Imo.
I would thou grew'st unto the shores o'th' haven,
And questioned'st every sail: if he should write,
And I not have it, 'twere a paper lost

As offer'd mercy is. What was the last
That he spake with thee?

Pis.
'Twas, His queen, his queen!

Imo.
Then wav'd his handkerchief?

Pis.
And kiss'd it, madam.

Imo.
Senseless linnen, happier therein than I:
And that was all?

Pis.
No, madam; for so long
As he could make me with his eye, or ear,
Distinguish him from others, he did keep
The deck, with glove, or hat, or handkerchief,
Still waving, as the fit and stirs of's mind
Could best express how slow his soul sail'd on,
How swift his ship.

Imo.
Thou should'st have made him
As little as a crow, or less, ere left
To after-eye him.

Pis.
Madam, so I did.

&plquo;Imo.
&plquo;I would have broke mine eye-strings; crackt'em, but
&plquo;To look upon him; 'till the diminution
&plquo;Of space had pointed him sharp as my needle;
&plquo;Nay follow'd him, 'till he had melted from
&plquo;The smallness of a gnat, to air; and then
&plquo;Have turn'd mine eye, and wept—but, good Pisanio,
When shall we hear from him?

Pis.
Be assur'd, madam,
With his next vantage.

Imo.
I did not take my leave of him, but had
Most pretty things to say: ere I could tell him
How I would think on him at certain hours,
Such thoughts, and such; or I could make him swear,
The she's of Italy should not betray
Mine interest, and his honour; or have charg'd him

At the sixth hour of morn, at noon, at midnight,
T'encounter me with orisons, (for then
I am in heav'n for him) or ere I could
Give him that parting kiss which I had set
Betwixt two charming words, comes in my father,
And like the tyrannous breathing of the north,
Shakes all our buds from growing. Enter a Lady.

Lady.
The Queen, madam,
Desires your highness' company.

Imo.
Those things I bid you do, get them dispatch'd.
I will attend the Queen.

Pis.
Madam, I shall. [Exeunt. SCENE VI. ROME. Enter Philario, Iachimo, and a French man.

Iach.

Believe it, Sir, I have seen him in Britain; he was than but crescent, none expected him to prove so wore thy as since he hath been allowed the name of. But I could then have look'd on him, without the help of admiration, though the catalogue of his endowments had been tabled by his side, and I to peruse him by Items.

Phil.

You speak of him when he was less furnish'd than now he is, with that which makes him both without and within.

French.

I have seen him in France; we had very many there could behold the sun with as firm eyes as he.

Iach.

This matter of marrying his king's daughter, (wherein he must be weighed rather by her value, than his own) words him, I doubt not, a great deal from the matter.

French.

And then his banishment—

Iach.

Ay, and the approbation of those that weep this lamentable divorce under her colours, are wonderfully to extend him; be it but to fortifie her judgment, which else an easie battery might lay flat, for taking a beggar without more quality. But how comes it he is to sojourn with you? how creeps acquaintance?

Phil.

His father and I were soldiers together, to whom I have been often bound for no less than my life.

Here comes the Britain. Let him be so entertained amongst you, as suits with gentlemen of your knowing, to a stranger of his quality. I beseech you all be better known to this gentleman, whom I commend to you as a noble friend of mine. How worthy he is, I will leave to appear hereafter, rather than story him in his own hearing.

French.

Sir, we have been known together in Orleans.

Post.

Since when I have been debtor to you for courtesies, which I will be ever to pay, and yet pay still.

French.

Sir, you o'er-rate my poor kindness; I was glad I did atone my countryman and you; it had been pity you should have been put together with so mortal a purpose, as then each bore, upon importance of so slight and trivial a nature.

Post.

By your pardon, Sir, I was then a young traveller; rather shun'd to go even with what I heard, than in my every action to be guided by other experiences; but upon my mended judgment, (if I offend not to say it is mended,) my quarrel was not altogether slight.

French.

Faith yes, to be put to the arbitrement of swords; and by such two, that would by all likelyhood have confounded one the other, or have faln both.

Iach.

Can we with manners ask what was the difference?

French.

Safely, I think; 'twas a contention in publick, which

may without contradiction suffer the report. It was much like an argument that fell out last night, where each of us fell in praise of our country-mistresses. This gentleman at that time vouching, and upon warrant of bloody affirmation, his to be more fair, virtuous, wise, chast, constant, qualified, and less attemptable than any the rarest of our ladies in France.

Iach.

