Imo.
A father cruel, and a Stepdame false,
A foolish suitor to a wedded lady,
That hath her husband banish'd—O, that husband!
My supream Crown of grief, and those repeated
Vexations of it—had I been thief-stoln,
As my two brothers, happy! (9) ^note
but most miserable
Is the desire, that's glorious. Bless'd be those,
How mean soe'er, that have their honest wills,
Which seasons comfort. Who may this be? fie! Enter Pisanio, and Iachimo.

Pis.
Madam, a noble Gentleman of Rome
Comes from my Lord with letters.

Iach.
Change you, Madam?
The worthy Leonatus is in safety,
And greets your Highness dearly.

Imo.
Thanks, good Sir,
You're kindly welcome.

Iach.
All of her, that is out of door, most rich!
If she be furnish'd with a mind so rare, [aside.
She is alone th' Arabian bird; and I
Have lost the wager. Boldness be my friend!
Arm me, Audacity, from head to foot:
Or, like the Parthian, I shall flying fight,
Rather directly flye.

Imogen reads.

He is one of the noblest note, to whose kindnesses I am most infinitely tyed. Reflect upon him accordingly, as you value your trust.

Leonatus.

Iach.
Thanks, fairest Lady.—
What! are men mad? hath Nature given them eyes
To see this vaulted arch, and the rich crop
Of sea and land, which can distinguish 'twixt
The fiery orbs above, (10) ^note

Imo.
What makes your admiration?

Iach.
It cannot be i'th' eye; (for apes and monkeys,
'Twixt two such she's, would chatter this way, and
Contemn with mowes the other:) Nor i'th' judgment;
(For Ideots, in this case of Favour, would
Be wisely definite:) Nor i' th' appetite:
(Slutt'ry, to such neat excellence oppos'd,
(11) ^noteShould make desire vomit emptiness,
Not so allur'd to feed.)

Imo.
What is the matter, trow?

Iach.
The cloyed will,
That satiate, yet unsatisfy'd desire, (that tub,
Both fill'd and running;) ravening first the lamb,
Longs after for the garbage—

Imo.
What, dear Sir,
Thus raps you? are you well?

Iach.
Thanks, Madam, well—Beseech you, Sir, [To Pisanio.
Desire my man's abode, where I did leave him;
He's strange, and peevish.

Pis.
I was going, Sir,
To give him welcome.

Imo.
Continues well my Lord
His health, beseech you?

Iach.
Well, Madam.

Imo.
Is he dispos'd to mirth? I hope, he is.

Iach.
Exceeding pleasant; none a Stranger there
So merry, and so gamesome; he is call'd
The Britaine Reveller.

Imo.
When he was here,
He did incline to sadness, and oft times
Not knowing why.

Iach.
I never saw him sad.
There is a Frenchman his companion, one,

An eminent Monsieur, that, it seems, much loves
A Gallian girl at home. He furnaces
The thick sighs from him; whiles the jolly Britain,
(Your Lord, I mean,) laughs from's free lungs, cries Oh!—
Can my sides hold, to think, that man, who knows
By history, report, or his own proof,
What woman is, yea, what she cannot chuse
But must be, will his free hours languish out
For assur'd bondage?

Imo.
Will my Lord say so?

Iach.
Ay, Madam, with his eyes in flood with laughter.
It is a recreation to be by,
And hear him mock the Frenchman; but heav'n knows,
Some men are much to blame.

Imo.
Not he, I hope.

Iach.
Not he. But yet heav'n's Bounty tow'rds him might
Be us'd more thankfully. In himself, 'tis much;
In you, whom I count his, beyond all talents;
Whilst I am bound to wonder, I am bound
To pity too.

Imo.
What do you pity, Sir?

Iach.
Two creatures heartily.

Imo.
Am I one, Sir?
You look on me; what wreck discern you in me,
Deserves your pity?

Iach.
Lamentable! what!
To hide me from the radiant Sun, and solace
I'th' dungeon by a snuff?

Imo.
I pray you, Sir,
Deliver with more openness your answers
To my demands. Why do you pity me?

Iach.
That others do,
I was about to say, enjoy your—but
It is an office of the Gods to venge it,
Not mine to speak on't.

Imo.
You do seem to know
Something of me, or what concerns me; pray you,
(Since doubting things go ill, often hurts more

Than to be sure they do; for certainties
Or are past remedies, or timely knowing,
The remedy then born;) discover to me
What both you spur and stop.

Iach.
Had I this cheek
To bath my lips upon; this hand, whose touch,
Whose ev'ry touch would force the feeler's soul
To th' oath of loyalty; this object, which
Takes pris'ner the wild motion of mine eye,
Fixing it only here; should I, (damn'd then,)
Slaver with lips, as common as the stairs
That mount the Capitol; join gripes with hands
Made hard with hourly falshood, as with labour;
Then glad my self by peeping in an eye,
Base and unlustrous as the smoaky light
That's fed with stinking tallow; it were fit,
That all the plagues of hell should at one time
Encounter such revolt.

