And winking Mary-buds begin
  To ope their golden eyes^{6 note}

So, get you gone: If this penetrate, I will consider your musick the better^{8 note}: if it do not, it is a vice

in her ears, which horse-hairs, and cats-guts^{9 note}

2 Lord.

Here comes the king.

Clo.

I am glad, I was up so late; for that's the reason I was up so early: He cannot choose but take this service I have done, fatherly.—Good morrow to your majesty, and to my gracious mother.

Cym.
Attend you here the door of our stern daughter?
Will she not forth?

Clo.

I have assailed her with musick, but she vouchsafes no notice.

Cym.
The exile of her minion is too new;
She hath not yet forgot him: some more time
Must wear the print of his remembrance out,
And then she's yours.

Queen.
You are most bound to the king;

Who lets go by no vantages, that may
Prefer you to his daughter: Frame yourself
To orderly solicits^{1 note}

Clo.
Senseless? not so. Enter a Messenger.

Mess.
So like you, sir, ambassadors from Rome;
The one is Caius Lucius.

Cym.
A worthy fellow,
Albeit he comes on angry purpose now;
But that's no fault of his: We must receive him
According to the honour of his sender;
And towards himself his goodness forespent on us
We must extend our notice^{3 note}

Attend the queen, and us; we shall have need
To employ you towards this Roman.—Come, our queen. [Exeunt Cym. Queen, Lords, and Mess.

Clo.
If she be up, I'll speak with her; if not,
Let her lie still, and dream.—By your leave ho!— [Knocks.
I know her women are about her; What
If I do line one of their hands? 'Tis gold
Which buys admittance; oft it doth; yea, and makes
Diana's rangers false themselves^{4 note}

Lady.
Who's there, that knocks?

Clo.
A gentleman.

Lady.
No more?

Clo.
Yes, and a gentlewoman's son.

Lady.
That's more

Than some, whose tailors are as dear as yours,
Can justly boast of: What's your lordship's pleasure?

Clo.
Your lady's person: Is she ready?

Lady.
Ay,
To keep her chamber.

Clo.
There's gold for you; sell me your good report.

Lady.
How! my good name? or to report of you
What I shall think is good?—The princess &lblank; Enter Imogen.

Clo.
Good morrow, fairest: sister your sweet hand.

Imo.
Good-morrow, sir: You lay out too much pains
For purchasing but trouble: the thanks I give,
Is telling you that I am poor of thanks,
And scarce can spare them.

Clo.
Still, I swear, I love you.

Imo.
If you but said so, 'twere as deep with me:
If you swear still, your recompense is still
That I regard it not.

Clo.
This is no answer.

Imo.
But that you shall not say I yield, being silent,
I would not speak. I pray you, spare me: i' faith,
I shall unfold equal discourtesy
To your best kindness; one of your great knowing
Should learn, being taught, forbearance^{5 note}
.

Clo.
To leave you in your madness, 'twere my sin:
I will not.

Imo.
Fools are not mad folks^{6 note}.

Clo.
Do you call me fool?

Imo.
As I am mad, I do:
If you'll be patient, I'll no more be mad;
That cures us both. I am much sorry, sir,
You put me to forget a lady's manners,
By being so verbal^{7 note}: and learn now, for all,
That I, which know my heart, do here pronounce,
By the very truth of it, I care not for you;
And am so near the lack of charity,
(To accuse myself) I hate you: which I had rather
You felt, than make't my boast.

Clo.
You sin against
Obedience, which you owe your father. For
The contract^{8 note}

Yet you are curb'd from that enlargement by
The consequence o' the crown; and must not soil^{1 note}
The precious note of it with a base slave,
A hilding for a livery^{2 note}, a squire's cloth,
A pantler, not so eminent.

Imo.
Profane fellow!
Wert thou the son of Jupiter, and no more,
But what thou art besides, thou wert too base
To be his groom: thou wert dignified enough,
Even to the point of envy, if 'twere made
Comparative for your virtues^{3 note}
, to be styl'd
The under-hangman of his kingdom; and hated
For being preferr'd so well.

Clo.
The south-fog rot him!

Imo.
He never can meet more mischance, than come
To be but nam'd of thee. His meanest garment,
That ever hath but clipp'd his body, is dearer,
In my respect, than all the hairs above thee,
Were they all made such men.—How now, Pisanio^{4 note}


? Enter Pisanio.

