IMOGEN in «Cymbeline» II.

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    3. Act, 4. Scene 

    Imogen and Pisanio.

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    IMOGEN:
    Why, I must die;
    And if I do not by thy hand, thou art
    No servant of thy master's. Against self-slaughter
    There is a prohibition so divine
    That cravens my weak hand. Come, here's my heart.
    Something's afore 't; soft, soft! we'll no defence;
    Obedient as the scabbard. What is here?
    The scriptures of the loyal Leonatus
    All turn'd to heresy! Away, away!
    Corrupters of my faith; you shall no more
    Be stomachers to my heart. Thus may poor fools
    Believe false teachers; though those that are betray'd
    Do feel the treason sharply, yet the traitor
    Stands in worse case of woe.
    And thou, Posthumus, thou that didst set up
    My disobedience 'gainst the king my father,
    And make me put into contempt the suits
    Of princely fellows, shalt hereafter find
    It is no act of common passage, but
    A strain of rareness; and I grieve myself
    To think, when thou shalt be disedg'd by her
    That now thou tir'st on, how thy memory
    Will then be pang'd by me. Prithee, dispatch;
    The lamb entreats the butcher; where's thy knife?
    Thou art too slow to do thy master's bidding,
    When I desire it too.

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