CYMBELINE. Уильям Шекспир

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      SCENE VI.

       Enter Imogen alone.

       Imo. I see a mans life is a tedious one,

       I haue tyr’d my selfe: and for two nights together

       Haue made the ground my bed. I should be sicke,

       But that my resolution helpes me: Milford,

       When from the Mountaine top, Pisanio shew’d thee,

       Thou was’t within a kenne. Oh Ioue, I thinke

       Foundations flye the wretched: such I meane,

       Where they should be releeu’d. Two Beggers told me,

       I could not misse my way. Will poore Folkes lye

       That haue Afflictions on them, knowing ‘tis

       A punishment, or Triall? Yes; no wonder,

       When Rich-ones scarse tell true. To lapse in Fulnesse

       Is sorer, then to lye for Neede: and Falshood

       Is worse in Kings, then Beggers. My deere Lord,

       Thou art one o’th’ false Ones: Now I thinke on thee,

       My hunger’s gone; but euen before, I was

       At point to sinke, for Food. But what is this?

       Heere is a path too’t: ‘tis some sauage hold:

       I were best not call; I dare not call: yet Famine

       Ere cleane it o’re-throw Nature, makes it valiant.

       Plentie, and Peace breeds Cowards: Hardnesse euer

       Of Hardinesse is Mother. Hoa? who’s heere?

       If any thing that’s ciuill, speake: if sauage,

       Take, or lend. Hoa? No answer? Then Ile enter.

       Best draw my Sword; and if mine Enemy

       But feare the Sword like me, hee’l scarsely looke on’t.

       Such a Foe, good Heauens.

       Enter.

      SCENE VII.

       Enter Belarius, Guiderius, and Aruiragus

       Bel. You Polidore haue prou’d best Woodman, and

       Are Master of the Feast: Cadwall, and I

       Will play the Cooke, and Seruant, ‘tis our match:

       The sweat of industry would dry, and dye

       But for the end it workes too. Come, our stomackes

       Will make what’s homely, sauoury: Wearinesse

       Can snore vpon the Flint, when restie Sloth

       Findes the Downe-pillow hard. Now peace be heere,

       Poore house, that keep’st thy selfe

       Gui. I am throughly weary

       Arui. I am weake with toyle, yet strong in appetite

       Gui. There is cold meat i’th’ Caue, we’l brouz on that

       Whil’st what we haue kill’d, be Cook’d

       Bel. Stay, come not in:

       But that it eates our victualles, I should thinke

       Heere were a Faiery

       Gui. What’s the matter, Sir?

       Bel. By Iupiter an Angell: or if not

       An earthly Paragon. Behold Diuinenesse

       No elder then a Boy.

       Enter Imogen.

       Imo. Good masters harme me not:

       Before I enter’d heere, I call’d, and thought

       To haue begg’d, or bought, what I haue took: good troth

       I haue stolne nought, nor would not, though I had found

       Gold strew’d i’th’ Floore. Heere’s money СКАЧАТЬ