Scena Prima. Enter in State, Cymbeline, Queene, Clotten and Lords at one doore, and at another, Caius, Lucius, and Attendants.

Cym.
Now say, what would Augustus Cæsar with vs?

Luc.
When Iulius Cæsar (whose remembrance yet
Liues in mens eyes, and will to Eares and Tongues
Be Theame, and hearing euer) was in this Britain,
And Conquer'd it, Cassibulan thine Vnkle
(Famous in Cæsars prayses, no whit lesse
Then in his Feats deseruing it) for him,
And his Succession, granted Rome a Tribute,
Yeerely three thousand pounds; which (by thee) lately
Is left vntender'd.

Qu.
And to kill the meruaile,
Shall be so euer.

Clot.
There be many Cæsars,
Ere such another Iulius: Britaine's a world
By it selfe, and we will nothing pay
For wearing our owne Noses

Qu.
That opportunity
Which then they had to take from's, to resume
We haue againe. Remember Sir, my Liege,
The Kings your Ancestors, together with
The naturall brauery of your Isle, which stands
As Neptunes Parke, ribb'd, and pal'd in
With Oakes vnskaleable, and roaring Waters,
With Sands that will not beare your Enemies Boates,
But sucke them vp to'th'Top-mast. A kinde of Conquest
Cæsar made heere, but made not heere his bragge
Of Came, and Saw, and Ouer-came: with shame
(The first that euer touch'd him) he was carried
From off our Coast, twice beaten: and his Shipping
(Poore ignorant Baubles) on our terrible Seas
Like Egge-shels mou'd vpon their Surges, crack'd
As easily gainst our Rockes. For ioy whereof,
The fam'd Cassibulan, who was once at point
(Oh giglet Fortune) to master Cæsars Sword,
Made Luds-Towne with reioycing-Fires bright,
And Britaines strut with Courage.

Clot.

Come, there's no more Tribute to be paid: our Kingdome is stronger then it was at that time: and (as I said) there is no mo such Cæsars, other of them may haue crook'd Noses, but to owe such straite Armes, none.

Cym.

Son, let your Mother end.

Clot.

We haue yet many among vs, can gripe as hard as Cassibulan, I doe not say I am one: but I haue a hand. Why Tribute? Why should we pay Tribute? If Cæsar can hide the Sun from vs with a Blanket, or put the Moon in his pocket, we will pay him Tribute for light: else Sir, no more Tribute, pray you now.

Cym.
You must know,
Till the iniurious Romans, did extort
This Tribute from vs, we were free. Cæsars Ambition,
Which swell'd so much, that it did almost stretch
The sides o'th'World, against all colour heere,
Did put the yoake vpon's; which to shake off
Becomes a warlike people, whom we reckon
Our selues to be, we do. Say then to Cæsar,
Our Ancestor was that Mulmutius, which
Ordain'd our Lawes, whose vse the Sword of Cæsar
Hath too much mangled; whose repayre, and franchise,
Shall (by the power we hold) be our good deed,
The Rome be therfore angry. Mulmutius made our lawes
Who was the first of Britaine, which did put
His browes within a golden Crowne, and call'd
Himselfe a King.

Luc.
I am sorry Cymbeline,
That I am to pronounce Augustus Cæsar
(Cæsar, that hath moe Kings his Seruants, then
Thy selfe Domesticke Officers) thine Enemy:
Receyue it from me then. Warre, and Confusion
In Cæsars name pronounce I 'gainst thee: Looke
For fury, not to be resisted. Thus deside,
I thanke thee for my selfe.

Cym.
Thou art welcome Caius,
Thy Cæsar Knighted me; my youth I spent
Much vnder him; of him, I gather'd Honour,
Which he, to seeke of me againe, perforce,
Behooues me keepe at vtterance. I am perfect,
That the Pannonians and Dalmatians, for
Their Liberties are now in Armes: a President
Which not to reade, would shew the Britaines cold:
So Cæsar shall not finde them.

Luc.
Let proofe speake.

Clot.

His Maiesty biddes you welcome. Make pastime with vs, a day, or two, or longer: if you seek vs afterwards in other tearmes, you shall finde vs in our Salt-water-Girdle: if you beare vs out of it, it is yours: if you fall in the aduenture, our Crowes shall fare the better for you: and there's an end.

Luc.

So sir.

Cym.
I know your Masters pleasure, and he mine:
All the Remaine, is welcome. Exeunt.

Scena Secunda. Enter Pisanio reading of a Letter.

