Best draw my sword; and if mine enemy

But fear the sword, like me, he’ll scarcely look on’t.

Such a foe, good heavens!

[IV, ii, 293–334] Still making her sad way westward, almost mad with grief, Imogen awakens from uneasy sleep to find herself lying by what appears to be the headless body of her husband:

Yes, sir, to Milford Haven. Which is the way?

I thank you. By yond bush? Pray, how far thither?

‘Ods pittikins! Can it be six mile yet?

I have gone all night. Faith, I’ll lie down and sleep.

But, soft! no bedfellow. O gods and goddesses!

(Seeing the body)

These flow’rs are like the pleasures of the world;

This bloody man, the care on’t. I hope I dream;

For so I thought I was a cave-keeper,

And cook to honest creatures. But ’tis not so;

’Twas but a bolt of nothing, shot at nothing,

Which the brain makes of fumes. Our very eyes

Are sometimes, like our judgements, blind. Good faith,

I tremble still with fear; but if there be

Yet left in heaven as small a drop of pity

As a wren’s eye, feared gods, a part of it!

The dream’s here still. Even when I wake it is

Without me, as within me; not imagined, felt.

A headless man? The garments of Posthumus?

I know the shape of his leg; this is his hand,

His foot mercurial, his martial thigh,

The brawns of Hercules; but his jovial face –

Murder in heaven! How!

[V, v, 97–123] Posthumus, in prison, feels he could be in no better place as he mulls over the manifold wrongs he has done his beloved Imogen:

Most welcome, bondage! For thou art a way,

I think, to liberty. Yet am I better

Than one that’s sick o’ th’ gout, since he had rather

Groan so in perpetuity than be cured

By th’ sure physician death, who is the key

T’ unbar these locks. My conscience, thou art fettered

More than my shanks and wrists; you good gods, give me

The penitent instrument to pick that bolt,

Then, free for ever! Is’t enough I am sorry?

So children temporal fathers do appease;

Gods are more full of mercy. Must I repent,

I cannot do it better than in gyves,

Desired more than constrained. To satisfy,

If of my freedom ’tis the main part, take

No stricter render of me than my all.

I know you are more clement than vile men,

Who of their broken debtors take a third,

A sixth, a tenth, letting them thrive again

On their abatement; that’s not my desire.

For Imogen’s dear life take mine; and though

’Tis not so dear, yet ’tis a life; you coined it.

’Tween man and man they weigh not every stamp;

Though light, take pieces for the figure’s sake;

You rather mine, being yours. And so, great pow’rs,

If you will take this audit, take this life,

And cancel these cold bonds. O Imogen!

I’ll speak to thee in silence.