Cym.
Thus far, and so farewel.

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 Yoak; and for our self
To shew less Soveraignty than they, must needs
Appear un-King like.

Luc.
So, Sir: I desire of you
A Conduct over Land, to Milford-Haven.
Madam, all Joy befal your Grace, and you.

Cym.
My Lords, you are appointed for that Office;
The due of Honour in no point omit:
So farewel, noble Lucius.

Luc.
Your Hand, my Lord.

Clot.
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,
Till he have crost Severn. Happiness. [Exit Lucius, &c.

Queen.
He goes hence frowning; but it honours us,
That we have given him Cause.

Clot.
'Tis all the better,
Your valiant Britains 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 should 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 as like
A thing more made of Malice, than of Duty,
We have noted it. Call her before us, for
We have been too light in sufferance.

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. 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 given to th' loudest 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 Heav'ns, that which I fear,
Prove false. [Exit.

Queen.
Son, I say; follow the King.

Clot.
That Man of hers, Pisanio, her old Servant,
I have not seen these two Days. [Exit.

Queen.
Go, look after—
Pisanio, thou that stand'st so for Posthumus!—
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 desired Posthumus; 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. Enter Cloten.
How now, my Son?

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

Queen.
All the better; may
This Night fore-stall him of the coming Day. [Exit Qu.

Clot.
I love and hate her; for she's fair and Royal,
And that she hath all courtly Parts more exquisite
Than Lady, Ladies, Woman, from every one
The best she hath, and she of all Compounded
Out-sells them all; I love her therefore; but
Disdaining me, and throwing Favours on
To low Posthumus, slanders so her Judgment,
That what's else rare, is choak'd; and in that point
I will conclude to hate her, nay indeed,
To be reveng'd upon her. For, when Fools— Enter Pisanio.
Who is here? What, are you packing, Sirrah?
Come hither; Ah you precious Pander, Villain,
Where is thy Lady? In a word, or else
Thou art straightway with the Fiends.

Pis.
Oh, good my Lord.

Clot.
Where is thy Lady? Or, by Jupiter,
I will not ask again. Close Villain,
I'll have this secret from thy Heart, or rip
Thy Heart to find it. Is she with Posthumus?
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.

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

Pis.
Oh, my all-worthy Lord!—

Clot.
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.

Clot.
Let's see't; I will pursue her
Even to Augustus Throne.

Pis.
Or this, or perish. [Aside.
She's far enough, and what he learns by this,
May prove his travel, not her danger.

Clot.
Humh.

Pis.
I'll write to my Lord she is dead. Oh, Imogen,
Safe may'st thou wander, safe return agen.

Clot.

Sirrah, is this Letter true?

Pis.

Sir, as I think.

Clot.

It is Posthumus's Hand, I know't. Sirrah, if thou would'st not be a Villain, but to do me true Service; undergo those employments wherein I should have Cause to use thee with a serious industry, that is, what Villany soe'er I bid thee do to perform it, directly and truly, I would think thee an honest Man; thou shouldst neither want my Means for thy Relief, nor my Voice for thy Preferment.

Pis.

Well, my good Lord.

Clot.

Wilt thou serve me? For since patiently and constantly thou hast stuck to the bare Fortune of that Beggar Posthumus, thou can'st not in the Course of Gratitude, but be a diligent follower of mine. Wilt thou serve me?

Pis.

Sir, I will.

Clot.

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 the Lodging, the same Suit he wore, when he took leave of my Lady and Mistress.

Clot.

The first Service thou dost me, fetch that Suit hither; let it be thy first Service, go.

Pis.

I shall, my Lord.

Clot.

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 Cloaths that she so prais'd; to the Court

I'll knock her back, foot her home again. She hath despis'd me rejoycingly, and I'll be merry in my Revenge.

Pis.

Ay, my Noble Lord.

Clot.

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

Pis.

She can scarce be there yet.

Clot.

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 it self to thee. My Revenge is now at Milford, would I had Wings to follow it. Come and be true.

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 true. To Milford go,
And find not her, whom thou pursuest. Flow, flow,
You Heav'nly Blessings on her: This Fool's speed
Be-crost with slowness; Labour be his meed. [Exit.

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