Pis.
How? of Adultery? Wherefore write you not
What Monsters her accuse? Leonatus:
Oh Master, what a strange infection

Is falne into thy eare? What false Italian,
(As poysonous tongu'd, as handed) hath preuail'd
On thy too ready hearing? Disloyall? No.
She's punish'd for her Truth; and vndergoes
More Goddesse-like, then Wife-like; such Assaults
As would take in some Vertue. Oh my Master,
Thy mind to her, is now as lowe, as were
Thy Fortunes. How? That I should murther her,
Vpon the Loue, and Truth, and Vowes; which I
Haue made to thy command? I her? Her blood?
If it be so, to do good seruice, neuer
Let me be counted seruiceable. How looke I,
That I should seeme to lacke humanity,
So much as this Fact comes to? Doo't: The Letter.
That I haue sent her, by her owne command,
Shall giue thee opportunitie. Oh damn'd paper,
Blacke as the Inke that's on thee: senselesse bauble,
Art thou a Fœdarie for this Act; and look'st
So Virgin-like without? Loe here she comes. Enter Imogen.
I am ignorant in what I am commanded.

Imo.
How now Pisanio?

Pis.
Madam, heere is a Letter from my Lord.

Imo.
Who, thy Lord? That is my Lord Leonatus?
Oh, learn'd indeed were that Astronomer
That knew the Starres, as I his Characters,
Heel'd lay the Future open. You good Gods,
Let what is heere contain'd, rellish of Loue,
Of my Lords health, of his content: yet not
That we two are asunder, let that grieue him;
Some griefes are medcinable, that is one of them,
For it doth physicke Loue, of his content,
All but in that. Good Wax, thy leaue: blest be
You Bees that make these Lockes of counsaile. Louers,
And men in dangerous Bondes pray not alike,
Though Forfeytours you cast in prison, yet
You claspe young Cupids Tables: good Newes Gods.

Ivstice and your Fathers wrath (should he take me in his Dominion) could not be so cruell to me, as you: (oh the deerest of Creatures) would euen renew me with your eyes. Take notice that I am in Cambria at Milford-Hauen: what your owne Loue, will out of this aduise you, follow. So he wishes you all happinesse, that remaines loyall to his Vow, and your encreasing in Loue.

Leonatus Posthumus.

Pis.
One score 'twixt Sun, and Sun,
Madam's enough for you: and too much too.

Imo.
Why, one that rode to's Excution Man,
Could neuer go so slow: I haue heard of Riding wagers,
Where Horses haue bin nimbler then the Sands
That run i'th'Clocks behalfe. But this is Foolrie,
Go, bid my Woman faigne a Sicknesse, say
She'le home to her Father; and prouide me presently
A Riding Suit: No costlier then would fit
A Franklins Huswife.

Pisa.
Madam, you're best consider.

Imo.
I see before me (Man) nor heere, not heere;
Nor what ensues but haue a Fog in them
That I cannot looke through. Away, I prythee,
Do as I bid thee: There's no more to say:
Accessible is none but Milford way. Exeunt.

Scena Tertia. Enter Belarius, Guiderius, and Aruiragus.

Bel.
A goodly day, not to keepe house with such,
Whose Roofe's as lowe as ours: Sleepe Boyes, this gate
Instructs you how t'adore the Heauens; and bowes you
To a mornings holy office. The Gates of Monarches
Are Arch'd so high, that Giants may iet through
And keepe their impious Turbonds on, without
Good morrow to the Sun. Haile thou faire Heauen,
We house i'th'Rocke, yet vse thee not so hardly
As prouder liuers do.

Guid.
Haile Heauen.

Aruir.
Haile Heauen.

Bela.
Now for our Mountaine sport, vp to yond hill
Your legges are yong: Ile tread these Flats. Consider,
When you aboue perceiue me like a Crow,
That it is Place, which lessen's, and sets off.
And you may then reuolue what Tales, I haue told you,
Of Courts, of Princes; of the Tricks in Warre.
This Seruice, is not Seruice; so being done,
But being so allowed. To apprehend thus,
Drawes vs a profit from all things we see:
And often to our comfort, shall we finde
The sharded-Beetle, in a safer hold
Then is the full-wing'd Eagle. Oh this life,
Is Nobler, then attending for a checke:
Richer, then doing nothing for a Babe:
Prouder, then rustling in vnpayd-for Silke:
Such gaine the Cap of him, that makes him fine,
Yet keepes his Booke vncros'd: no life to ours.

Gui.
Out of your proofe you speak: we poore vnfledg'd
Haue neuer wing'd from view o'th'nest; nor knowes not
What Ayre's from home. Hap'ly this life is best,
(If quiet life be best) sweeter to you
That haue a sharper knowne. Well corresponding
With your stiffe Age; but vnto vs, it is
A Cell of Ignorance: trauailing a bed,
A Prison, or a Debtor, that not dares
To stride a limit.

