Cymbeline's Queen

Queen
No, be assured you shall not find me, daughter,
After the slander of most stepmothers,
Evil-eyed unto you. You’re my prisoner, but
Your jailer shall deliver you the keys
That lock up your restraint.—For you, Posthumus,
So soon as I can win th’ offended king,
I will be known your advocate. Marry, yet
The fire of rage is in him,
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Queen
Now, Master Doctor, have you brought those drugs?
Cornelius 
Pleaseth your Highness, ay. Here they are, madam.
 He hands her a small box.
But I beseech your Grace, without offense—
My conscience bids me ask—wherefore you have
Commanded of me these most poisonous compounds,
Which are the movers of a languishing death,
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Cloten
I would this music would come. I am advised
to give her music a-mornings; they say it will
penetrate.

And winking Mary-buds begin
To ope their golden eyes.
With everything that pretty is,
My lady sweet, arise,

 Enter Musicians.
Come on,
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Cloten
There be many Caesars
Ere such another Julius. Britain’s a world
By itself, and we will nothing pay
For wearing our own noses.

A kind of conquest
Caesar made here, but made not here his brag
Of “came, and saw, and overcame.”

Queen
That opportunity
Which then they had to take from ’s,
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