Document:  All > Shakespeare > Comedies > Cymbeline > Act V, scene I

	[Enter POSTHUMUS, with a bloody handkerchief]

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS: Yea, bloody cloth, I'll keep thee, for I wish'd
	Thou shouldst be colour'd thus. You married ones,
	If each of you should take this course, how many
	Must murder wives much better than themselves
	For wrying but a little! O Pisanio!
	Every good servant does not all commands:
	No bond but to do just ones. Gods! if you
	Should have ta'en vengeance on my faults, I never
	Had lived to put on this: so had you saved
	The noble Imogen to repent, and struck
	Me, wretch more worth your vengeance. But, alack,
	You snatch some hence for little faults; that's love,
	To have them fall no more: you some permit
	To second ills with ills, each elder worse,
	And make them dread it, to the doers' thrift.
	But Imogen is your own: do your best wills,
	And make me blest to obey! I am brought hither
	Among the Italian gentry, and to fight
	Against my lady's kingdom: 'tis enough
	That, Britain, I have kill'd thy mistress; peace!
	I'll give no wound to thee. Therefore, good heavens,
	Hear patiently my purpose: I'll disrobe me
	Of these Italian weeds and suit myself
	As does a Briton peasant: so I'll fight
	Against the part I come with; so I'll die
	For thee, O Imogen, even for whom my life
	Is every breath a death; 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.



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