Cym.
Now say, what would Augustus Cæsar with us?

Luc.
When Julius Cæsar (whose remembrance yet
Lives in men's eyes, and will to ears, and tongues,
Be theme, and hearing ever) was in this Britain,
And conquer'd it, Cassibelan, thine uncle,
(Famous in Cæsar's praises, no whit less
Than in his feats deserving it) for him,

And his succession, granted Rome a tribute,
Yearly three thousand pounds; which by thee lately
Is left untender'd.

Queen.
And, to kill the marvel,
Shall be so ever.

Clo.
There be many Cæsars,
Ere such another Julius. Britain is
A world by itself; and we will nothing pay,
For wearing our own noses.

Queen.
That opportunity,
Which then they had to take from us, to resume
We have again.—Remember, sir, my liege,
The kings your ancestors, together with
The natural bravery of your isle; which stands
As Neptune's park, ribbed and paled in
With rocks unscaleable^{3 note}, and roaring waters;
With sands, that will not bear your enemies' boats,
But suck them up to the top-mast. A kind of conquest
Cæsar made here; but made not here his brag
Of “came,” and “saw,” and “overcame:” with shame
(The first that ever touch'd him) he was carried
From off our coast, twice beaten; and his shipping,
(Poor ignorant baubles!) on our terrible seas,
Like egg-shells mov'd upon their surges, crack'd
As easily 'gainst our rocks. For joy whereof
The fam'd Cassibelan, who was once at point
(O, giglot fortune!) to master Cæsar's sword,
Made Lud's town with rejoicing fires bright,
And Britons strut with courage.

Clo.

Come, there's no more tribute to be paid. Our kingdom is stronger than it was at that time; and, as I said, there is no more such Cæsars: other of them may have crooked noses; but, to owe such straight arms, none.

Cym.

Son, let your mother end.

Clo.

We have yet many among us can gripe as hard as Cassibelan: I do not say, I am one; but I have a hand.—Why tribute? why should we pay tribute? If Cæsar can hide the sun from us with a blanket, or put the moon in his pocket, we will pay him tribute for light; else, sir, no more tribute, pray you now.

Cym.
You must know,
Till the injurious Romans did extort
This tribute from us, we were free: Cæsar's ambition,
(Which swell'd so much, that it did almost stretch
The sides o' the world) against all colour, here
Did put the yoke upon us; which to shake off,
Becomes a warlike people, whom we reckon
Ourselves to be. We do say, then, to Cæsar, 11Q1158
Our ancestor was that Mulmutius, which
Ordain'd our laws; whose use the sword of Cæsar
Hath too much mangled; whose repair, and franchise,
Shall, by the power we hold, be our good deed,
Though Rome be therefore angry. Mulmutius made our laws,
Who was the first of Britain which did put
His brows within a golden crown, and call'd
Himself a king.

Luc.
I am sorry, Cymbeline,
That I am to pronounce Augustus Cæsar
(Cæsar, that hath more kings his servants, than
Thyself domestic officers) thine enemy.
Receive it from me, then.—War, and confusion,
In Cæsar's name pronounce I 'gainst thee: look
For fury not to be resisted.—Thus defied,
I thank thee for myself.

Cym.
Thou art welcome, Caius.
Thy Cæsar knighted me; my youth I spent
Much under him; of him I gather'd honour;
Which he, to seek of me again, perforce,

Behoves me keep at utterance^{4 note}

. I am perfect,
That the Pannonians and Dalmatians, for
Their liberties, are now in arms; a precedent
Which not to read would show the Britons cold:
So Cæsar shall not find them.

Luc.
Let proof speak.

Clo.

His majesty bids you welcome. Make pastime with us a day or two, or longer: if you seek us afterwards in other terms, you shall find us in our salt-water girdle: if you beat us out of it, it is yours. If you fall in the adventure, our crows shall fare the better for you; and there's an end.

Luc.

So, sir.

Cym.
I know your master's pleasure, and he mine:
All the remain is, welcome. [Exeunt. SCENE II. Another Room in the Same. Enter Pisanio.

