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Updated: April 30, 2025
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 more such Caesars: other of them may have crooked noses; but, to owe such straight arms, none. Cymbeline. Son, let your mother end. Cloten. 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?
How Cymbeline's wicked queen, through despair of bringing her projects to pass, and touched with remorse of conscience, sickened and died, having first lived to see her foolish son Cloten slain in a quarrel which he had provoked, are events too tragical to interrupt this happy conclusion by more than merely touching upon.
This seeming kindness she showed the better to succeed in her future designs in regard to her son Cloten, for she meant to persuade Imogen, when her husband was gone, that her marriage was not lawful, being contracted without the consent of the king. Imogen and Posthumus took a most affectionate leave of each other.
How Cymbeline's wicked queen, through despair of bringing her projects to pass, and touched with remorse of conscience, sickened and died, having first lived to see her foolish son Cloten slain in a quarrel which he had provoked, are events too tragical to interrupt this happy conclusion by more than merely touching upon.
The queen, who pretended to pity Imogen for the grief she suffered at losing her husband, offered to procure them a private meeting before Posthumus set out on his journey to Rome, which place he had chosen for his residence in his banishment: this seeming kindness she showed, the better to succeed in her future designs in regard to her son Cloten; for she meant to persuade Imogen, when her husband was gone, that her marriage was not lawful, being contracted without the consent of the king.
Godlike though they be, their very godhead is human and feminine; and only therefore credible, and only therefore adorable. Cloten and Regan, Goneril and Iachimo, have power to stir and embitter the sweetness of their blood.
A spectator will honour and pity Othello, and hate and execrate Iago with some infusion, perhaps of impatience toward the one and of admiration for the other but he is likely to view both Leonatus and Iachimo with considerable indifference; he will casually recognise the infrequent Cymbeline as an ill-tempered, sonorous old donkey; he will give a passing smile of scornful disgust to Cloten that vague hybrid of Roderigo and Oswald; and of the proceedings of the Queen and the fortunes of the royal family whether as affected by the chemical experiments of Doctor Cornelius or the bellicose attitude of Augustus Cæsar, in reaching for his British tribute he will be practically unconscious.
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