Arui.
What should we speake of
When we are old as you? When we shall heare
The Raine and winde beate darke December? How
In this our pinching Caue, shall we discourse

The freezing houres away? We haue seene nothing
We are beastly; subtle as the Fox for prey,
Like warlike as the Wolfe, for what we eate:
Our Valour is to chace what flyes: Our Cage
We make a Quire, as doth the prison'd Bird,
And sing our Bondage freely.

Bel.
How you speake.
Did you but know the Citties Vsuries,
And felt them knowingly: the Art o'th'Court,
As hard to leaue, as keepe: whose top to climbe
Is certaine falling: or so slipp'ry, that
The feare's as bad as falling. The toyle o'th'Warre,
A paine that onely seemes to seeke out danger
I'th'name of Fame, and Honor, which dyes i'th'search,
And hath as oft a sland'rous Epitaph,
As Record of faire Act. Nay, many times
Doth ill deserue, by doing well: what's worse
Must curt'sie at the Censure. Oh Boyes, this Storie
The World may reade in me: My bodie's mark'd
With Roman Swords; and my report, was once
First, with the best of Note, Cymbeline lou'd me,
And when a Souldier was the Theame, my name
Was not farre off: then was I as a Tree
Whose boughes did bend with fruit. But in one night,
A Storme, or Robbery (call it what you will)
Shooke downe my mellow hangings: nay my Leaues,
And left me bare to weather.

Gui.
Vncertaine fauour.

Bel.
My fault being nothing (as I haue told you oft)
But that two Villaines, whose false Oathes preuayl'd
Before my perfect Honor, swore to Cymbeline,
I was Confederate with the Romanes: so
Followed my Banishment, and this twenty yeeres,
This Rocke, and these Demesnes, haue bene my World,
Where I haue liu'd at honest freedome, payed
More pious debts to Heauen, then in all
The fore-end of my time. But, vp to'th'Mountaines,
This is not Hunters Language; he that strikes
The Venison first, shall be the Lord o'th'Feast,
To him the other two shall minister,
And we will feare no poyson, which attends
In place of greater State:
Ile meete you in the Valleyes. Exeunt.
How hard it is to hide the sparkes of Nature?
These Boyes know little they are Sonnes to'th'King,
Nor Cymbeline dreames that they are aliue.
They thinke they are mine,
And though train'd vp thus meanely
I'th'Caue, whereon the Bowe their thoughts do hit,
The Roofes of Palaces, and Nature prompts them
In simple and lowe things, to Prince it, much
Beyond the tricke of others. This Paladour,
The heyre of Cymbeline and Britaine, who
The King his Father call'd Guiderius. Ioue,
When on my three-foot-stoole I sit, and tell
The warlike feats I haue done, his spirits flye out
Into my Story: say thus mine Enemy fell,
And thus I set my foote on's necke, euen then
The Princely blood flowes in his Cheeke, he sweats,
Straines his yong Nerues, and puts himselfe in posture
That acts my words. The yonger Brother Cadwall,
Once Aruiragus, in as like a figure
Strikes life into my speech, and shewes much more
His owne conceyuing. Hearke, the Game is rows'd,
Oh Cymbeline, Heauen and my Conscience knowes
Thou didd'st vniustly banish me: whereon
At three, and two yeeres old, I stole these Babes,
Thinking to barre thee of Succession, as
Thou refts me of my Lands. Euriphile,
Thou was't their Nurse, they took thee for their mother,
And euery day do honor to her graue:
My selfe Belarius, that am Morgan call'd
They take for Naturall Father. The Game is vp. Exit.

Scena Quarta. Enter Pisanio and Imogen.

Imo.
Thou told'st me when we came fr&obar; horse, &ye; place
Was neere at hand: Ne're long'd my Mother so
To see me first, as I haue now. Pisanio, Man:
Where is Posthumus? What is in thy mind
That makes thee stare thus? Wherefore breaks that sigh
From th'inward of thee? One, but painted thus
Would be interpreted a thing perplex'd
Beyond selfe-explication. Put thy selfe
Into a hauiour of lesse feare, ere wildnesse
Vanquish my stayder Senses. What's the matter?
Why tender'st thou that Paper to me, with
A looke vntender? If't be Summer Newes
Smile too't before: if Winterly, thou need'st
But keepe that count'nance stil. My Husbands hand?
That Drug-damn'd Italy, hath out-craftied him,
And hee's at some hard point. Speake man, thy Tongue
May take off some extreamitie, which to reade
Would be euen mortall to me.