That lady is not now living; or this gentleman's opinion by this worn out.

Post.

She holds her virtue still, and I my mind.

Iach.

You must not so far prefer her, 'fore ours of Italy.

Post.

Being so far provok'd as I was in France, I would abate her nothing, tho' I profess my self her adorer, not her friend.

Iach.

As fair, and as good; a kind of hand-in-hand comparison had been something too fair and too good for any lady in Britany: if she went before others I have seen, as that diamond of yours out-lusters many I have beheld, I could not believe she excelled many; but I have not seen the most precious diamond that is, nor you the lady.

Post.

I prais'd her, as I rated her; so do I my stone.

Iach.

What do you esteem it at?

Post.

More than the world enjoys.

Iach.

Either your paragon'd mistress is dead, or she's out-priz'd by a trifle.

Post.

You are mistaken; the one may be sold or given, if there were wealth enough for the purchase, or merit for the gift. The other is not a thing for sale, and only the gift of the gods.

Iach.

Which the gods have given you?

Post.

Which by their graces I will keep.

Iach.

You may wear her in title yours; but, you know, strange fowl light upon neighbouring ponds. Your ring may be stoln too; so your brace of unprizeable estimations, the one is but frail and the other casual. A cunning thief, or a (that way) accomplish'd

courtier, would hazard the winning both of first and last.

Post.

Your Italy contains none so accomplish'd a courtier to convince the honour of my mistress; if in the holding or loss of that, you term her frail; I do nothing doubt you have store of thieves, notwithstanding I fear not my ring.

Phil.

Let us leave here, gentlemen.

Post.

Sir, with all my heart. This worthy signior, I thank him, makes no stranger of me, we are familiar at first.

Iach.

With five times so much conversation, I should get ground of your fair mistress; make her go back, even to the yielding: had I admittance, and opportunity to friend.

Post.

No, no.

Iach.

I dare thereupon pawn the moiety of my estate to your ring, which in my opinion o'er-values it something: but I make my wager rather against your confidence, than her reputation. And to bar your offence herein too, I durst attempt it against any lady in the world.

Post.

You are a great deal abus'd in too bold a perswasion: and I doubt not you'd sustain what you're worthy of, by your attempt.

Iach.

What's that:

Post.

A repulse; though your attempt, as you call it, deserves more; a punishment too.

Phil.

Gentlemen, enough of this; it came in too suddenly, let it die as it was born, and I pray you be better acquainted.

Iach.

Would I had put my estate and my neighbour's, on th' approbation of what I have spoke.

Post.

What lady would you chuse to assail?

Iach.

Yours; who in constancy you think stands so safe. I will lay you ten thousand ducats to your ring, that commend me to the court where your lady is, with no more advantage than the opportunity of a second conference, I will bring from thence that honour of hers, which you imagine so reserv'd.

Post.

I will wage against your gold, gold to it: my ring I hold dear as my finger, 'tis part of it.

Iach.

You are a friend, and therein the wiser; if you buy ladies flesh at a million a dram, you cannot preserve it from tainting. But I see you have some religion in you, that you fear.

Post.

This is but a custom in your tongue; you bear a graver purpose, I hope.

Iach.

I am the master of my speeches, and would undergo what's spoken, I swear.

Post.

Will you? I shall but lend my diamond 'till your return; let there be covenants drawn between us. My mistress exceeds in goodness the hugeness of your unworthy thoughts. I dare you to this match; here's my ring.

Phil.

I will have it no lay.

Iach.

By the gods it is one. If I bring you not sufficient testimony that I have enjoy'd the dearest bodily part of your mistress, my ten thousand ducats are yours: so is your diamond too; if I come off, and leave her in such honour as you have trust in; she your jewel, this your jewel, and my gold are yours; provided I have your commendation, for my more entertainment.

Post.

I embrace these conditions; let us have articles betwixt us; only thus far you shall answer; if you make your voyage upon her, and give me directly to understand you have prevail'd, I am no further your enemy, she is not worth our debate. If she remain unseduc'd, you not making it appear otherwise; for your ill opinion, and th' assault you have made to her chastity, you shall answer me with your sword.

Iach.

Your hand, a covenant; we will have these things set down by lawful counsel, and straight away for Britain, lest the bargain should catch cold, and starve. I will fetch my gold, and have our two wagers recorded.

Host.

Agreed.

French.

Will this hold, think you?

Phil.
Signior Iachimo will not from it.
Pray let us follow 'em. [Exeunt. SCENE VII. Cymbeline's Palace in Britain. Enter Queen, Ladies, and Cornelius with a viol.

