Definition of Paradox
The Queen summons a court physician named Cornelius to bring her a potent poison, claiming that she only intends to use it as an ingredient for harmless experiments. In an aside, he explains that he has given her a sleeping potion instead of a genuine poison, explaining his rationale by using a paradox:
I do know her spirit,
And will not trust one of her malice with
A drug of such damned nature. Those she has
Will stupefy and dull the sense awhile,
Which first perchance she’ll prove on cats and dogs,
Then afterward up higher. But there is
No danger in what show of death it makes,
More than the locking-up the spirits a time,
To be more fresh, reviving. She is fooled
With a most false effect, and I the truer
So to be false with her.
Under the mistaken impression that Imogen has been murdered on his orders, Posthumus immediately regrets his actions, wishing that he had died instead of her. He expresses his sorrow using a paradox:
Unlock with LitCharts A+Gods! if you
Should have ta'en vengeance on my faults, I never
Had lived to put on this: so had you saved
The noble Imogen to repent, and struck
Me, wretch more worth your vengeance. But, alack,
You snatch some hence for little faults; that's love,
To have them fall no more: you some permit
To second ills with ills, each elder worse,
And make them dread it, to the doers' thrift.
But Imogen is your own: do your best wills,
And make me blest to obey!
Wallowing in his guilt and misery after instructing his servant Pisanio to murder Imogen, Posthumus makes the suicidal decision to rejoin the Roman army just as a British victory appears inevitable. He is captured alongside the other Roman soldiers, including the military general Lucius, and is imprisoned as he awaits execution. He then reflects upon the paradox that “bondage” can be a way to gain “liberty”:
Unlock with LitCharts A+Most welcome, bondage, for thou art a way,
I think, to liberty. Yet am I better
Than one that’s sick o’ th’ gout, since he had rather
Groan so in perpetuity than be cured
By th’ sure physician, Death, who is the key
T’ unbar these locks. My conscience, thou art fettered
More than my shanks and wrists. You good gods, give me
The penitent instrument to pick that bolt,
Then free forever [...] Must I repent,
I cannot do it better than in gyves,
Desired more than constrained.