Pis.
Please you reade,
And you shall finde me (wretched man) a thing
The most disdain'd of Fortune. Imogen reades.

Thy Mistris (Pisanio) hath plaide the Strumpet in my Bed: the Testimonies whereof, lyes bleeding in me. I speak not out of weake Surmises, but from proofe as strong as my greefe, and as certaine as I expect my Reuenge. That part, thou (Pisanio) must acte for me, if thy Faith be not tainted with the breach of hers; let thine owne hands take away her life: I shall giue thee opportunity at Milford Hauen. She hath my Letter for the purpose; where, if thou feare to strike, and to make mee certaine it is done, thou art the Pander to her dishonour, and equally to me disloyall.

Pis.
What shall I need to draw my Sword, the Paper
Hath cut her throat alreadie? No, 'tis Slander,
Whose edge is sharper then the Sword, whose tongue
Out-venomes all the Wormes of Nyle, whose breath
Rides on the posting windes, and doth belye
All corners of the World. Kings, Queenes, and States,
Maides, Matrons, nay the Secrets of the Graue
This viperous slander enters. What cheere, Madam?

Imo.
False to his Bed? What is it to be false?
To lye in watch there, and to thinke on him?
To weepe'twixt clock and clock? If sleep charge Nature
To breake it with a fearfull dreame of him,
And cry my selfe awake? That's false to's bed? Is it?

Pisa.
Alas good Lady.

Imo.
I false? Thy Conscience witnesse: Iachimo,
Thou didd'st accuse him of Incontinencie,
Thou then look'dst like a Villaine: now, me thinkes

Thy fauours good enough. Some lay of Italy
(Whose mother was her painting) hath betraid him:
Poore I am stale, a Garment out of fashion,
And for I am richer then to hang by th'walles,
I must be ript: To peeces with me: Oh!
Mens Vowes are womens Traitors. All good seeming
By thy reuolt (oh Husband) shall be thought
Put on for Villainy; not borne where't growes,
But worne a Baite for Ladies.

Pisa.
Good Madam, heare me.

Imo.
True honest men being heard, like false Æneas,
Were in his time thought false: and Synons weeping
Did scandall many a holy teare: tooke pitty
From most true wretchednesse. So thou, Posthumus
Wilt lay the Leauen on all proper men;
Goodly, and gallant, shall be false and periur'd
From thy great faile: Come Fellow; be thou honest,
Do thou thy Masters bidding. When thou seest him,
A little witnesse my obedience. Looke
I draw the Sword my selfe, take it, and hit
The innocent Mansion of my Loue (my Heart:)
Feare not, 'tis empty of all things, but Greefe:
Thy Master is not there, who was indeede
The riches of it. Do his bidding, strike,
Thou mayst be valiant in a better cause;
But now thou seem'st a Coward.

Pis.
Hence vile Instrument,
Thou shalt not damne my hand.

Imo.
Why, I must dye:
And if I do not by thy hand, thou art
No Seruant of thy Masters. Against Selfe-slaughter,
There is a prohibition so Diuine,
That crauens my weake hand: Come, heere's my heart:
Something's a-foot: Soft, soft, wee'l no defence,
Obedient as the Scabbard. What is heere,
The Scriptures of the Loyall Leonatus,
All turn'd to Heresie? Away, away
Corrupters of my Faith, you shall no more
Be Stomachers to my heart: thus may poore Fooles
Beleeue false Teachers: Though those that are betraid
Do feele the Treason sharpely, yet the Traitor
Stands in worse case of woe. And thou Posthumus,
That didd'st set vp my disobedience 'gainst the King
My Father, and makes me put into contempt the suites
Of Princely Fellowes, shalt heereafter finde
It is no acte of common passage, but
A straine of Rarenesse: and I greeue my selfe,
To thinke, when thou shalt be disedg'd by her,
That now thou tyrest on, how thy memory
Will then be pang'd by me. Prythee dispatch,
The Lambe entreats the Butcher. Wher's thy knife?
Thou art too slow to do thy Masters bidding
When I desire it too.

Pis.
Oh gracious Lady:
Since I receiu'd command to do this businesse,
I haue not slept one winke.

Imo.
Doo't, and to bed then.

Pis.
Ile wake mine eye-balles first.

Imo.
Wherefore then
Didd'st vndertake it? Why hast thou abus'd
So many Miles, with a pretence? This place?
Mine Action? and thine owne? Our Horses labour?
The Time inuiting thee? The perturb'd Court
For my being absent? whereunto I neuer
Purpose returne. Why hast thou gone so farre
To be vn-bent? when thou hast 'tane thy stand,
Th'elected Deere before thee?