Pis.
How! of adultery? Wherefore write you not
What monsters her accuse^{5 note}?—Leonatus!
O, master! what a strange infection
Is fallen into thy ear! What false Italian
(As poisonous tongued, as handed) hath prevail'd
On thy too ready hearing?—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^{6 note}.—O, my master!
Thy mind to her is now as low, as were
Thy fortunes.—How! that I should murder 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:”—O damn'd paper!
Black as the ink that's on thee. Senseless bauble,
Art thou a feodary for this act^{7 note}, and look'st
So virgin-like without? Lo! here she comes. Enter Imogen.
I am 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.
O! 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 physic love;—of his content,
All but in that!—Good wax, thy leave.—Bless'd be,
You bees, that make these locks of counsel! Lovers,

And men in dangerous bonds, pray not alike:
Though forfeiters you cast in prison, yet
You clasp young Cupid's tables.—Good news, gods! [Reads.

“Justice, and your father's wrath, should he take me in his dominion, could not be so cruel to me, as you, O the dearest of creatures, would even renew me with your eyes^{8 note}. 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.”

O, for a horse with wings!—Hear'st thou, Pisanio?
He is at Milford-Haven: read, and tell me
How far 'tis thither. If one of mean affairs
May plod it in a week, why may not I
Glide thither in a day?—Then, true Pisanio,
(Who long'st, like me, to see thy lord; who long'st,—
O, let me 'bate!—but not like me;—yet long'st,—
But in a fainter kind:—O! not like me,
For mine's beyond beyond) say, and speak thick^{9 note},
(Love's counsellor should fill the bores of hearing,
To the smothering of the sense) how far it is
To this same blessed Milford: and, by the way,
Tell me how Wales was made so happy, as
T' inherit such a haven: but, first of all,
How we may steal from hence; and, for the gap
That we shall make in time, from our hence-going,

And our return, to excuse:—but first, how get hence.
Why should excuse be born, or e'er begot?
We'll 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 have heard of riding wagers,
Where horses have been nimbler than the sands
That run i' the clock's behalf. 11Q1159—But this is foolery.—
Go, bid my woman feign a sickness; say
She'll home to her father; and provide me, presently,
A riding suit, no costlier than would fit
A franklin's housewife.

Pis.
Madam, you're 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 through. Away, I pr'ythee:
Do as I bid thee. There's no more to say;
Accessible is none but Milford way. [Exeunt. SCENE III. Wales. A mountainous Country, with a Cave. Enter Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus.

Bel.
A goodly day not to keep house, with such
Whose roof's as low as ours. Stoop, boys^{1 note}: this gate
Instructs you how t' adore the heavens, and bows you
To a morning's holy office: the gates of monarchs

Are arch'd so high, that giants may jet through^{2 note}
And keep their impious turbands on, without
Good morrow to the sun.—Hail, thou fair heaven!
We house i' the rock, yet use thee not so hardly
As prouder livers do.

Gui.
Hail, heaven!

Arv.
Hail, heaven!

Bel.
Now, for our mountain sport. Up to yond' hill:
Your legs are young; I'll tread these flats. Consider,
When you above perceive me like a crow,
That it is place which lessens and sets off:
And you may then revolve what tales I have told you,
Of courts, of princes, of the tricks in war:
This service is not service, so being done,
But being so allow'd: to apprehend thus,
Draws us a profit from all things we see;
And often, to our comfort, shall we find
The sharded beetle in a safer hold
Than is the full-wing'd eagle. O! this life
Is nobler, than attending for a check;
Richer, than doing nothing for a bribe^{3 note};
Prouder, than rustling in unpaid-for silk: 11Q1160
Such gain the cap of him, that makes him fine,
Yet keeps his book uncross'd^{4 note}. No life to ours.

Gui.
Out of your proof you speak: we, poor unfledg'd,
Have never wing'd from view o' the nest; nor know not

What air's from home. Haply this life is best,
If quiet life be best; sweeter to you,
That have a sharper known, well corresponding
With your stiff age; but unto us it is
A cell of ignorance, travelling abed,
A prison for a debtor^{5 note}, that not dares
To stride a limit.

