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The Tragedy of Cymbeline Imogen Monologue

1) Imogen, daughter of Cymbeline, wanders lost in the wilderness after being banished by her husband Posthumus. 2) Exhausted and hungry after days without food or rest, Imogen comes across a cave but fears to enter, unsure if it houses friend or foe. 3) Steeling her resolve, Imogen decides to enter the cave with her sword drawn, prepared to defend herself against any savage inhabitants within.

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Carlee Coulehan
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173 views

The Tragedy of Cymbeline Imogen Monologue

1) Imogen, daughter of Cymbeline, wanders lost in the wilderness after being banished by her husband Posthumus. 2) Exhausted and hungry after days without food or rest, Imogen comes across a cave but fears to enter, unsure if it houses friend or foe. 3) Steeling her resolve, Imogen decides to enter the cave with her sword drawn, prepared to defend herself against any savage inhabitants within.

Uploaded by

Carlee Coulehan
Copyright
© © All Rights Reserved
We take content rights seriously. If you suspect this is your content, claim it here.
Available Formats
Download as PDF, TXT or read online on Scribd
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The Tragedy of Cymbeline

Shakespeare

Imogen

I see a man's life is a tedious one;


I have tir'd myself, and for two nights together
Have made the ground my bed; I should be sick
But that my resolution helps me. Milford,
When from the mountain-top Pisanio show'd thee,
Thou wast within a ken. O Jove! I think
Foundations fly the wretched; such, I mean,
Where they should be reliev'd. Two beggars told me
I could not miss my way; will poor folks lie,
That have afflictions on them, knowing 'tis
A punishment or trial? Yes; no wonder,
When rich ones scarce tell true. To lapse in fulness
Is sorer than to lie for need, and falsehood
Is worse in kings than beggars. My dear lord!
Thou art one o' the false ones. Now I think on thee,
My hunger's gone, but even before I was
At point to sink for food. But what is this?
Here is a path to 't; 'tis some savage hold;
I were best not call, I dare not call, yet famine,
Ere clean it o'erthrow nature, makes it valiant.
Plenty and peace breeds cowards, hardness ever
Of hardiness is mother. Ho! Who's here?
If any thing that's civil, speak; if savage,
Take or lend. Ho! No answer? Then I'll enter.
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!

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