Post.
Yea, bloody cloth, I'll keep thee; for I wish'd ^note
Thou shouldst be colour'd thus. You married ones,
If each of you should ^note 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 ^note more worth your vengeance. But, alack,
You snatch some hence ^note for little faults; that's love,
To have them fall no more: you some permit
To second ills with ills, each elder worse ^note,
And make them ^note dread it, to the doers' ^note thrift ^note.
But Imogen is your own: do your best ^note wills,
And make me blest to obey! I am brought hither
Among the Italian gentry, and to fight
Against my lady's ^note 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 ^note peasant: so I'll fight
Against the part I come with; so I'll die
For thee, O Imogen, even ^note for whom my life
Is, every breath, a death: and thus, unknown ^note,
Pitied nor ^note hated, to the face of peril
Myself I'll dedicate. Let me make men know
More valour in me than my habits show ^note.
Gods, put the strength o' the Leonati in me!
To shame the guise o' the world, I will begin
The fashion, ^note less without and more within. [Exit.

^note

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