Queen.
While yet the dew's on ground gather those flowers.
Make haste. Who has the note of them?

Ladies.
I, madam.

Queen.
Dispatch. [Exeunt Ladies.
Now master doctor, have you brought those drugs?

Cor.
Pleaseth your highness, ay; here they are, madam;
But I beseech your grace without offence
(My conscience bids me ask) wherefore you have
Commanded of me these most pois'nous compounds?
Which are the movers of a languishing death;
But though slow, deadly.

Queen.
I wonder, doctor,
Thou ask'st me such a question; have I not been
Thy pupil long? hast thou not learn'd me how
To make perfumes? distil? preserve? yea so,
That our great king himself doth woo me oft
For my confections? having thus far proceeded,
Unless thou think'st me dev'lish, is't not meet
That I did amplifie my judgment in
Other conclusions? I will try the forces
Of these thy compounds on such creatures as
We count not worth the hanging, but none human;
To try the vigour of them, and apply
Allayments to their act, and by them gather
Their sev'ral virtues, and effects.

Cor.
Your highness
Shall from this practice but make hard your heart;
Besides, the seeing these effects will be
Both noysome and infectious.

Queen.
O, content thee. Enter Pisanio.
Here comes a flatt'ring rascal, upon him [aside.
Will I first work; he's for his master's sake
An enemy to my son. How now, Pisanio?
Doctor, your service for this time is ended,
Take your own way.

Cor.
I do suspect you, madam. [aside.
But you shall do no harm.

Queen.
Hark thee a word. [To Pisanio.

Cor.
I do not like her. She doth think she has
Strange ling'ring poisons; I do know her spirit,
And will not trust one of her malice with
A drug of such damn'd nature. Those she has
Will stupifie and dull the sense a while;
Which first perchance she'll prove on cats and dogs,
Then afterward up higher; but there is
No danger in what shew of death it makes,
More than the locking up the spirits a time,
To be more fresh, reviving. She is fool'd
With a most false effect; and I the truer,
So to be false with her.

Queen.
No further service, doctor,
Until I send for thee.

Cor.
I humbly take my leave. [Exit.

Queen.
Weeps she still, say'st thou? dost thou think in time
She will not quench, and let instructions enter
Where folly now possesses? do thou work;
When thou shalt bring me word she loves my son,

I'll tell thee on the instant, thou art then
As great as is thy master; greater; for
His fortunes all lye speechless, and his name
Is at last gasp. Return he cannot, nor
Continue where he is: to shift his being,
Is to exchange one misery with another;
And every day that comes, comes to decay
A day's work in him. What shalt thou expect
To be depender on a thing that leans?
Who cannot be new built, and has no friends,
So much as but to prop him? Thou tak'st up [Pisanio looking on the viol.
Thou know'st not what; but take it for thy labour,
It is a thing I make, which hath the king
Five times redeem'd from death; I do not know
What is more cordial. Nay I pr'ythee take it,
It is an earnest of a farther good
That I mean to thee. Tell thy mistress how
The case stands with her; do't, as from thy self:
Think what a chance thou chancest on, but think
Thou hast thy mistress still; to boot, my son,
Who shall take notice of thee. I'll move the king
To any shape of thy preferment, such
As thou'lt desire; and then my self, I chiefly
That set thee on to this desert, am bound
To load thy merit richly. Call my women— [Exit Pisa.
Think on my words.—A sly and constant knave,
Not to be shak'd; the agent for his master,
And the remembrancer of her, to hold
The hand fast to her lord. I've giv'n him that,
Which if he take, shall quite unpeople her
Of leidgers for her sweet; and which she after
(Except she bend her humour) shall be assur'd
To taste of too.

Enter Pisanio, and Ladies.
So, so; well done, well done;
The violets, cowslips, and the prim-roses,
Bear to my closet; fare thee well, Pisanio,
Think on my words. [Ex. Queen and ladies.

Pis.
And shall do:
But when to my good lord I prove untrue,
I'll choak my self; there's all I'll do for you. [Exit. SCENE VIII. Enter Imogen alone.

Imo.
A father cruel, and a stepdame false,
A foolish suitor to a wedded lady,
That hath her husband banish'd—O, that husband!
My supream crown of grief, and those repeated
Vexations of it—had I been thief-stoln,
As my two brothers, happy! but most miserable
Is the desire that's glorious. Bless'd be those,
How mean soe'er, that have their honest wills,
Which seasons comfort. Who may this be? fie! Enter Pisanio, and Iachimo.

