CYMBELINE. Уильям Шекспир

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       So farre I reade aloud.

       But euen the very middle of my heart

       Is warm’d by’th’ rest, and take it thankefully.

       You are as welcome (worthy Sir) as I

       Haue words to bid you, and shall finde it so

       In all that I can do

       Iach. Thankes fairest Lady:

       What are men mad? Hath Nature giuen them eyes

       To see this vaulted Arch, and the rich Crop

       Of Sea and Land, which can distinguish ‘twixt

       The firie Orbes aboue, and the twinn’d Stones

       Vpon the number’d Beach, and can we not

       Partition make with Spectacles so pretious

       Twixt faire, and foule?

       Imo. What makes your admiration?

       Iach. It cannot be i’th’ eye: for Apes, and Monkeys

       ‘Twixt two such She’s, would chatter this way, and

       Contemne with mowes the other. Nor i’th’ iudgment:

       For Idiots in this case of fauour, would

       Be wisely definit: Nor i’th’ Appetite.

       Sluttery to such neate Excellence, oppos’d

       Should make desire vomit emptinesse,

       Not so allur’d to feed

       Imo. What is the matter trow?

       Iach. The Cloyed will:

       That satiate yet vnsatisfi’d desire, that Tub

       Both fill’d and running: Rauening first the Lambe,

       Longs after for the Garbage

       Imo. What, deere Sir,

       Thus rap’s you? Are you well?

       Iach. Thanks Madam well: Beseech you Sir,

       Desire my Man’s abode, where I did leaue him:

       He’s strange and peeuish

       Pisa. I was going Sir,

       To giue him welcome.

       Enter.

       Imo. Continues well my Lord?

       His health beseech you?

       Iach. Well, Madam

       Imo. Is he dispos’d to mirth? I hope he is Iach. Exceeding pleasant: none a stranger there,

       So merry, and so gamesome: he is call’d

       The Britaine Reueller

       Imo. When he was heere

       He did incline to sadnesse, and oft times

       Not knowing why

       Iach. I neuer saw him sad.

       There is a Frenchman his Companion, one

       An eminent Monsieur, that it seemes much loues

       A Gallian-Girle at home. He furnaces

       The thicke sighes from him; whiles the iolly Britaine,

       (Your Lord I meane) laughes from’s free lungs: cries oh,

       Can my sides hold, to think that man who knowes

       By History, Report, or his owne proofe

       What woman is, yea what she cannot choose

       But must be: will’s free houres languish:

       For assured bondage?

       Imo. Will my Lord say so?

       Iach. I Madam, with his eyes in flood with laughter,

       It is a Recreation to be by

       And heare him mocke the Frenchman:

       But Heauen’s know some men are much too blame

       Imo. Not he I hope Iach. Not he:

       But yet Heauen’s bounty towards him, might

       Be vs’d more thankfully. In himselfe ‘tis much;

       In you, which I account his beyond all Talents.

       Whil’st I am bound to wonder, I am bound

       To pitty too

       Imo. What do you pitty Sir?

       Iach. Two Creatures heartyly

       Imo. Am I one Sir?

       You looke on me: what wrack discerne you in me

       Deserues your pitty?

       Iach. Lamentable: what

       To hide me from the radiant Sun, and solace

       I’th’ Dungeon by a Snuffe

       Imo. I pray you Sir,

       Deliuer with more opennesse your answeres

       To my demands. Why do you pitty me?

       Iach. That others do,

       (I was about to say) enioy your-but

       It is an office of the Gods to venge it,

       Not mine to speake on’t

       Imo. You do seeme to know

       Something of me, or what concernes me; pray you

       Since doubting things go ill, often hurts more

       Then to be sure they do. For Certainties

       Either are past remedies; or timely knowing,

       The remedy then borne. Discouer to me

       What both you spur and stop

       Iach. Had I this cheeke

       To bathe my lips vpon: this hand, whose touch,

       (Whose euery touch) would force the Feelers soule

       To’th’ oath of loyalty. This obiect, which

       Takes prisoner the wild motion of mine eye,

       Fiering it onely heere, should I (damn’d СКАЧАТЬ