SCENE III.
The Palace again.
Enter Cloten and Lords.
1 Lord.
Your lordship is the most patient man in loss,
the coldest that ever turn'd up ace.
Clot.
It would make any man cold to lose.
1 Lord.
But not every man patient, after the noble temper
of your lordship; you are most hot and furious when you win.
Clot.
Winning will put any man into courage: If I could get
this foolish Imogen, I shall have gold enough: It's almost morning,
is't not?
1 Lord.
Day, my lord.
Clot.
I would this musick would come: I am advised to give
her musick a-mornings, they say it will penetrate.
Enter Musicians.
Come on, tune; if you can penetrate here with your fingering,
so; we'll try with tongue too; if none will do, let her remain:
but I'll never give o'er. First, a very excellent good conceited
thing; after, a wonderful sweet air with admirable rich words to
it; and then let her consider.
SONG
Hark, hark, the lark at heav'n's gate sings,
And Phœbus 'gins arise,
His steeds to water at those springs
On chalic'd flowers that lyes:
And winking Mary-buds begin
To ope their golden eyes,
With every thing that pretty is,
My lady sweet arise:
Arise, arise.
-- 154 --
So, get you gone—if this penetrate, I will consider your musick
the better: if it do not, it is a vice in her ears; which
horse-hairs, and cats-guts, nor the voice of unpav'd eunuch to
boot, can never amend.
Enter Queen and Cymbeline.
2 Lord.
Here comes the King.
Clot.
I am glad I was up so late, for that's the reason I was up
so early: he cannot chuse but take this service I have done, fatherly.
Good-morrow to your majesty, and to my gracious mother.
Cym.
Attend you here the door of our stern daughter?
Will she not forth?
Clot.
I have assail'd her with musicks, but she vouchsafes no
notice.
Cym.
The exile of her minion is too new.
She hath not yet forgot him: some more time
Must wear the print of his remembrance out,
And then she's yours.
Queen.
You are most bound to th' King,
Who lets go by no vantages, that may
Prefer you to his daughter. Frame your self
To orderly solicits; and befriended
With aptness of the season, make denials
Encrease your services; so seem, as if
You are inspir'd to do those duties which
You tender to her: that you in all obey her,
Save when command to your dismission tends,
And therein you are senseless.
Clot.
Senseless? not so.
Enter a Messenger.
Mes.
So like you, Sir, ambassadors from Rome;
The one is Caius Lucius.
Cym.
A worthy fellow,
Albeit he comes on angry purpose now;
-- 155 --
But that's no fault of his: we must receive him
According to the honour of his sender;
And towards himself, his goodness fore-spent on
We must extend our notice: our dear son,
When you have giv'n good-morning to your mistress,
Attend the Queen and us; we shall have need
T' employ you towards this Roman. Come, our Queen.
[Exeunt.
George Sewell [1723–5], The works of Shakespear in six [seven] volumes. Collated and Corrected by the former Editions, By Mr. Pope ([Vol. 7] Printed by J. Darby, for A. Bettesworth [and] F. Fayram [etc.], London) [word count] [S11101].
