Cloten, Lucius, and Lords.
Cym.
Thus far; and so farewell.
Luc.
Thanks, royal sir,
My emperor hath wrote; I must from hence;
And am right sorry, that I must report ye
My master's enemy.
Cym.
Our subjects, sir,
Will not endure his yoke; and for ourself
To show less sovereignty than they, must needs
Appear unkinglike.
Luc.
So, sir, I desire of you5 note
A conduct over land, to Milford-Haven.—
Madam, all joy befal your grace, and you6 note
!
Cym.
My lords, you are appointed for that office;
The due of honour in no point omit:—
So, farewell, noble Lucius.
Luc.
Your hand, my lord.
Clo.
Receive it friendly; but from this time forth
I wear it as your enemy.
Luc.
Sir, the event
Is yet to name the winner: Fare you well.
Cym.
Leave not the worthy Lucius, good my lords,
-- 129 --
Till he have cross'd the Severn.—Happiness!
[Exeunt Lucius and Lords.
Queen.
He goes hence frowning: but it honours us,
That we have given him cause.
Clo.
'Tis all the better;
Your valiant Britons have their wishes in it.
Cym.
Lucius hath wrote already to the emperor
How it goes here. It fits us therefore, ripely,
Our chariots and our horsemen be in readiness:
The powers that he already hath in Gallia
Will soon be drawn to head, from whence he moves
His war for Britain.
Queen.
'Tis not sleepy business;
But must be look'd to speedily, and strongly.
Cym.
Our expectation that it would be thus,
Hath made us forward. But, my gentle queen,
Where is our daughter? She hath not appear'd
Before the Roman, nor to us hath tender'd
The duty of the day: She looks us like
A thing more made of malice, than of duty:
We have noted it.—Call her before us; for
We have been too slight in sufferance.
[Exit an Attendant.
Queen.
Royal sir,
Since the exile of Posthumus, most retir'd
Hath her life been; the cure whereof, my lord,
'Tis time must do. 'Beseech your majesty,
Forbear sharp speeches to her: She's a lady
So tender of rebukes, that words are strokes,
And strokes death to her.
Re-enter an Attendant.
Cym.
Where is she, sir? How
Can her contempt be answer'd?
Atten.
Please you, sir,
Her chambers are all lock'd; and there's no answer
-- 130 --
That will be given to the loud'st* note of noise we make.
Queen.
My lord, when last I went to visit her,
She pray'd me to excuse her keeping close;
Whereto constrain'd by her infirmity,
She should that duty leave unpaid to you,
Which daily she was bound to proffer: this
She wish'd me to make known; but our great court
Made me to blame in memory.
Cym.
Her doors lock'd?
Not seen of late? Grant, heavens, that, which I fear,
Prove false!
[Exit.
Queen.
Son, I say, follow the king7 note
.
Clo.
That man of hers, Pisanio, her old servant,
I have not seen these two days.
Queen.
Go, look after.—
[Exit Cloten.
Pisanio, thou that stand'st so for Posthúmus!—
He hath a drug of mine; I pray, his absence
Proceed by swallowing that; for he believes
It is a thing most precious. But for her,
Where is she gone? Haply, despair hath seiz'd her;
Or, wing'd with fervour of her love, she's flown
To her desir'd Posthúmus: Gone she is
To death, or to dishonour; and my end
Can make good use of either: She being down,
I have the placing of the British crown.
Re-enter Cloten.
How now, my son?
Clo.
'Tis certain, she is fled:
-- 131 --
Go in, and cheer the king; he rages; none
Dare come about him.
Queen.
All the better: May
This night forestall him of the coming day8 note
!
[Exit Queen.
Clo.
I love, and hate her: for she's fair and royal;
And that she hath all courtly parts more exquisite
Than lady, ladies, woman9 note
; from every one
The best she hath1 note
, and she, of all compounded,
Outsells them all: I love her therefore; But,
Disdaining me, and throwing favours on
The low Posthúmus, slanders so her judgment,
That what's else rare, is chok'd; and, in that point,
I will conclude to hate her, nay, indeed,
To be reveng'd upon her. For, when fools
Enter Pisanio.
Shall—Who is here? What! are you packing, sirrah?
Come hither: Ah, you precious pandar! Villain,
Where is thy lady? In a word; or else
Thou art straightway with the fiends.