Pis.
But to win time
To loose so bad employment, in the which
I haue consider'd of a course: good Ladie
Heare me with patience.

Imo.
Talke thy tongue weary, speake:
I haue heard I am a Strumpet, and mine eare
Therein false strooke, can take no greater wound,
Nor tent, to bottome that. But speake.

Pis.
Then Madam,
I thought you would not backe againe.

Imo.
Most like,
Bringing me heere to kill me.

Pis.
Not so neither:
But if I were as wise, as honest, then
My purpose would proue well: it cannot be,
But that my Master is abus'd. Some Villaine,
I, and singular in his Art, hath done you both
This cursed iniurie.

Imo.
Some Roman Curtezan?

Pisa.
No, on my life:
Ile giue but notice you are dead, and send him
Some bloody signe of it. For 'tis commanded
I should do so: you shall be mist at Court,
And that will well confirme it.

Imo.
Why good Fellow,
What shall I do the while? Where bide? How liue?
Or in my life, what comfort, when I am
Dead to my Husband?

Pis.
If you'l backe to'th'Court.

Imo.
No Court, no Father, nor no more adoe
With that harsh, noble, simple nothing:
That Clotten, whose Loue-suite hath bene to me
As fearefull as a Siege.

Pis.
If not at Court,
Then not in Britaine must you bide.

Imo.
Where then?
Hath Britaine all the Sunne that shines? Day? Night?
Are they not but in Britaine? I'th'worlds Volume
Our Britaine seemes as of it, but not in't:
In a great Poole, a Swannes-nest, prythee thinke
There's liuers out of Britaine.

Pis.
I am most glad
You thinke of other place: Th'Ambassador,
Lucius the Romane comes to Milford-Hauen
To morrow. Now, if you could weare a minde
Darke, as your Fortune is, and but disguise
That which t'appeare it selfe must not yet be,
But by selfe-danger, you should tread a course
Pretty, and full of view: yea, happily, neere
The residence of Posthumus; so nie (at least)
That though his Actions were not visible yet
Report should render him hourely to your eare,
As truely as he mooues.

Imo.
Oh for such meanes,
Though perill to my modestie, not death on't
I would aduenture.

Pis.
Well then, heere's the point:
You must forget to be a Woman: change
Command, into obedience. Feare, and Nicenesse
(The Handmaides of all Women, or more truely
Woman it pretty selfe) into a waggish courage,
Ready in gybes, quicke-answer'd, sawcie and
As quarrellous as the Weazell: Nay, you must
Forget that rarest Treasure of your Cheeke,
Exposing it (but oh the harder heart,

Alacke no remedy) to the greedy touch
Of common-kissing Titan: and forget
Your laboursome and dainty Trimmes, wherein
You made great Iuno angry.

Imo.
Nay be breefe?
I see into thy end, and am almost
A man already.

Pis.
First, make your selfe but like one,
Fore-thinking this. I haue already fit
('Tis in my Cloake-bagge) Doublet, Hat, Hose, all
That answer to them: Would you in their seruing,
(And with what imitation you can borrow
From youth of such a season) 'fore Noble Lucius
Present your selfe, desire his seruice: tell him
Wherein you're happy; which will make him know,
If that his head haue eare in Musicke, doubtlesse
With ioy he will imbrace you: for hee's Honourable,
And doubling that, most holy. Your meanes abroad:
You haue me rich, and I will neuer faile
Beginning, nor supplyment.

Imo.
Thou art all the comfort
The Gods will diet me with. Prythee away,
There's more to be consider'd: but wee'l euen
All that good time will giue vs. This attempt,
I am Souldier too, and will abide it with
A Princes Courage. Away, I prythee.

Pis.
Well Madam, we must take a short farewell,
Least being mist, I be suspected of
Your carriage from the Court. My Noble Mistris,
Heere is a boxe, I had it from the Queene,
What's in't is precious: If you are sicke at Sea,
Or Stomacke-qualm'd at Land, a Dramme of this
Will driue away distemper. To some shade,
And fit you to your Manhood: may the Gods
Direct you to the best.

Imo.
Amen: I thanke thee. Exeunt.

Scena Quinta. Enter Cymbeline, Queene, Cloten, Lucius, and Lords.

Cym.
Thus farre, and so farewell.

Luc.
Thankes, Royall Sir:
My Emperor hath wrote, I must from hence,
And am right sorry, that I must report ye
My Masters Enemy.

Cym.
Our Subiects (Sir)
Will not endure his yoake; and for our selfe
To shew lesse Soueraignty then they, must needs
Appeare vn-Kinglike.

