Few reflections of a general nature are put into the mouth of Imogen; and what she says is more remarkable for sense, truth, and tender feeling, than for wit, or wisdom, or power of imagination. The following little touch of poetry reminds us of Juliet:—
Ere I could
Give him that parting kiss, which I had set
Between two charming words, comes in my father;
And, like the tyrannous breathing of the north,
Shakes all our buds from growing.
Her exclamation on opening her husband's letter reminds us of the profound and thoughtful tenderness of Helen:—
O learned indeed were that astronomer
That knew the stars, as I his characters!
He'd lay the future open.
The following are more in the manner of Isabel:—
Most miserable
Is the desire that's glorious: bless'd be those,
How mean soe'er, that have their honest wills,
That seasons comfort,
Against self-slaughter
There is a prohibition so divine
That cravens my weak hand.
Thus may poor fools
Believe false teachers; though those that are betray'd
Do feel the reason sharply, yet the traitor
Stands in worse case of woe,
Are we not brothers?
So man and man should be;
But clay and clay differs in dignity,
Whose dust is both alike.
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.
The sentence which follows, and which I believe has become proverbial, has much of the manner of Portia, both in the thought and the expression:—