IACHIMO.
’Tis very like.
PHILARIO.
Was Caius Lucius in the Britain court
When you were there?
IACHIMO.
He was expected then,
But not approach’d.
POSTHUMUS.
All is well yet.
Sparkles this stone as it was wont, or is’t not
Too dull for your good wearing?
IACHIMO.
If I have lost it,
I should have lost the worth of it in gold.
I’ll make a journey twice as far t’ enjoy
A second night of such sweet shortness which
Was mine in Britain; for the ring is won.
POSTHUMUS.
The stone’s too hard to come by.
IACHIMO.
Not a whit,
Your lady being so easy.
POSTHUMUS.
Make not, sir,
Your loss your sport. I hope you know that we
Must not continue friends.
IACHIMO.
Good sir, we must,
If you keep covenant. Had I not brought
The knowledge of your mistress home, I grant
We were to question farther; but I now
Profess myself the winner of her honour,
Together with your ring; and not the wronger
Of her or you, having proceeded but
By both your wills.
POSTHUMUS.
If you can make’t apparent
That you have tasted her in bed, my hand
And ring is yours. If not, the foul opinion
You had of her pure honour gains or loses
Your sword or mine, or masterless leaves both
To who shall find them.