Die the death:
When I have slain thee with my proper hand,
I'll follow those that even now fled hence,
And on the gates of Lud's-town set your heads:
Yield, rustic mountaineer.

Art not afeard?

To thy further fear,
Nay, to thy mere confusion, thou shalt know
I am son to the queen.

Cloten, thou villain.

Thou injurious thief,
Hear but my name, and tremble.

Thou precious varlet,
My tailor made them not.

Thou villain base,
Know'st me not by my clothes?

Thou art a robber,
A law-breaker, a villain: yield thee, thief.

Soft! What are you
That fly me thus? some villain mountaineers?
I have heard of such. What slave art thou?

I cannot find those runagates; that villain
Hath mock'd me. I am faint.

I am near to the place where they should meet, if
Pisanio have mapped it truly. How fit his garments
serve me! Why should his mistress, who was made by
him that made the tailor, not be fit too? the
rather--saving reverence of the word--for 'tis said
a woman's ...

Bring this apparel to my chamber; that is the second
thing that I have commanded thee: the third is,
that thou wilt be a voluntary mute to my design. Be
but duteous, and true preferment shall tender itself
to thee. My revenge is now at Milford: would I had
wings ...

How long is't since she went to Milford-Haven?

Meet thee at Milford-Haven!--I forgot to ask him one
thing; I'll remember't anon:--even there, thou
villain Posthumus, will I kill thee. I would these
garments were come. She said upon a time--the
bitterness of it I now belch from my heart--that she
held the very garment ...

The first service thou dost me, fetch that suit
hither: let it be thy lint service; go.

Give me thy hand; here's my purse. Hast any of thy
late master's garments in thy possession?

Wilt thou serve me? for since patiently and
constantly thou hast stuck to the bare fortune of
that beggar Posthumus, thou canst not, in the
course of gratitude, but be a diligent follower of
mine: wilt thou serve me?

It is Posthumus' hand; I know't. Sirrah, if thou
wouldst not be a villain, but do me true service,
undergo those employments wherein I should have
cause to use thee with a serious industry, that is,
what villany soe'er I bid thee do, to perform it
directly and ...

Sirrah, is this letter true?

Hum!

Let's see't. I will pursue her
Even to Augustus' throne.

All-worthy villain!
Discover where thy mistress is at once,
At the next word: no more of 'worthy lord!'
Speak, or thy silence on the instant is
Thy condemnation and thy death.

Where is she, sir? Come nearer;
No further halting: satisfy me home
What is become of her.

Where is thy lady? Or, by Jupiter,--
I will not ask again. Close villain,
I'll have this secret from thy heart, or rip
Thy heart to find it. Is she with Posthumus?
From whose so many weights of baseness cannot
A dram of worth be drawn.

I love and hate her: for she's fair and royal,
And that she hath all courtly parts more exquisite
Than lady, ladies, woman; from every one
The best she hath, and she, of all compounded,
Outsells them all; I love her therefore: but
Disdaining me and throwing favours on ...

'Tis certain she is fled.
Go in and cheer the king: he rages; none
Dare come about him.

That man of hers, Pisanio, her old servant,
have not seen these two days.

'Tis all the better;
Your valiant Britons have their wishes in it.

Receive it friendly; but from this time forth
I wear it as your enemy.

His majesty bids you welcome. Make
pastime with us a day or two, or longer: if
you seek us afterwards in other terms, you
shall find us in our salt-water girdle: if you
beat us out of it, it is yours; if you fall in
the adventure, our crows shall ...

We do.

We have yet many among us can gripe as hard as
Cassibelan: I do not say I am one; but I have a
hand. Why tribute? why should we pay tribute? If
Caesar can hide the sun from us with a blanket, or
put the moon in his pocket, we ...

Come, there's no more tribute to be paid: our
kingdom is stronger than it was at that time; and,
as I said, there is no moe such Caesars: other of
them may have crook'd noses, but to owe such
straight arms, none.

There be many Caesars,
Ere such another Julius. Britain is
A world by itself; and we will nothing pay
For wearing our own noses.

I'll be revenged:
'His meanest garment!' Well.

I will inform your father.

You have abused me:
'His meanest garment!'

'His garment!'

'His garment!' Now the devil--

The south-fog rot him!

You sin against
Obedience, which you owe your father. For
The contract you pretend with that base wretch,
One bred of alms and foster'd with cold dishes,
With scraps o' the court, it is no contract, none:
And though it be allow'd in meaner parties--
Yet who than ...

Do you call me fool?

To leave you in your madness, 'twere my sin:
I will not.

This is no answer.

Still, I swear I love you.

Good morrow, fairest: sister, your sweet hand.

There is gold for you;
Sell me your good report.

Your lady's person: is she ready?

Yes, and a gentlewoman's son.

A gentleman.