Pis.
Madam, a noble gentleman of Rome
Comes from my lord with letters.

Iach.
Change you, madam?
The worthy Leonatus is in safety,
And greets your highness dearly.

Imo.
Thanks, good Sir,
You're kindly welcome.

Iach.
All of her, that is out of door, most rich!
If she be furnish'd with a mind so rare, [aside.

She is alone th' Arabian bird; and I
Have lost the wager. Boldness be my friend!
Arm me audacity from head to foot.
Or like the Parthian I shall flying fight,
Rather directly flye. Imogen reads.

He is one of the noblest note, to whose kindnesses I am most infinitely tyed. Reflect upon him accordingly, as you value your trust.

Leonatus.

Iach.
Thanks, fairest lady.
What, are men mad? hath nature given them eyes
To see this vaulted arch, and the rich crop
Of sea and land, which can distinguish 'twixt
The fiery orbs above, and the twinn'd stones
Upon the number'd beach? and can we not
Partition make with spectacles so precious
'Twixt fair and foul?

Imo.
What makes your admiration?

Iach.
It cannot be i'th' eye; for apes, and monkeys,
'Twixt two such she's, would chatter this way, and
Contemn with mowes the other. Nor i'th' judgment;
For Ideots in this case of favour, would
Be wisely definite. Nor in the appetite,
Slutt'ry to such neat excellence oppos'd,
Should make desire vomit ev'n emptiness,
Not so allur'd to feed.

Imo.
What is the matter trow?

Iach.
The cloyed will,
That satiate, yet unsatisfy'd desire, that tub
Both fill'd and running: ravening first the lamb,
Longs after for the garbage—

Imo.
What, dear Sir,
Thus raps you? are you well?

Iach.
Thanks, madam, well—Beseech you, Sir, [To Pisanio.
Desire my man's abode, where I did leave him;
He's strange and peevish.

Pis.
I was going, Sir,
To give him welcome.

Imo.
Continues well my lord?
His health, beseech you?

Iach.
Well, madam.

Imo.
Is he dispos'd to mirth? I hope he is.

Iach.
Exceeding pleasant; none a stranger there.
So merry, and so gamesome; he is call'd
The Britain reveller.

Imo.
When he was here
He did incline to sadness, and oft times
Not knowing why.

Iach.
I never saw him sad.
There is a Frenchman his companion, one
An eminent monsieur, that it seems much loves
A Gallian girl at home. He furnaces
The thick sides from him; whiles the jolly Britain,
(Your lord I mean,) laughs from's free lungs, cries Oh!—
Can my sides hold, to think, that man who knows
By history, report, or his own proof
What woman is, yea, what she cannot chuse
But must be, will his free hours languish out
For assur'd bondage?

Imo.
Will my lord say so?

Iach.
Ay, madam, with his eyes in flood with laughter.
It is a recreation to be by
And hear him mock the Frenchman: but heav'n knows
Some men are much to blame.

Imo.
Not he, I hope.

Iach.
Not he. But yet heav'n's bounty tow'rds him might
Be us'd more thankfully. In himself 'tis much;
In you, whom I count his beyond all talents,
Whilst I am bound to wonder, I am bound
To pity too.

Imo.
What do you pity, Sir?

Iach.
Two creatures heartily.

Imo.
Am I one, Sir?
You look on me; what wreck discern you in me
Deserves your pity?

Iach.
Lamentable! what
To hide me from the radiant sun, and solace
I'th' dungeon by a snuff?

Imo.
I pray you, Sir,
Deliver with more openness your answers
To my demands. Why do you pity me?

Iach.
That others do,
I was about to say, enjoy your—but
It is an office of the gods to venge it,
Not mine to speak on't.

Imo.
You do seem to know
Something of me, or what concerns me; pray you
(Since doubting things go ill, often hurt more
Than to be sure they do; for certainties
Or are past remedies, or timely knowing,
The remedy then born;) discover to me
What both you spur and stop.

Iach.
Had I this cheek
To bath my lips upon; this hand, whose touch,
Whose very touch would force the feeler's soul
To th' oath of loyalty; this object, which
Takes pris'ner the wild motion of mine eye,
Fixing it only here; should I, damn'd then,
Slaver with lips, as common as the stairs
That mount the capitol? join gripes with hands
Made hard with hourly falshood, as with labour?
Then glad my self by peeping in an eye
Base and unlustrious as the smoaky light
That's fed with stinking tallow? it were fit
That all the plagues of hell should at one time
Encounter such revolt.