Arv.
What should we speak of,
When we are old as you? when we shall hear
The rain and wind beat dark December, how
In this our pinching cave shall we discourse
The freezing hours away? We have seen nothing:
We are beastly: subtle as the fox for prey;
Like warlike as the wolf for what we eat:
Our valour is, to chase what flies; our cage
We make a quire, as doth the prison'd bird,
And sing our bondage freely.

Bel.
How you speak!
Did you but know the city's usuries,
And felt them knowingly: the art o' the court,
As hard to leave, as keep; whose top to climb
Is certain falling, or so slippery, that
The fear's as bad as falling: the toil of the war,
A pain that only seems to seek out danger
I' the name of fame, and honour; which dies i' the search,
And hath as oft a slanderous epitaph,
As record of fair act; nay, many times,
Doth ill deserve by doing well; what's worse,
Must court'sy at the censure.—O, boys! this story
The world may read in me: my body's mark'd
With Roman swords, and my report was once
First with the best of note. Cymbeline lov'd me;
And when a soldier was the theme, my name
Was not far off: then, was I as a tree,

Whose boughs did bend with fruit; but, in one night,
A storm, or robbery, call it what you will,
Shook down my mellow hangings, nay, my leaves,
And left me bare to weather.

Gui.
Uncertain favour!

Bel.
My fault being nothing (as I have told you oft)
But that two villains, whose false oaths prevail'd
Before my perfect honour, swore to Cymbeline,
I was confederate with the Romans: so,
Follow'd my banishment; and this twenty years
This rock, and these demesnes, have been my world;
Where I have liv'd at honest freedom, paid
More pious debts to heaven, than in all
The fore-end of my time.—But, up to the mountains!
This is not hunter's language.—He that strikes
The venison first shall be the lord o' the feast;
To him the other two shall minister,
And we will fear no poison, which attends
In place of greater state. I'll meet you in the valleys. [Exeunt Gui. and Arv.
How hard it is, to hide the sparks of nature!
These boys know little, they are sons to the king;
Nor Cymbeline dreams that they are alive.
They think, they are mine: and, though train'd up thus meanly
I' the cave wherein they bow^{6 note}, their thoughts do hit
The roofs of palaces; and nature prompts them,
In simple and low things, to prince it, much
Beyond the trick of others. This Polydore,—
The heir of Cymbeline and Britain, whom
The king his father call'd Guiderius,—Jove!
When on my three-foot stool I sit, and tell
The warlike feats I have done, his spirits fly out
Into my story, say,—“Thus mine enemy fell;

And thus I set my foot on's neck;” even then
The princely blood flows in his cheek, he sweats,
Strains his young nerves, and puts himself in posture
That acts my words. The younger brother, Cadwal,
(Once Arviragus) in as like a figure,
Strikes life into my speech, 11Q1161 and shows much more
His own conceiving. Hark! the game is rous'd.—
O Cymbeline! heaven, and my conscience, knows,
Thou didst unjustly banish me; whereon
At three, and two years old, I stole these babes,
Thinking to bar thee of succession, as
Thou reft'st me of my lands. Euriphile,
Thou wast their nurse; they took thee for their mother,
And every day do honour to her grave:
Myself, Belarius, that am Morgan call'd,
They take for natural father.—The game is up. [Exit. SCENE IV. Near Milford-Haven. Enter Pisanio and Imogen.

Imo.
Thou told'st me, when we came from horse, the place
Was near at hand.—Ne'er long'd my mother so
To see me first, as I have now^{7 note}


,—Pisanio! Man!
Where is Posthumus? What is in thy mind,

That makes thee stare thus? Wherefore breaks that sigh
From th' inward of thee? One, but painted thus,
Would be interpreted a thing perplex'd
Beyond self-explication: put thyself
Into a haviour of less fear, ere wildness
Vanquish my staider senses. What's the matter?
Why tender'st thou that paper to me, with
A look untender? If it be summer news,
Smile to't before; if winterly, thou need'st
But keep that countenance still.—My husband's hand!
That drug-damn'd Italy hath out-craftied him,
And he's at some hard point.—Speak, man: thy tongue
May take off some extremity, which to read
Would be even mortal to me.

Pis.
Please you, read;
And you shall find me, wretched man, a thing
The most disdain'd of fortune.

Imo. [Reads.]

