Cym.
Again; and bring me word how 'tis with her;
A Fever with the absence of her Son;
A Madness, of which her Life's in danger; Heav'ns!
How deeply you at once do touch me. Imogen,
The great part of my Comfort, gone! My Queen

Upon a desperate Bed, and in a time
When fearful Wars point at me! Her Son gone,
So needful for this present! It strikes me, past
The hope of Comfort. But for thee, Fellow,
Who needs must know of her Departure, and
Dost seem so ignorant, we'll inforce it from thee
By a sharp torture.

Pis.
Sir, my Life is yours,
I humbly set it at your Will: But for my Mistress,
I nothing know where she remains; why gone,
Nor when she purposes return. Beseech your Highness,
Hold me your Loyal Servant.

Lord.
Good my Liege,
The Day that she was missing, he was here:
I dare be bound he's true, and shall perform
All parts of his Subjection loyally. For Cloten,
There wants no diligence in seeking him,
And will no doubt be found.

Cym.
The time is troublesome;
We'll slip you for a Season, but with Jealousie
Do's yet depend.

Lord.
So please your Majesty,
The Roman Legions all from Gallia drawn,
Are landed on your Coast, with large supply
Of Roman Gentleman, by the Senate sent.

Cym.
Now for the Counsel of my Son and Queen.
I am amaz'd with matter.

Lord.
Good my Liege,
Your Preparation can affront no less
Than what you hear of.
Come more, for more you're ready;
The want is, but to put these Powers in Motion,
That long to move.

Cym.
I thank you; let's withdraw
And meet the time, as it seeks us. We fear not
What can from Italy annoy us, but
We grieve at Chances here. Away. [Exeunt.

Pis.
I heard no Letter from my Master, since
I wrote him Imogen was slain. 'Tis strange;
Nor hear I from my Mistress, who did promise
To yield me often tidings. Neither know I

What is betide to Cloten, but remain
Perplext in all. The Heav'ns still must work;
Wherein I am false, I am honest; not true, to be true.
These present Wars shall find I love my Country,
Even to the Note o'th' King, or I'll fall in them;
All other Doubts, by time let them be clear'd,
Fortune brings in some Boats, that are not steer'd. [Exit.

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