Luc.
So Sir: I desire of you
A Conduct ouer Land, to Milford-Hauen.
Madam, all ioy befall your Grace, and you.

Cym.
My Lords, you are appointed for that Office:
The due of Honor, in no point omit:
So farewell Noble Lucius.

Luc.
Your hand, my Lord.

Clot.
Receiue it friendly: but from this time forth
I weare it as your Enemy.

Luc.
Sir, the Euent
Is yet to name the winner. Fare you well.

Cym.
Leaue not the worthy Lucius, good my Lords
Till he haue crost the Seuern. Happines. Exit Lucius, &c

Qu.
He goes hence frowning: but it honours vs
That we haue giuen him cause.

Clot.
'Tis all the better,
Your valiant Britaines haue their wishes in it.

Cym.
Lucius hath wrote already to the Emperor
How it goes heere. It fits vs therefore ripely
Our Chariots, and our Horsemen be in readinesse:
The Powres that he already hath in Gallia
Will soone be drawne to head, from whence he moues
His warre for Britaine.

Qu.
'Tis not sleepy businesse,
But must be look'd too speedily, and strongly.

Cym.
Our expectation that it would be thus
Hath made vs forward. But my gentle Queene,
Where is our Daughter? She hath not appear'd
Before the Roman, nor to vs hath tender'd
The duty of the day. She looke vs like
A thing more made of malice, then of duty,
We haue noted it. Call her before vs, for
We haue beene too slight in sufferance.

Qu.
Royall Sir,
Since the exile of Posthumus, most retyr'd
Hath her life bin: the Cure whereof, my Lord,
'Tis time must do. Beseech your Maiesty,
Forbeare sharpe speeches to her. Shee's a Lady
So tender of rebukes, that words are stroke;,
And strokes death to her. Enter a Messenger.

Cym.
Where is she Sir? How
Can her contempt be answer'd?

Mes.
Please you Sir,
Her Chambers are all lock'd, and there's no answer
That will be giuen to'th'lowd of noise, we make.

Qu
My Lord, when last I went to visit her,
She pray'd me to excuse her keeping close,
Whereto constrain'd by her infirmitie,
She should that dutie leaue vnpaide to you
Which dayly she was bound to proffer: this
She wish'd me to make knowne: but our great Court
Made me too blame in memory.

Cym.
Her doores lock'd?
Not seene of late? Grant Heauens, that which I
Feare, proue false. Exit.

Qu.
Sonne, I say, follow the King.

Clot.
That man of hers, Pisanio, her old Seruant
I haue not seene these two dayes. Exit.

Qu.
Go, looke after:
Pisanio, thou that stand'st so for Posthumus,
He hath a Drugge of mine: I pray, his absence
Proceed by swallowing that. For he beleeues
It is a thing most precious. But for her,
Where is she gone? Haply dispaire hath seiz'd her:
Or wing'd with feruour of her loue, she's flowne
To her desir'd Posthumus: gone she is,
To death, or to dishonor, and my end
Can make good vse of either. Shee being downe,
I haue the placing of the Brittish Crowne. Enter Cloten.
How now, my Sonne?

Clot.
'Tis certaine she is fled:
Go in and cheere the King, he rages, none
Dare come about him.

Qu.
All the better: may
This night fore-stall him of the comming day. Exit Qu.

Clo.
I loue, and hate her: for she's Faire and Royall,
And that she hath all courtly parts more exquisite

Then Lady, Ladies, Woman, from euery one
The best she hath, and she of all compounded
Out-selles them all. I loue her therefore, but
Disdaining me, and throwing Fauours on
The low Posthumus, slanders so her iudgement,
That what's else rare, is choak'd: and in that point
I will conclude to hate her, nay indeede,
To be reueng'd vpon her. For, when Fooles shall— Enter Pisanio.
Who is heere? What, are you packing sirrah?
Come hither: Ah you precious Pandar, Villaine,
Where is thy Lady? In a word, or else
Thou art straightway with the Fiends.

Pis.
Oh, good my Lord.

Clo.
Where is thy Lady? Or, by Iupiter,
I will not aske againe. Close Villaine,
Ile haue this Secret from thy heart, or rip
Thy heart to finde it. Is she with Posthumus?
From whose so many waights of basenesse, cannot
A dram of worth be drawne.

Pis.
Alas, my Lord,
How can she be with him? When was she miss'd?
He is in Rome.

Clot.
Where is she Sir? Come neerer:
No farther halting: satisfie me home,
What is become of her?

Pis.
Oh, my all-worthy Lord.