“Thy mistress, Pisanio, hath played the strumpet in my bed; the testimonies whereof lie bleeding in me. I speak not out of weak surmises, but from proof as strong as my grief, and as certain as I expect my revenge. That part, thou, Pisanio, must act for me, if thy faith be not tainted with the breach of hers. Let thine own hands take away her life; I shall give thee opportunity at Milford-Haven: she hath my letter for the purpose: where, if thou fear to strike, and to make me certain it is done, thou art the pandar to her dishonour, and equally to me disloyal.”

Pis.
What shall I need to draw my sword? the paper
Hath cut her throat already.—No; 'tis slander,
Whose edge is sharper than the sword; whose tongue
Outvenoms all the worms of Nile; whose breath
Rides on the posting winds, and doth belie
All corners of the world: kings, queens, and states,

Maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave
This viperous slander enters.—What cheer, madam?

Imo.
False to his bed! What is it, to be false?
To lie in watch there, and to think on him?
To weep 'twixt clock and clock? if sleep charge nature,
To break it with a fearful dream of him,
And cry myself awake? that's false to his bed:
Is it?

Pis.
Alas, good lady!

Imo.
I false? Thy conscience witness.—Iachimo,
Thou didst accuse him of incontinency;
Thou then look'dst like a villain; now, methinks,
Thy favour's good enough.—Some jay of Italy,
Whose mother was her painting, hath betray'd him:
Poor I am stale, a garment out of fashion; 11Q1162
And, for I am richer than to hang by the walls,
I must be ripp'd:—to pieces with me!—O!
Men's vows are women's traitors. All good seeming,
By thy revolt, O husband! shall be thought
Put on for villany; not born where't grows,
But worn a bait for ladies.

Pis.
Good madam, hear me.

Imo.
True honest men being heard, like false Æneas,
Were in his time thought false; and Sinon's weeping
Did scandal many a holy tear; took pity
From most true wretchedness: so thou, Posthumus,
Wilt lay the leaven on all proper men:
Goodly, and gallant, shall be false, and perjur'd,
From thy great fail.—Come, fellow, be thou honest:
Do thou thy master's bidding. When thou seest him,
A little witness my obedience: look!
I draw the sword myself: take it; and hit
The innocent mansion of my love, my heart.
Fear not; 'tis empty of all things, but grief:
Thy master is not there, who was, indeed,
The riches of it. Do his bidding; strike.

Thou may'st be valiant in a better cause,
But now thou seem'st a coward.

Pis.
Hence, vile instrument!
Thou shalt not damn my hand.

Imo.
Why, I must die;
And if I do not by thy hand, thou art
No servant of thy master's. Against self-slaughter
There is a prohibition so divine,
That cravens my weak hand. Come, here's my heart:
Something's afore't^{8 note}:—Soft, soft! we'll no defence;
Obedient as the scabbard.—What is here?
The scriptures of the loyal Leonatus,
All turn'd to heresy? Away, away,
Corrupters of my faith! you shall no more
Be stomachers to my heart. Thus may poor fools
Believe false teachers: though those that are betray'd
Do feel the treason sharply, yet the traitor
Stands in worse case of woe.
And thou, Posthumus, that didst set up
My disobedience 'gainst the king my father,
And make me put into contempt the suits
Of princely fellows^{9 note}, shalt hereafter find
It is no act of common passage, but
A strain of rareness: 11Q1163 and I grieve myself,
To think, when thou shalt be disedg'd by her
That now thou tir'st on^{1 note}
, how thy memory
Will then be pang'd by me.—Pr'ythee, despatch:
The lamb entreats the butcher: where's thy knife?
Thou art too slow to do thy master's bidding,
When I desire it too.

Pis.
O gracious lady!
Since I receiv'd command to do this business,
I have not slept one wink.

Imo.
Do't, and to bed, then.

Pis.
I'll wake mine eye-balls blind first^{2 note}.

Imo.
Wherefore, then,
Didst undertake it? Why hast thou abus'd
So many miles with a pretence? this place?
Mine action, and thine own? our horses' labour?
The time inviting thee? the perturb'd court,
For my being absent; whereunto I never
Purpose return? Why hast thou gone so far,
To be unbent, when thou hast ta'en thy stand,
Th' elected deer before thee?