Clo.
His garment? Now, the devil—

Imo.
To Dorothy my woman hie thee presently:—

Clo.
His garment?

Imo.
I am sprighted with a fool^{5 note}

;
Frighted, and anger'd worse:—Go, bid my woman
Search for a jewel, that too casually
Hath left mine arm^{6 note}
; it was thy master's: 'shrew me,
If I would lose it for a revenue
Of any king's in Europe. I do think,
I saw't this morning: confident I am,
Last night 'twas on mine arm; I kiss'd it^{7 note}

Pis.
'Twill not be lost.

Imo.
I hope so: go, and search. [Exit Pis.

Clo.
You have abus'd me:—
His meanest garment?

Imo.
Ay; I said so, sir.
If you will make't an action, call witness to't^{8 note}.

Clo.
I will inform your father.

Imo.
Your mother too:
She's my good lady^{9 note}; and will conceive, I hope,

But the worst of me. So I leave you, sir,
To the worst of discontent. [Exit.

Clo.
I'll be reveng'd:—
His meanest garment?—Well. [Exit. SCENE IV. Rome. An Apartment in Philario's House. Enter Posthumus and Philario.

Post.
Fear it not, sir: I would, I were so sure
To win the king, as I am bold, her honour
Will remain hers.

Phi.
What means do you make to him?

Post.
Not any; but abide the change of time;
Quake in the present winter's state, and wish
That warmer days would come^{1 note}
: In these fear'd hopes,
I barely gratify your love; they failing,
I must die much your debtor.

Phi.
Your very goodness, and your company,
O'erpays all I can do. By this, your king
Hath heard of great Augustus: Caius Lucius
Will do his commission throughly: And, I think,
He'll grant the tribute^{2 note}, send the arrearages,
Or look^{3 note}

Post.
I do believe,
(Statist^{4 note} though I am none, nor like to be,)
That this will prove a war; and you shall hear
The legions^{5 note}

, now in Gallia, sooner landed
In our not-fearing Britain, than have tidings
Of any penny tribute paid. Our countrymen
Are men more order'd, than when Julius Cæsar
Smil'd at their lack of skill, but found their courage
Worthy his frowning at: Their discipline
(Now mingled with their courages^{6 note}

Enter Iachimo.

Phi.
See! Iachimo?

Post.
The swiftest harts have posted you by land:
And winds of all the corners kiss'd your sails,
To make your vessel nimble^{8 note}

.

Phi.
Welcome, sir.

Post.
I hope, the briefness of your answer made
The speediness of your return.

Iach.
Your lady
Is one of the fairest that I have look'd upon^{9 note}

Post.
And, therewithal, the best; or let her beauty
Look through a casement to allure false hearts^{1 note}



,
And be false with them.

Iach.
Here are letters for you.

Post.
Their tenour good, I trust.

Iach.
'Tis very like.

Phi.
Was Caius Lucius^{2 note} in the Britain court,
When you were there?

Iach.
He was expected then,
But not approach'd^{3 note}
.

Post.
All is well yet.—
Sparkles this stone as it was wont? or is't not
Too dull for your good wearing?

Iach.
If I have lost it,
I should have lost the worth of it in gold.
I'll make a journey twice as far, to enjoy
A second night of such sweet shortness, which
Was mine in Britain; for the ring is won.

Post.
The stone's too hard to come by.

Iach.
Not a whit,
Your lady being so easy.

Post.
Make not, sir,
Your loss your sport: I hope, you know that we
Must not continue friends.

Iach.
Good sir, we must,
If you keep covenant: Had I not brought
The knowledge^{4 note} of your mistress home, I grant
We were to question further: 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.

Post.
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.

Iach.
Sir, my circumstances,

Being so near the truth, as I will make them,
Must first induce you to believe: whose strength
I will confirm with oath; which, I doubt not,
You'll give me leave to spare, when you shall find
You need it not.

Post.
Proceed.

Iach.
First, her bed-chamber,
(Where, I confess, I slept not; but, profess,
Had that was well worth watching^{5 note},) It was hang'd
With tapestry of silk and silver; the story
Proud Cleopatra, when she met her Roman,
And Cydnus swell'd above the banks, or for
The press of boats, or pride^{6 note}
: A piece of work
So bravely done, so rich, that it did strive
In workmanship, and value; which, I wonder'd,
Could be so rarely and exactly wrought,
Since the true life on't was &lblank;^{7 note}

Post.
This is true^{8 note}
;

And this you might have heard of here, by me,
Or by some other.