Clo.
All-worthy Villaine,
Discouer where thy Mistris is, at once,
At the next word: no more of worthy Lord:
Speake, or thy silence on the instant, is
Thy condemnation, and thy death.

Pis.
Then Sir:
This Paper is the historie of my knowledge
Touching her flight.

Clo.
Let's see't: I will pursue her
Euen to Augustus Throne.

Pis.
Or this, or perish.
She's farre enough, and what he learnes by this,
May proue his trauell, not her danger.

Clo.
Humh.

Pis.
Ile write to my Lord she's dead: Oh Imogen,
Safe mayst thou wander, safe returne agen.

Clot.

Sirra, is this Letter true?

Pis.

Sir, as I thinke.

Clot.

It is Posthumus hand, I know't. Sirrah, if thou would'st not be a Villain, but do me true seruice: vndergo those Imployments wherin I should haue cause to vse thee with a serious industry, that is, what villainy soere I bid thee do to performe it, directly and truely, I would thinke thee an honest man: thou should'st neither want my meanes for thy releefe, nor my voyce for thy preferment.

Pis.

Well, my good Lord.

Clot.

Wilt thou serue mee? For since patiently and constantly thou hast stucke to the bare Fortune of that Begger Posthumus, thou canst not in the course of gratitude, but be a diligent follower of mine. Wilt thou serue mee?

Pis.

Sir, I will.

Clo.

Giue mee thy hand, heere's my purse. Hast any of thy late Masters Garments in thy possession?

Pisan.

I haue (my Lord) at my Lodging, the same Suite he wore, when he tooke leaue of my Ladie & Mistresse.

Clo.

The first seruice thou dost mee, fetch that Suite hither, let it be thy first seruice, go.

Pis.

I shall my Lord.

Clo.

Meet thee at Milford-Hauen: (I forgot to aske him one thing, Ile remember't anon:) euen there, thou villaine Posthumus will I kill thee. I would these Garments were come. She saide vpon a time (the bitternesse of it, I now belch from my heart) that shee held the very Garment of Posthumus, in more respect, then my Noble and naturall person; together with the adornement of my Qualities. With that Suite vpon my backe wil I rauish her: first kill him, and in her eyes; there shall she see my valour, which wil then be a torment to hir contempt. He on the ground, my speech of insulment ended on his dead bodie, and when my Lust hath dined (which, as I say, to vex her, I will execute in the Cloathes that she so prais'd:) to the Court Ile knock her backe, foot her home againe. She hath despis'd mee reioycingly, and Ile bee merry in my Reuenge.

Be those the Garments?

Pis.

I, my Noble Lord.

Clo.

How long is't since she went to Milford-Hauen?

Pis.

She can scarse be there yet.

Clo.

Bring this Apparrell to my Chamber, that is the second thing that I haue commanded thee. The third is, that thou wilt be a voluntarie Mute to my designe. Be but dutious, and true preferment shall tender it selfe to thee. My Reuenge is now at Milford, would I had wings to follow it. Come, and be true.

Pis.
Thou bid'st me to my losse: for true to thee,
Were to proue false, which I will neuer bee
To him that is most true. To Milford go,
And finde not her, whom thou pursuest. Flow, flow
You Heauenly blessings on her: This Fooles speede
Be crost with slownesse; Labour be his meede. Exit

Scena Sexta. Enter Imogen alone.

Imo.
I see a mans life is a tedious one,
I haue tyr'd my selfe: and for two nights together
Haue made the ground my bed. I should be sicke,
But that my resolution helpes me: Milford,
When from the Mountaine top, Pisanio shew'd thee,
Thou was't within a kenne. Oh Ioue, I thinke
Foundations flye the wretched: such I meane,
Where they should be releeu'd. Two Beggers told me,
I could not misse my way. Will poore Folkes lye
That haue Afflictions on them, knowing 'tis
A punishment, or Triall? Yes; no wonder,
When Rich-ones scarse tell true. To lapse in Fulnesse
Is sorer, then to lye for Neede: and Falshood
Is worse in Kings, then Beggers. My deere Lord,
Thou art one o'th'false Ones: Now I thinke on thee,
My hunger's gone; but euen before, I was
At point to sinke, for Food. But what is this?
Heere is a path too't: 'tis some sauage hold:
I were best not call; I dare not call: yet Famine
Ere cleane it o're-throw Nature, makes it valiant,
Plentie, and Peace breeds Cowards: Hardnesse euer
Of Hardinesse is Mother. Hoa? who's heere?
If any thing that's ciuill, speake: if sauage,

Take, or lend. Hoa? No answer? Then Ile enter.
Best draw my Sword; and if mine Enemy
But feare the Sword like me, hee'l scarsely looke on't.
Such a Foe, good Heauens. Exit.