Pis.
O, good my lord!
-- 132 --
Clo.
Where is thy lady? or, by Jupiter—
I will not ask again. Close villain2 note
,
I'll have this secret from thy heart, or rip
Thy heart to find it. Is she with Posthúmus?
From whose so many weights of baseness cannot
A dram of worth be drawn.
Pis.
Alas, my lord,
How can she be with him? When was she miss'd?
He is in Rome.
Clo.
Where is she, sir? Come nearer;
No further halting: satisfy me home,
What is become of her?
Pis.
O, my all-worthy lord!
Clo.
All-worthy villain!
Discover where thy mistress is, at once,
At the next word,—No more of worthy lord,—
Speak, or thy silence on the instant is
Thy condemnation and thy death.
Pis.
Then sir,
This paper is the history of my knowledge
Touching her flight.
[Presenting a Letter.
Clo.
Let's see't:—I will pursue her
Even to Augustus' throne.
Pis. [Aside.]
Or this, or perish3 note
.
She's far enough; and what he learns by this,
May prove his travel, not her danger.
-- 133 --
Clo.
Humph!
Pis.
I'll write to my lord she's dead. O Imogen,
Safe may'st thou wander, safe return again!
[Aside.
Clo.
Sirrah, is this letter true?
Pis.
Sir, as I think.
Clo.
It is Posthumus' hand; I know't.—Sirrah,
if thou would'st not be a villain, but do me true
service; undergo those employments, wherein I
should have cause to use thee, with a serious industry,
—that is, what villainy so'er I bid thee do,
to perform it, directly and truly,—I would think
thee an honest man: thou shouldest neither want
my means for thy relief, nor my voice for thy preferment.
Pis.
Well, my good lord.
Clo.
Wilt thou serve me? For since patiently
-- 134 --
and constantly thou hast stuck to the bare fortune
of that beggar Posthumus, thou canst not in the
course of gratitude but be a diligent follower of
mine. Wilt thou serve me?
Pis.
Sir, I will.
Clo.
Give me thy hand, here's my purse. Hast
any of thy late master's garments in thy possession?
Pis.
I have, my lord, at my lodging, the same
suit he wore when he took leave of my lady and
mistress.
Clo.
The first service thou dost me, fetch that
suit hither: let it be thy first service; go.
Pis.
I shall, my lord.
[Exit.
Clo.
Meet thee at Milford-Haven:—I forgot to
ask him one thing; I'll remember't anon:—Even
there thou villain, Posthumus, will I kill thee.—I
would, these garments were come. She said upon
a time, (the bitterness of it I now belch from my
heart,) that she held the very garment of Posthumus
in more respect than my noble and natural
person, together with the adornment of my qualities.
With that suit upon my back, will I ravish
her: First kill him, and in her eyes; there shall
she see my valour, which will then be a torment to
her contempt. He on the ground, my speech of
insultment ended on his dead body,—and when my
lust hath dined, (which, as I say, to vex her, I will
execute in the clothes that she so praised,) to the
court I'll knock her back, foot her home again.
She hath despised me rejoicingly, and I'll be merry
in my revenge.
Re-enter Pisanio, with the Clothes.
Be those the garments?
Pis.
Ay, my noble lord.
-- 135 --
Clo.
How long is't since she went to Milford-Haven?
Pis.
She can scarce be there yet.
Clo.
Bring this apparel to my chamber; that is
the second thing that I have commanded thee: the
third is, that thou wilt be a voluntary mute to my
design. Be but duteous, and true preferment shall
tender itself to thee.—My revenge is now at Milford;
'Would I had wings to follow it!—Come,
and be true.
[Exit.
Pis.
Thou bidd'st me to my loss: for, true to thee,
Were to prove false, which I will never be,
To him that is most true4 note.—To Milford go,
And find not her whom thou pursuest. Flow, flow,
You heavenly blessings, on her! This fool's speed
Be cross'd with slowness; labour be his meed!
[Exit.
James Boswell [1821], The plays and poems of William Shakspeare, with the corrections and illustrations of various commentators: comprehending A Life of the Poet, and an enlarged history of the stage, by the late Edmond Malone. With a new glossarial index (J. Deighton and Sons, Cambridge) [word count] [S10201].
