Imo.
I would, thou grew'st unto the shores o'th' haven,
And question'd'st every sail: if he should write,
And I not have it, 'twere a paper lost
As offer'd mercy is. What was the last
That he spake with thee?

Pis.
'Twas, “His Queen, his Queen!

Imo.
Then wav'd his handkerchief?

Pis.
And kiss'd it, Madam.

Imo.
Senseless linnen, happier therein than I!
And that was all?

Pis.
No, Madam; (6) ^note

Could best express how slow his soul sail'd on,
How swift his ship.

Imo.
Thou should'st have made him
As little as a crow, or less, ere left
To after-eye him.

Pis.
Madam, so I did.

Imo.
I would have broke mine eye-strings; crackt 'em, but
To look upon him; 'till the diminution
Of space had pointed him sharp as my needle;
Nay, follow'd him, 'till he had melted from
The smallness of a gnat, to air; and then
Have turn'd mine eye, and wept.—But, good Pisanio,
When shall we hear from him?

Pis.
Be assur'd, Madam,
With his next vantage.

Imo.
I did not take my leave of him, but had
Most pretty things to say: ere I could tell him,
How I would think on him, at certain hours,
Such thoughts, and such; or, I could make him swear,
The She's of Italy should not betray
Mine interest, and his honour; or have charg'd him,
At the sixth hour of morn, at noon, at midnight,
T'encounter me with orisons; (for then
I am in heaven for him;) or ere I could
Give him that parting kiss, which I had set
Betwixt two charming words, comes in my Father;
And, like the tyrannous breathing of the North,
Shakes all our buds from growing. Enter a Lady.

Lady.
The Queen, Madam,
Desires your Highness' company.

Imo.
Those things I bid you do, get them dispatch'd.
I will attend the Queen.

Pis.
Madam, I shall. [Exeunt.

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