Imo.
My lord, I fear,
Has forgot Britain.

Iach.
And himself. Not I
Inclin'd to this intelligence, pronounce
The beggary of his change; but 'tis your graces
That from my mutest conscience, to my tongue,
Charms this report out.

Imo.
Let me hear no more.

Iach.
O dearest soul! your cause doth strike my heart
With pity, that doth make me sick. A lady
So fair, and fastned to an empery,
Would make the great'st king double! to be partner'd
With tomboys, hir'd with that self-exhibition
Which your own coffers yield! with diseas'd venters
To play with all infirmities for gold,
Which rotteness lends nature! such boyl'd stuff
As well might poison poison! Be reveng'd,
Or she that bore you was no Queen, and you
Recoil from your great stock.

Imo.
Reveng'd!
How should I be reveng'd, if this be true?
As I have such a heart, that both mine ears
Must not in haste abuse; if it be true,
How shall I be reveng'd?

Iach.
Should he make me
Live like Diana's priest, betwixt cold sheets?
Whiles he is vaulting variable ramps
In your despight, upon your purse? revenge it!
I dedicate my self to your sweet pleasure,
More noble than that runagate to your bed,
And will continue fast to your affection,
Still close, as sure.

Imo.
What ho, Pisanio!—

Iach.
Let me my service tender on your lips.

Imo.
Away, I do condemn mine ears, that have
So long attended thee. If thou wert honourable
Thou wouldst have told this tale for virtue, not
For such an end thou seek'st, as base, as strange:
Thou wrong'st a gentleman, who is as far
From thy report, as thou from honour; and
Sollicit'st here a lady, that disdains
Thee, and the devil alike. What ho, Pisanio!—
The king my father shall be made acquainted
Of thy assault; if he shall think it fit,
A sawcy stranger in his court to mart
As in a Romish stew, and to expound
His beastly mind to us; he hath a court
He little cares for, and a daughter whom
He not respects at all. What ho, Pisanio!—

Iach.
O happy Leonatus, I may say,
The credit that thy lady hath of thee
Deserves thy trust, and thy most perfect goodness

Her assur'd credit! blessed live you long,
A lady to the worthiest Sir, that ever
Country call'd his; and you his mistress, only
For the most worthy fit. Give me your pardon.
I have spoke this, to know if your affiance
Were deeply rooted; and shall make your lord,
That which he is, new o'er: and he is one
The truest-manner'd, such a holy witch,
That he inchants societies into him:
Half all mens hearts are his.

Imo.
You make amends.

Iach.
He sits 'mongst men like a descended god;
He hath a kind of honour sets him off,
More than a mortal seeming. Be not angry,
Most mighty Princess, that I have adventur'd
To try your taking of a false report, which hath
Honour'd with confirmation your great judgment,
In the election of a Sir, so rare,
Which you know cannot err. The love I bear him,
Made me to fan you thus; but the gods made you,
Unlike all others, chaffless. Pray, your pardon.

Imo.
All's well, Sir; take my pow'r i'th' court for yours.

Iach.
My humble thanks; I had almost forgot
T' intreat your grace but in a small request,
And yet of moment too, for it concerns
Your lord; my self, and other noble friends
Are partners in the business.

Imo.
Pray what is't?

Iach.
Some dozen Romans of us, and your lord,
(Best feather of our wing,) have mingled sums
To buy a present for the Emperor:
Which I, the factor for the rest, have done
In France; 'tis plate of rare device, and jewels

Of rich and exquisite form, their values great;
And I am something curious, being strange,
To have them in safe stowage: may it please you
To take them in protection.

Imo.
Willingly;
And pawn mine honour for their safety. Since
My lord hath int'rest in them, I will keep them
In my bed-chamber.

Iach.
They are in a trunk
Attended by my men: I will make bold
To send them to you, only for this night;
I must aboard to-morrow.

Imo.
O no, no.

Iach.
Yes, I beseech you: or I shall short my word
By length'ning my return. From Gallia,
I crost the seas on purpose, and on promise
To see your grace.

Imo.
I thank you for your pains;
But not away to-morrow?

Iach.
I must, madam.
Therefore I shall beseech you, if you please
To greet your lord with writing, do't to-night.
I have out-stood my time, which is material
To th' tender of our present.

Imo.
I will write:
Send your trunk to me, it shall be safe kept,
And truly yielded you: You're very welcome. [Exeunt.

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