Pis.
How? of adultery? wherefore write you not
What monsters have accus'd her? Leonatus!
Oh master, what a strange infection
Is fall'n into thy ear? what false Italian,
As pois'nous tongu'd as handed, hath prevail'd
On thy too ready ear! Disloyal? no,
She's punish'd for her truth; and undergoes
More goddess-like than wife-like, such assaults
As would take in some virtue. Oh my master!
Thy mind to her is now as low, as were
Thy fortunes. How? that I should murther her?
Upon the love and truth and vows, which I
Have made to thy command!—I her!—her blood!
If it be so to do good service, never
Let me be counted serviceable. How look I,
That I should seem to lack humanity,
So much as this fact comes to? Do't—the letter [Reading.
That I have sent her, by her own command
Shall give thee opportunity. Damn'd paper!
Black as the ink that's on thee: senseless bauble!
Art thou a fœdarie for this act; that look'st
So virgin-like without? Lo here she comes.

Enter Imogen.
I'm ignorant in what I am commanded.

Imo.
How now, Pisanio?

Pis.
Madam, here is a letter from my lord.

Imo.
Who! thy lord? that is my lord Leonatus:
Oh, learn'd indeed were that astronomer
That knew the stars, as I his characters:
He'd lay the future open. You good gods,
Let what is here contain'd relish of love,
Of my lord's health, of his content, yet not
That we two are asunder; let that grieve him!
Some griefs are medicinable, that is one of them,
For it doth physick love of his content,
All but in that. Good wax, thy leave—blest be
You bees that make these locks of counsel! Lovers,
And men in dang'rous bonds pray not alike.
Though forfeitures you cast in prison, yet
You clasp young Cupid's tables: good news, gods! [Reading.

Justice, and your father's wrath, should he take me in his dominion, could not be so cruel to me; but you, oh the dearest of creatures, would even renew me with your eyes. Take notice that I am in Cambria at Milford-Haven: what your own love will out of this advise you, follow. So he wishes you all happiness, that remains loyal to his vow, and your increasing in love,

Leonatus Posthumus.

Who long'st like me to see thy lord; who long'st,
(Oh let me bate) but not like me, yet long'st,
But in a fainter kind—oh not like me;
For mine's beyond, beyond—say, and speak thick;
Love's counsellor should fill the bores of hearing
To th'smoth'ring of the sense—how far it is
To this same blessed Milford? and by th' way
Tell me how Wales was made so happy, as
T'inherit such a haven. But first of all,
How may we steal from hence? and for the gap
That we shall make in time, from our hence going
Till our return, t' excuse—but first, how get hence?
Why should excuse be born or-ere begot?
Well talk of that hereafter. Pr'ythee speak,
How many score of miles may we well ride
'Twixt hour and hour?

Pis.
One score 'twixt sun and sun,
Madam's enough for you: and too much too.

Imo.
Why, one that rode to's execution, man,
Could never go so slow: I've heard of riding wagers,
Where horses have been nimbler than the sands
That run i'th' clock's behalf. But this is fool'ry.
Go, bid my woman feign a sickness, say
She'll home t'her father: and provide me present
A riding suit; no costlier than would fit
A Franklin's housewife.

Pis.
Madam, you'd best consider.

Imo.
I see before me, man, nor here nor here,
Nor what ensues, but have a fog in them,
That I cannot look thro'. Away, I pr'ythee,
Do as I bid thee; there's no more to say;
Accessible is none but Milford way. [Exeunt.

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