Iach.
More particulars
Must justify my knowledge.

Post.
So they must,
Or do your honour injury.

Iach.
The chimney
Is south the chamber; and the chimney-piece,
Chaste Dian, bathing: never saw I figures
So likely to report themselves^{9 note}: the cutter
Was as another nature, dumb^{1 note}; outwent her,
Motion and breath left out.

Post.
This is a thing,
Which you might from relation likewise reap;
Being, as it is, much spoke of.

Iach.
The roof o' the chamber
With golden cherubins is fretted^{2 note}

Of silver, each on one foot standing, nicely
Depending on their brands^{3 note}

Post.
This is her honour^{4 note}

Iach.
Then, if you can, [Pulling out the Bracelet.

Be pale^{6 note}

Post.
Jove!—
Once more let me behold it: Is it that
Which I left with her?

Iach.
Sir, (I thank her,) that:
She stripp'd it from her arm; I see her yet;
Her pretty action did outsell her gift,
And yet enrich'd it too^{7 note}: She gave it me, and said,
She priz'd it once.

Post.
May be, she pluck'd it off,
To send it me.

Iach.
She writes so to you? doth she?

Post.
O, no, no, no; 'tis true. Here, take this too; [Gives the Ring.
It is a basilisk unto mine eye,
Kills me to look on't:—Let there be no honour,
Where there is beauty; truth, where semblance; love,
Where there's another man: The vows of women^{8 note}
Of no more bondage be, to where they are made,

Than they are to their virtues; which is nothing:—
O, above measure false!

Phi.
Have patience, sir,
And take your ring again; 'tis not yet won:
It may be probable, she lost it; or,
Who knows if one of her women^{9 note}, being corrupted,
Hath stolen it from her^{1 note}
.

Post.
Very true;
And so, I hope, he came by't:—Back my ring;—
Render to me some corporal sign about her,
More evident than this; for this was stolen.

Iach.
By Jupiter, I had it from her arm.

Post.
Hark you, he swears; by Jupiter he swears.
'Tis true;—nay, keep the ring—'tis true: I am sure,
She would not lose it: her attendants are
All sworn, and honourable^{2 note}

The cognizance^{3 note}

Phi.
Sir, be patient:
This is not strong enough to be believ'd
Of one persuaded well of—

Post.
Never talk on't;
She hath been colted by him.

Iach.
If you seek
For further satisfying, under her breast
(Worthy the pressing^{4 note}

Post.
Ay, and it doth confirm
Another stain, as big as hell can hold,
Were there no more but it.

Iach.
Will you hear more?

Post.
Spare your arithmetick: never count the turns;
Once, and a million!

Iach.
I'll be sworn,—

Post.
No swearing.
If you will swear you have not done't, you lie;
And I will kill thee, if thou dost deny
Thou hast made me cuckold.

Iach.
I will deny nothing.

Post.
O, that I had her here, to tear her limb-meal!
I will go there, and do't; i' the court; before
Her father:—I'll do something— [Exit.

Phi.
Quite besides
The government of patience!—You have won:
Let's follow him, and pervert the present wrath^{5 note}

Iach.
With all my heart. [Exeunt. SCENE V. The Same. Another Room in the Same. Enter Posthumus.

Post.
Is there no way for men to be, but women
Must be half-workers^{6 note}

And that most venerable man, which I
Did call my father, was I know not where
When I was stamp'd; some coiner with his tools
Made me a counterfeit^{8 note}

As chaste as unsunn'd snow:—O, all the devils!—
This yellow Iachimo, in an hour,—was't not?—
Or less,—at first: Perchance he spoke not; but,
Like a full-acorn'd boar, a German one^{1 note}

Why, hers, in part, or all; but, rather, all:
For ev'n to vice
They are not constant, but are changing still
One vice, but of a minute old, for one
Not half so old as that. I'll write against them,
Detest them, curse them:—Yet 'tis greater skill
In a true hate, to pray they have their will:
The very devils cannot plague them better^{5 note}
. [Exit.

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