was stamp’d; some coiner with his tools Made me a counterfeit: yet my mother seem’d The Dian of that time:

There be many Caesars, Ere such another Julius.

Britain is A world by itself; and we will nothing pay For wearing our own noses.

That opportunity Which then they had to take from’s, to resume We have again.

He’ld lay the future open. You good gods, Let what is here contain’d relish of love, Of my lord’s health, of his content, yet not That we two are asunder; let that grieve him:

Some griefs are med’cinable; that is one of them,

For it doth physic love: of his content, All but in that! Good wax, thy leave. Blest be You bees that make these locks of counsel! Lovers And men in dangerous bonds pray not alike:

Take notice that I am in Cambria, at Milford-Haven: what your own love will out of this advise you, follow. So he wishes you all happiness, that remains loyal to his vow, and your, increasing in love, “Leonatus Posthumus.”

O, for a horse with wings! Hear’st thou, Pisanio?

He is at Milford-Haven: read, and tell me How far ’tis thither. If one of mean affairs May plod it in a week, why may not I Glide thither in a day? Then, true Pisanio— Who long’st, like me, to see thy lord;

he that strikes The venison first shall be the lord o’ the feast; To him the other two shall minister; And we will fear no poison, which attends In place of greater state. I’ll meet you in the valleys. Exeunt Guiderius and Arviragus.

How hard it is to hide the sparks of nature!

These boys know little they are sons to the king; Nor Cymbeline dreams that they are alive. They think they are mine;

Where then?

Hath Britain all the sun that shines? Day, night, Are they not but in Britain?

I’ the world’s volume Our Britain seems as of it, but not in’t; In a great pool a swan’s nest: prithee, think There’s livers out of Britain.

but even before, I was At point to sink for food. But what is this? Here is a path to’t: ’tis some savage hold: I were best not to call; I dare not call: yet famine, Ere clean it o’erthrow nature, makes it valiant.

Plenty and peace breeds cowards: hardness ever Of hardiness is mother.

Ho! who’s here? If any thing that’s civil, speak; if savage, Take or lend. Ho! No answer? Then I’ll enter. Best draw my sword; and if mine enemy But fear the sword like me, he’ll scarcely look on’t. Such a foe, good heavens!

Aside. These are kind creatures. Gods, what lies I have heard!

Our courtiers say all’s savage but at court: Experience, O, thou disprovest report!

The imperious seas breed monsters, for the dish Poor tributary rivers as sweet fish. I am sick still; heart-sick. Pisanio, I’ll now taste of thy drug. Swallows some.

Thou villain base, Know’st me not by my clothes?

No, nor thy tailor, rascal, Who is thy grandfather: he made those clothes, Which, as it seems, make thee.

Thou precious varlet, My tailor made them not.

Reenter Guiderius, with Cloten’s head.

This Cloten was a fool, an empty purse; There was no money in’t

: not Hercules Could have knock’d out his brains, for he had none: Yet I not doing this, the fool had borne My head as I do his.

Arviragus

Fear no more the heat o’ the sun, Nor the furious winter’s rages;

Thou thy worldly task hast done, Home art gone, and ta’en thy wages: Golden lads and girls all must, As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.

Fear no more the heat o’ the sun, Nor the furious winter’s rages; Thou thy worldly task hast done, Home art gone, and ta’en thy wages:

Golden lads and girls all must, As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.

Fear no more the frown o’ the great; Thou art past the tyrant’s stroke; Care no more to clothe and eat; To thee the reed is as the oak: The sceptre, learning, physic, must All follow this, and come to dust.

Fear no more the frown o’ the great; Thou art past the tyrant’s stroke; Care no more to clothe and eat; To thee the reed is as the oak:

The sceptre, learning, physic, must All follow this, and come to dust.

Fear no more the lightning-flash,

Thou dost approve thyself the very same:

Thy name well fits thy faith, thy faith thy name.

Wilt take thy chance with me? I will not say Thou shalt be so well master’d, but, be sure, No less beloved. The Roman emperor’s letters, Sent by a consul to me, should not sooner Than thine own worth prefer thee: go with me.

let us Find out the prettiest daisied plot we can, And make him with our pikes and partisans A grave: come, arm him. Boy, he is preferr’d By thee to us, and he shall be interr’d As soldiers can. Be cheerful; wipe thine eyes:

Some falls are means the happier to arise.

Exeunt.

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 habits show. Gods, put the strength o’ the Leonati in me!

To shame the guise o’ the world, I will begin The fashion, less without and more within.

Exit.

Why did you throw your wedded lady from you? Think that you are upon a rock; and now Throw me again. Embracing him.

Hang there like a fruit, my soul, Till the tree die!

How now, my flesh, my child! What, makest thou me a dullard in this act? Wilt thou not speak to me?