A mole cinque-spotted, ^{8 note}
like the crimson drops
I' the bottom of a cowslip: Here's a voucher,
Stronger than ever law could make: this secret
Will force him think I have pick'd the lock, and ta'en
The treasure of her honour. No more.—To what end?
Why should I write this down, that's riveted,
Screw'd to my memory? She hath been reading late,
The tale of Tereus; here the leaf's turn'd down,
Where Philomel gave up—I have enough:
To the trunk again, and shut the spring of it.
Swift, swift, ^{9 note}you dragons of the night! ^{1 note}

May bare the raven's eye: I lodge in fear;
Though this a heavenly angel, hell is here. [Clock strikes.
One, two, three:—Time, time! [Goes into the trunk: the scene closes. SCENE III. Another room in the palace. Enter Cloten, and Lords.

1 Lord.

Your lordship is the most patient man in loss, the most coldest that ever turn'd up ace.

Clot.

It would make any man cold to lose.

1 Lord.

But not every man patient, after the noble temper of your lordship; You are most hot, and furious, when you win.

Clot.

Winning will put any man into courage: If I could get this foolish Imogen, I should have gold enough: It's almost morning, is't not?

1 Lord.

Day, my lord.

Clot.

I would this music would come: I am advis'd to give her music o' mornings; they say, it will penetrate.

Come on; tune: If you can penetrate her with your fingering, so; we'll try with tongue too: if none will do, let her remain; but I'll never give o'er. First, a very excellent good-conceited thing; after, a wonderful sweet air, with admirable rich words to it,—and then let her consider.

SONG.
^{2 note}

And winking Mary-buds begin
  To ope their golden eyes;
With every thing that ^{4 note}

So, get you gone: If this penetrate, I will consider^{5 note}
your music the better: if it do not, it is a vice in her ears, which horse-hairs, and cats-guts^{6 note}, nor the voice of unpaved eunuch to boot, can never amend.

2 Lord.

Here comes the king.

Clot.

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?

Clot.

I have assail'd her with musics, 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^{7 note}9Q1051; and be friended
With aptness of the season: make denials
Encrease your services: so seem, as if
You were inspir'd to do those duties which
You tender to her; that you in all obey her,
Save when command to your dismission tends,
And therein you are senseless.

Clot.
Senseless? not so. Enter a Messenger.

Mes.
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, ^{8 note}his goodness forespent on us,
We must extend our notice.—Our dear son,
When you have given good morning to your mistress,
Attend the queen, and us; we shall have need
To employ you towards this Roman.—Come, our queen. [Exeunt.

Clot.
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^{9 note}
, yield up
Their deer to the stand o' the stealer: and 'tis gold
Which makes the true man kill'd, and saves the thief;
Nay, sometime, hangs both thief and true man: What
Can it not do, and undo? I will make
One of her women lawyer to me; for
I yet not understand the case myself.
By your leave. [Knocks. Enter a Lady.

Lady.
Who's there, that knocks?

Clot.
A gentleman.

Lady.
No more?

Clot.
Yes, and a gentlewoman's son.

Lady.
That's more
Than some, whose taylors are as dear as yours,
Can justly boast of: What's your lordship's pleasure?

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

Lady.
Ay, to keep her chamber.

Clot.
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— Enter Imogen.

Clot.
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.

Clot.
Still, I swear, I love you.

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

Clot.
This is no answer.

Imo.
But that you shall not say I yield, being silent,
I would not speak. I pray you, spare me: faith,
I shall unfold equal discourtesy
To your best kindness: ^{1 note}
one of your great knowing
Should learn, being taught, forbearance.

Clot.
^{2 note}

Imo.
Fools are not mad folks.

Clot.
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 ^{1 note}so verbal: 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.

Clot.
You sin against
Obedience, which you owe your father. For
^{2 note}

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

Imo.
Prophane 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 dignify'd enough,
Even to the point of envy, if 'twere made
Comparative for your virtues, to be stil'd
The under-hangman of his kingdom; and hated
For being preferr'd so well.

