Page 445 - Shakespeare - Vol. 4
P. 445
O blessed, that I might not! I chose an eagle, [70]
And did avoid a puttock.
CYMBELINE
Thou took’st a beggar, wouldst have made my throne
A seat for baseness.
IMOGEN
No, I rather added
A lustre to it.
CYMBELINE
O thou vile one!
IMOGEN
Sir,
It is your fault that I have lov’d Posthumus: [75]
You bred him as my playfellow, and he is
A man worth any woman: overbuys me
Almost the sum he pays.
CYMBELINE
What? Art thou mad?
IMOGEN
Almost, sir: heaven restore me! Would I were
A neat-herd’s daughter, and my Leonatus [80]
Our neighbour-shepherd’s son!
CYMBELINE
Thou foolish thing! −
Re-enter Queen.
They were again together: you have done
Not after our command. Away with her,
And pen her up.
QUEEN