Pis.
But to win time,
To lose so bad employment; in the which
I have consider'd of a course. Good lady,
Hear me with patience.

Imo.
Talk thy tongue weary; speak:
I have heard I am a strumpet, and mine ear,
Therein false struck, can take no greater wound,
Nor tent to bottom that. But speak.

Pis.
Then, madam,
I thought you would not back again.

Imo.
Most like,
Bringing me here to kill me.

Pis.
Not so, neither:
But if I were as wise as honest, then
My purpose would prove well. It cannot be,
But that my master is abus'd:
Some villain, ay, and singular in his art,
Hath done you both this cursed injury.

Imo.
Some Roman courtezan.

Pis.
No, on my life.

I'll give but notice you are dead, and send him
Some bloody sign of it; for 'tis commanded
I should do so: you shall be miss'd at court,
And that will well confirm it.

Imo.
Why, good fellow,
What shall I do the while? where bide? how live?
Or in my life what comfort, when I am
Dead to my husband?

Pis.
If you'll back to the court,—

Imo.
No court, no father; nor no more ado
With that harsh, noble, simple nothing, 11Q1164
That Cloten, whose love-suit hath been to me
As fearful as a siege.

Pis.
If not at court,
Then not in Britain must you bide.

Imo.
Where then?
Hath Britain all the sun that shines? Day, night,
Are they not but in Britain? I' the world's volume
Our Britain seems as of it, but not in it;
In a great pool, a swan's nest: pr'ythee, think
There's livers out of Britain.

Pis.
I am most glad
You think of other place. Th' embassador,
Lucius the Roman, comes to Milford-Haven
To-morrow: now, if you could wear a mind
Dark as your fortune is, and but disguise
That, which, t' appear itself, must not yet be,
But by self-danger, you should tread a course
Pretty, and full of view: yea, haply, near
The residence of Posthumus; so nigh, at least,
That though his actions were not visible, yet
Report should render him hourly to your ear,
As truly as he moves.

Imo.
O, for such means!
Though peril to my modesty, not death on't,
I would adventure.

Pis.
Well then, here's the point.

You must forget to be a woman; change
Command into obedience; fear, and niceness,
(The handmaids of all women, or more truly,
Woman it pretty self) into a waggish courage:
Ready in gibes, quick-answer'd, saucy, and
As quarrelous as the weasel: nay, you must
Forget that rarest treasure of your cheek,
Exposing it (but, O, the harder heart!
Alack, no remedy!) to the greedy touch
Of common-kissing Titan; and forget
Your laboursome and dainty trims, wherein
You made great Juno angry.

Imo.
Nay, be brief:
I see into thy end, and am almost
A man already.

Pis.
First, make yourself but like one.
Forethinking this, I have already fit
('Tis in my cloak-bag) doublet, hat, hose, all
That answer to them: would you, in their serving,
And with what imitation you can borrow
From youth of such a season, 'fore noble Lucius
Present yourself, desire his service, tell him
Wherein you are happy, (which you will make him know^{3 note},
If that his head have ear in music) doubtless,
With joy he will embrace you; for he's honourable,
And, doubling that, most holy. Your means abroad,
You have me, rich; and I will never fail
Beginning nor supplyment.

Imo.
Thou art all the comfort
The gods will diet me with. Pr'ythee, away:
There's more to be consider'd, but we'll even
All that good time will give us. This attempt
I'm soldier to, and will abide it with

A prince's courage. Away, I pr'ythee.

Pis.
Well, madam, we must take a short farewell
Lest, being miss'd, I be suspected of
Your carriage from the court. My noble mistress,
Here is a box; I had it from the queen:
What's in't is precious; if you are sick at sea,
Or stomach-qualm'd at land, a dram of this
Will drive away distemper.—To some shade,
And fit you to your manhood.—May the gods
Direct you to the best!

Imo.
Amen. I thank thee. [Exeunt. SCENE V. A Room in Cymbeline's Palace. Enter Cymbeline, Queen, Cloten, Lucius, and Lords.

Cym.
Thus far; and so farewell.

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 yoke; and for ourself
To show less sovereignty than they, must needs
Appear unkinglike.

