Cymbeline
William Shakespeare
- 179 Seiten
- English
- ePUB (handyfreundlich)
- Über iOS und Android verfügbar
Cymbeline
William Shakespeare
Über dieses Buch
Classic Books Library presents this new beautiful edition of William Shakespeare's play, "Cymbeline", featuring a specially commissioned new biography of William Shakespeare. Although one of Shakespeare's less-performed plays, murderous plots and mistaken identities make "Cymbeline" a compelling story of intrigue. Set in ancient Britain, King Cymbeline laments the abduction of his two sons some twenty years prior. His last child, Imogen, has secretly married her lover, Posthumus, and not her stepbrother, Cloten, to which the sinister Queen has promised her hand. Exiled by the King, Posthumus is convinced that Imogen has been unfaithful and plans to seek revenge. Pursued by Cloten and fearful for her life, Imogen flees in a disguise and uncovers the truth about her brothers. William Shakespeare (1564 - 1616) was an English playwright, poet, and actor. He is considered to be the greatest writer in the English language and is celebrated as the world's most famous dramatist.
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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 liv'd 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 doer's thrift.
But Imogen is your own. Do your best wills,
And make me blest to obey. I am brought hither
Among th' 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 Britain 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' th' Leonati in me!
To shame the guise o' th' world, I will begin
The fashion- less without and more within.
the British and Roman Camps.
and then leaves him]
The heaviness and guilt within my bosom
Takes off my manhood. I have belied a lady,
The Princess of this country, and the air on't
Revengingly enfeebles me; or could this carl,
A very drudge of nature's, have subdu'd me
In my profession? Knighthoods and honours borne
As I wear mine are titles but of scorn.
If that thy gentry, Britain, go before
This lout as he exceeds our lords, the odds
Is that we scarce are men, and you are gods.
Then Enter to his rescue BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS,
and ARVIRAGUS]
Stand, stand! We have th' advantage of the ground;
The lane is guarded; nothing routs us but
The villainy of our fears.
Stand, stand, and fight!