Clot.
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 clip'd his body, is dearer,
In my respect, than all the hairs above thee,
Were they all made such men.—^{4 note}


How now, Pisanio? Enter Pisanio.

Clot.
His garment? Now, the devil—

Imo.
To Dorothy my woman hie thee presently:—

Clot.
His garment?

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

;

Frighted, and anger'd worse:—Go, bid my woman
Search for ^{6 note}
a jewel, that too casually
Hath left mine arm; 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 kissed it:
I hope, it be not gone, to tell my lord
That I kiss aught but him.

Pis.
'Twill not be lost.

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

Clot.
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.

Clot.
I will inform your father.

Imo.
Your mother too:
She's my good lady; and will conceive, I hope,
But the worst of me. So I leave you, sir,
To the worst of discontent. [Exit.

Clot.
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.

Phil.
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: In these fear'd hopes,
I barely gratify your love; they failing,
I must die much your debtor.

Phil.
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, send the arrearages,
^{7 note}

Or look upon our Romans, whose remembrance
Is yet fresh in their grief.

Post.
I do believe,
(Statist^{8 note} though I am none, nor like to be)
That this will prove a war; and you shall hear
The legions, 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^{9 note}

Enter Iachimo.

Phil.
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.

Phil.
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.

Post.
And, therewithal, the best; or let her beauty
Look through a casement to allure false hearts,
And be false with them.

Iach.
Here are letters for you.

Post.
Their tenour good, I trust.

Iach.
'Tis very like.

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

Iach.
He was expected then,
But not approach'd.

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 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 it 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) It was hang'd
With tapestry of silk and silver; the story
Proud Cleopatra, when she met her Roman,
^{3 note}

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—

Post.
This is true;
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

^{4 note}So likely to report themselves: the cutter
^{5 note}

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 cherubims is fretted:9Q1052 Her andirons
(I had forgot them) were two winking Cupids
Of silver, each on one foot standing, nicely
Depending on their brands^{6 note}
.

Post.
^{7 note}

Iach.
Then, ^{8 note}
if you can, [Pulling out the bracelet.
Be pale; I beg but leave to air this jewel: See!—
And now 'tis up again: It must be married
To that your diamond; I'll keep them.

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: 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: ^{9 note}The vows of women
Of no more bondage be, to where they are made,
Than they are to their virtues; which is nothing:—
O, above measure false!

Phil.
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, being corrupted,
Hath stolen it from her.

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: ^{1 note}

And by a stranger?—No; he hath enjoy'd her:
^{2 note}The cognizance of her incontinency
Is this,—she hath bought the name of whore thus dearly.—
There, take thy hire; and all the fiends of hell
Divide themselves between you!

Phil.
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,
^{3 note}
(Worthy the pressing) lies a mole, right proud
Of that most delicate lodging; By my life,
I kiss'd it; and it gave me present hunger
To feed again, though full. You do remember
This stain upon her?

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 lye;
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.

Phil.
Quite besides
The government of patience!—You have won:
Let's follow him, and pervert the present wrath
He hath against himself.

Iach.
With all my heart. [Exeunt. SCENE V. Another room in Philario's house. Enter Posthumus.

Post.
^{1 note}







Is there no way for men to be, but women
Must be half-workers? We are all bastards;
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: Yet my mother seem'd
The Dian of that time: so doth my wife
The non-pareil of this.—Oh vengeance, vengeance!

Me of my lawful pleasure she restrain'd,
And pray'd me, oft, forbearance: did it with
A pudency so rosy, the sweet view on't
Might well have warm'd old Saturn9Q1054; that I thought her
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,
Cry'd, oh! and mounted: found no opposition
But what he look'd for should oppose, and she
Should from encounter guard. Could I find out
The woman's part in me! For there's no motion
That tends to vice in man, but I affirm
It is the woman's part: Be't lying, note it,
The woman's; flattering, hers; deceiving, hers;
Lust and rank thoughts, hers, hers; revenges, hers;
Ambitions, covetings, change of prides, disdain,
Nice longings, slanders, mutability,
All faults that may be nam'd, nay, that hell knows,
Why, hers, in part, or all; but, rather, all:
For even 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. [Exit.

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