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Constantine. Pompeii (E.S.Posthumus)
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Imogen marries Posthumus for love, but love goes asunder partially out of the machinations of the evil queen but also due to the lies of Iachimo who convinces Posthumus that Cymbeline, like all women, are unchaste.
THINK, Posthumus, think!
Split down the middle by Bram Posthumus
A peace party in Ivory Coast by Bram Posthumus
Travian World Analyzer Speler Postumus
Classic_NFL_on_CBS_Group ∑ The Posthumus Free Zone
the laurene posthumus
Jan "Dikkedolly" Posthumus In mij vrije tijd doe ik niks, dus ik deet nog al weinig, want ik heb niet veel maar vrije tijd heb ik genoeg.
Gevolg ----> Ikke siteje maken, OLE, najah, dit is dus de uitkomst, althans voorlopig.
Epitola Posthumus "I'm in my own little world. Please leave me there."
Posthumus en Postumus:
Ladislas the Posthumous
Weblog Posthumus' Journal
Thursday, April 27th, 2000
this is my first journal entry. a little bit about me.i am a student at a local community college. i live in a small house with 2 or 3 other people ( i haven't seen one of them for along time, its been so long i can't quite remember what he looked like, i think he might have died).i have a little basenji. that is not a disease, it a breed of dog.
7:31p My roommate, whom i figured was dead, may be home. his car is parked outside but there is no other evidence of his presence. strange...maybe one day i will see him and all will be explained.
Someday, i will lead a revolution that will bring humanity into the next era.
Thursday, April 6th, 2006
8:46 pm We have moved to: patriotlog.typepad.com
postumus.com. Op 24
augustus 2006 staat op de indexpagina van deze website alleen postumus.com
September 9, 2006, www.thevalve.org.
Posted by Adam Roberts on 09/09/06 at 06:09 AM
Do you want to know what Tennysonís favourite line of Shakespeare was? No? Well Iím going to tell you anyway.
Itís this, from Cymbeline: Ďhang there like fruit, my soul, till the tree die!í
Actually, and despite the fact that what Iíve quoted there is a perfectly serviceable pentameter line, in the original itís actually two half-lines. Imogen, or (since modern editors are adamant that the Ďmí is a misprint in the Folio) Innogen, Shakespeareís most complete example of an actively virtuous wife and woman, has been reunited with her husband Posthumus. Poor old Posthumus had been banished by the King, Cymbeline (Innogenís father) for having the temerity to marry his daughter. If that werenít bad enough whilst he was away heíd gotten himself fooled by several people. First, he was tricked by a friend into believing that his wife had committed adultery (which she hadnít); and then, after losing his self-control and ordering his servant to kill Innogen for her betrayal, he was tricked by his servant into believing that she was dead (which she wasnít). He repents his rage and decides to forgive her, but by then he believes itís too late. Thereís a deal of romance-storyline complications over and above this, rather more, indeed, than can be digested by any ordinary audience in the course of a five-act play; but we end up in the final scene with all the key players on stage revealing the true identities underneath their various disguises and tying up every single one of the myriad loose ends. Innogen has been passing herself off as a man at this point. Her disguise is so good, indeed, that even her husband has not recognised her. Thinking sheís a page he throws her away from him, knocking her down. When the true identities are revealed they embrace, and this is where the lines come.
INNOGEN: Why did you throw your wedded lady from you?
Think that you are upon a rock, and now
Throw me again.
POSTHUMUS: Hang there like fruit, my soul,
Till the tree die! [V.v. 261-4]
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