Scena Septima. Enter Belarius, Guiderius, and Aruiragus.

Bel.
You Polidore haue prou'd best Woodman, and
Are Master of the Feast: Cadwall, and I
Will play the Cooke, and Seruant, 'tis our match:
The sweat of industry would dry, and dye
But for the end it workes too. Come, our stomackes
Will make what's homely, sauoury: Wearinesse
Can snore vpon the Flint, when restie Sloth
Findes the Downe-pillow hard. Now peace be heere,
Poore house, that keep'st thy selfe.

Gui.
I am throughly weary.

Arui.
I am weake with toyle, yet strong in appetite.

Gui.
There is cold meat i'th'Caue, we'l brouz on that
Whil'st what we haue kill'd, be Cook'd.

Bel.
Stay, come not in:
But that it eates our victualles, I should thinke
Heere were a Faiery.

Gui.
What's the matter, Sir?

Bel.
By Iupiter an Angell: or if not
An earthly Paragon. Behold Diuinenesse
No elder then a Boy. Enter Imogen.

Imo.
Good masters harme me not:
Before I enter'd heere, I call'd, and thought
To haue begg'd, or bought, what I haue took: good troth
I haue stolne nought, nor would not, though I had found
Gold strew'd i'th'Floore. Heere's money for my Meate,
I would haue left it on the Boord, so soone
As I had made my Meale; and parted
With Pray'rs for the Prouider.

Gui.
Money? Youth.

Aru.
All Gold and Siluer rather turne to durt,
As 'tis no better reckon'd, but of those
Who worship durty Gods.

Imo.
I see you're angry:
Know, if you kill me for my fault, I should
Haue dyed, had I not made it.

Bel.
Whether bound?

Imo.
To Milford-Hauen.

Bel.
What's your name?

Imo.
Fidele Sir: I haue a Kinsman, who
Is bound for Italy; he embark'd at Milford,
To whom being going, almost spent with hunger,
I am falne in this offence.

Bel.
Prythee (faire youth)
Thinke vs no Churles: nor measure our good mindes
By this rude place we liue in. Well encounter'd,
'Tis almost night, you shall haue better cheere
Ere you depart; and thankes to stay, and eate it:
Boyes, bid him welcome.

Gui.
Were you a woman, youth,
I should woo hard, but be your Groome in honesty:
I bid for you, as I do buy.

Arui.
Ile make't my Comfort
He is a man, Ile loue him as my Brother:
And such a welcome as I'ld giue to him
(After long absence) such is yours. Most welcome:
Be sprightly, for you fall 'mongst Friends.

Imo.
'Mongst Friends?
If Brothers: would it had bin so, that they
Had bin my Fathers Sonnes, then had my prize
Bin lesse, and so more equall ballasting
To thee Posthumus.

Bel.
He wrings at some distresse.

Gui.
Would I could free't.

Arui.
Or I, what ere it be,
What paine it cost, what danger: Gods!

Bel.
Hearke Boyes.

Imo.
Great men
That had a Court no bigger then this Caue,
That did attend themselues, and had the vertue
Which their owne Conscience seal'd them: laying by
That nothing-guift of differing Multitudes
Could not out-peere these twaine. Pardon me Gods,
I'ld change my sexe to be Companion with them,
Since Leonatus false.

Bel.
It shall be so:
Boyes wee'l go dresse our Hunt. Faire youth come in;
Discourse is heauy, fasting: when we haue supp'd
Wee'l mannerly demand thee of thy Story,
So farre as thou wilt speake it.

Gui.
Pray draw neere.

Arui.
The Night to'th'Owle,
And Morne to th'Larke lesse welcome.

Imo.
Thankes Sir.

Arui.
I pray draw neere. Exeunt.

Scena Octaua. Enter two Roman Senators, and Tribunes.

1. Sen.
This is the tenor of the Emperors Writ;
That since the common men are now in Action
'Gainst the Pannonians, and Dalmatians,
And that the Legions now in Gallia, are
Full weake to vndertake our Warres against
The falne-off Britaines, that we do incite
The Gentry to this businesse. He creates
Lucius Pro-Consull: and to you the Tribunes
For this immediate Leuy, he commands
His absolute Commission. Long liue Cæsar.

Tri.
Is Lucius Generall of the Forces?

2. Sen.
I.

Tri.
Remaining now in Gallia?

1. Sen.
With those Legions
Which I haue spoke of whereunto your leuie
Must be suppliant: the words of your Commission
Will tye you to the numbers, and the time
Of their dispatch.

Tri.
We will discharge our duty. Exeunt.

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