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 ourself
To shew less sovereignty than they, must needs
Appear unkinglike.

Luc.
So, sir, I desire of you
A conduct over land, to Milford-Haven.—
Madam,14Q1278 all joy befall your grace, and yours! ^note

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.

Clo.
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 cross'd the Severn. ^note—Happiness! [Exit Lucius, attended.

Que.
He goes hence frowning: but it honours us,
That we have given him cause.

Clo.
'Tis all the better;
Your valiant Britains have their wishes in it.

Cym.
Lucius hath wrot 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.

Que.
'Tis not sleepy business;
But must be look'd to speedily, and strongly.

Cym.
Our expectation that it would be ^note 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 ^note 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 ^note sufferance. [Exit an Attendant.

Que.
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, ^note
And strokes death to her. Re-enter the Attendant.

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

Att.
Please you, sir.
Her chambers are all lock'd; and there's no answer
That will be given to the loud'st of ^note noise we make.

Que.
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 unpay'd to you,

Which dayly 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, heavens, that, which I fear, prove false! [Exeunt Cymbeline, and Attendants.

Que.
Son, I say, follow the king.

Clo.
That man of hers, Pisanio her old servant,
I have not seen these two days.

Que.
Go, look after.— [Exit Cloten.
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 desir'd 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. Re-enter Cloten.
How now, my son?

Clo.
'Tis certain, she is fled:
Go in, and chear the king; he rages, none
Dare come about him.

Que.
All the better: May
This night fore-stal him of the coming day! [Exit Queen.

Clo.
I love, and hate her: for she's fair, and royal;
And that she hath all courtly parts more exquisite
Than lady, ladies, woman;14Q1279 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
The low Posthumus, slanders so her judgment,
That what's else rare, is chok'd; and, in that point,
I will conclude to hate her, nay, indeed,
To be reveng'd upon her. For, when fools Enter Pisanio.
Shall—Who is here?—What, are you packing, sirrah?
Come hither: Ah, you precious pandar! Villain,
Where is thy lady? In a word; or else
Thou art straightway with the fiends.

Pis.
O, good my lord!

Clo.
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.

Clo.
Where is she, sir? Come nearer;
No farther halting; satisfy me home,
What is become of her, ^note

Pis.
O, my all-worthy lord!

Clo.
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 &dagger2; paper is the history of my knowledge

Touching her flight.

Clo.
Let's see't:—I will pursue her
Even to Augustus' throne.

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

Clo.
Humh!

&clquo;Pis.
&clquo;I'll write to my lord, she's dead:—O, Imogen,&crquo;
&clquo;Safe may'st thou wander, safe return again!&crquo;

Clo.
Sirrah, is this letter true?

Pis.
Sir, as I think.

Clo.

It is Posthumus' hand; I know't:—Sirrah, if thou would'st not be a villain, but do me true service; undergo those employments, wherein I should have cause to use thee, with a serious industry,—that is, what villany so-e'er I bid thee do, to perform it, directly and truly,—I would think thee an honest man: thou should'st neither want my means for thy relief, nor my voice for thy preferment.

Pis.

Well, my good lord.

Clo.

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.

Clo.

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 my lodging, the same suit he wore when he took leave of my lady and mistress.

Clo.

The first service thou dost me, fetch me that suit hither: let it be thy first service; go.

Pis.

I shall, my lord.

Clo.

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 rejoicingly, and I'll be merry in my revenge.

Be those the garments?

Pis.

Ay, my noble lord.

Clo.

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

Pis.

She can scarce be there yet.

Clo.

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 itself to thee.—My revenge is now at Milford; 'Would I had wings to follow it!—Come, and be true.

Pis.
Thou bid'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 pursu'st. Flow, flow,
You heavenly blessings, on her! This fool's speed
Be crost with slowness; labour be his meed! [Exit.

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