Imo.
My Lord, I fear,
Has forgot Britain.

Iach.
And himself. Not I,
Inclin'd to this intelligence, pronounce
The beggary of his Change; but 'tis your graces,
That from my mutest conscience, to my tongue,
Charms this report out.

Imo.
Let me hear no more.

Iach.
O dearest soul! your cause doth strike my heart
With pity, that doth make me sick. A Lady
So fair, and fastned to an empery,
Would make the great'st King double! to be partner'd
With tomboys, hir'd with that self-exhibition
Which your own coffers yield!—with diseas'd ventures,
That play with all infirmities for gold,
Which rottenness lends nature! such boyl'd stuff,
As well might poison Poison! Be reveng'd;
Or she, that bore you, was no Queen, and you
Recoil from your great Stock.

Imo.
Reveng'd!
How should I be reveng'd, if this be true?

(As I have such a heart, that both mine ears
Must not in haste abuse;) if it be true,
How shall I be reveng'd?

Iach.
Should he make me
Live like Diana's Priest, betwixt cold sheets?
Whiles he is vaulting variable ramps
In your despight, upon your purse? Revenge it:—
I dedicate my self to your sweet pleasure,
More noble than that Runagate to your bed;
And will continue fast to your affection,
Still close, as sure.

Imo.
What ho, Pisanio!—

Iach.
Let me my service tender on your lips.

Imo.
Away,—I do condemn mine ears, that have
So long attended thee. If thou wert honourable,
Thou would'st have told this tale for virtue, not
For such an end thou seek'st; as base, as strange:
Thou wrong'st a Gentleman, who is as far
From thy report, as thou from honour; and
Sollicit'st here a Lady, that disdains
Thee, and the Devil alike. What ho, Pisanio!—
The King my Father shall be made acquainted
Of thy assault; if he shall think it fit,
A sawcy Stranger in his Court to mart
As in a Romish Stew, and to expound
His beastly mind to us; he hath a Court
He little cares for, and a Daughter whom
He not respects at all. What ho, Pisanio!

Iach.
O happy Leonatus, I may say;
The credit, that thy Lady hath of thee,
Deserves thy trust, and thy most perfect goodness
Her assur'd credit! blessed live you long,
A Lady to the worthiest Sir, that ever
Country call'd his! and you his Mistress, only
For the most worthiest fit! Give me your pardon.
I have spoke this, to know if your affiance
Were deeply rooted; and shall make your Lord,
That which he is, new o'er: and he is one
The truest-manner'd, such a holy Witch,
That he enchants societies into him:

Half all mens hearts are his.

Imo.
You make amends.

Iach.
He sits 'mongst men, like a descended God;
He hath a kind of honour sets him off,
More than a mortal Seeming. Be not angry,
Most mighty Princess, that I have adventur'd
To try your taking of a false report; which hath
Honour'd with confirmation your great judgment,
In the election of a Sir, so rare,
Which, you know, cannot err. The love I bear him,
Made me to fan you thus; but the Gods made you,
Unlike all others, chaffless. Pray, your pardon.

Imo.
All's well, Sir; take my pow'r i'th' Court for yours.

Iach.
My humble thanks; I had almost forgot
T' intreat your Grace but in a small request,
And yet of moment too, for it concerns
Your Lord; my self, and other noble friends
Are partners in the business.

Imo.
Pray, what is't?

Iach.
Some dozen Romans of us, and your Lord,
(Best feather of our wing,) have mingled sums
To buy a Present for the Emperor:
Which I, the factor for the rest, have done
In France; 'tis plate of rare device, and jewels
Of rich and exquisite form, their values great;
And I am something curious, being strange,
To have them in safe stowage: may it please you
To take them in protection?

Imo.
Willingly;
And pawn mine honour for their safety. Since
My Lord hath int'rest in them, I will keep them
In my bed-chamber.

Iach.
They are in a trunk,
Attended by my men: I will make bold
To send them to you, only for this night;
I must aboard to morrow.

Imo.
O no, no.

Iach.
Yes, I beseech you: or I shall short my word,
By length'ning my Return. From Gallia,

I crost the seas on purpose, and on promise
To see your Grace.

Imo.
I thank you for your pains;
But not away to morrow?

Iach.
O, I must, Madam.
Therefore I shall beseech you, if you please
To greet your lord with writing, do't to night.
I have outstood my time, which is material
To th' tender of our Present.

Imo.
I will write;
Send your trunk to me, it shall safe be kept,
And truly yielded you: You're very welcome. [Exe.

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