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

Cym.
My lords, you are appointed for that office;
The due of honour in no point omit.
So, farewell, 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.—Happiness! [Exeunt Lucius and Lords.

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

Clo.
'Tis all the better:
Your valiant Britons have their wishes in it.

Cym.
Lucius hath wrote 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.

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

Cym.
Our expectation that it would be 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 us like
A thing more made of malice, than of duty:
We have noted it.—Call her before us, for
We have been too slight in sufferance. [Exit an Attendant.

Queen.
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,
And strokes death to her. Re-enter an Attendant.

Cym.
Where is she, sir? How

Can her contempt be answer'd?

Atten.
Please you, sir,
Her chambers are all lock'd; and there's no answer
That will be given to the loud noise we make^{4 note}.

Queen.
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 unpaid to you,
Which daily 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! [Exit.

Queen.
Son, I say, follow the king.

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

Queen.
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 cheer the king: he rages; none
Dare come about him.

Queen.
All the better: may
This night forestal 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: from every one
The best she hath, and she, of all compounded,
Outsells 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 shall— Enter Pisanio.
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?

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 paper is the history of my knowledge
Touching her flight. [Presenting a Letter.

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

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

Clo.
Humph!

Pis. [Aside.]
I'll write to my lord she's dead. O Imogen,
Safe may'st thou wander, safe return again!

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'er I bid thee do, to perform it directly and truly. I would think thee an honest man: thou shouldest 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 canst 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 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 clothes that she so praised) to the court I'll knock her back, foot her home again. She hath despised 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 bidd'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 pursuest. Flow, flow,

You heavenly blessings, on her! This fool's speed
Be cross'd with slowness: labour be his meed! [Exit. SCENE VI. Before the Cave of Belarius. Enter Imogen, in Boy's Clothes.

Imo.
I see, a man's life is a tedious one:
I have tir'd myself, and for two nights together
Have made the ground my bed: 11Q1165 I should be sick,
But that my resolution helps me.—Milford,
When from the mountain-top Pisanio show'd thee,
Thou wast within a ken. O Jove! I think,
Foundations fly the wretched; such, I mean,
Where they should be reliev'd. Two beggars told me,
I could not miss my way: will poor folks lie,
That have afflictions on them, knowing 'tis
A punishment, or trial? Yes; no wonder,
When rich ones scarce tell true: to lapse in fulness
Is sorer, than to lie for need; and falsehood
Is worse in kings, than beggars.—My dear lord!
Thou art one o' the false ones: now I think on thee,
My hunger's gone; but even before, I was
At point to sink for food.—But what is this?
Here is a path to it: 'tis some savage hold:
I were best not call; I dare not call; yet famine,
Ere clean it o'erthrow nature, makes it valiant.
Plenty, and peace, breeds cowards; hardness ever
Of hardiness is mother.—Ho! Who's here?
If any thing that's civil, speak; if savage,
Take, or lend.—Ho!—No answer? then, I'll enter.
Best draw my sword; and if mine enemy
But fear the sword like me, he'll scarcely look on't.
Such a foe, good heavens! [She enters the Cave.

Enter Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus.

Bel.
You, Polydore, have prov'd best woodman, and
Are master of the feast: Cadwal, and I,
Will play the cook and servant; 'tis our match:
The sweat of industry would dry, and die,
But for the end it works to. Come; our stomachs
Will make what's homely, savoury: weariness
Can snore upon the flint, when resty sloth
Finds the down pillow hard.—Now, peace be here,
Poor house, that keep'st thyself!

Gui.
I am thoroughly weary.

Arv.
I am weak with toil, yet strong in appetite.

Gui.
There is cold meat i' the cave: we'll browze on that,
Whilst what we have kill'd be cook'd.

Bel.
Stay: come not in. [Looking in.
But that it eats our victuals, I should think
Here were a fairy.

Gui.
What's the matter, sir?

Bel.
By Jupiter, an angel! or, if not,
An earthly paragon!—Behold divineness
No elder than a boy! Enter Imogen.

Imo.
Good masters, harm me not:
Before I enter'd here, I call'd; and thought
To have begg'd, or bought, what I have took. Good troth,
I have stolen nought; nor would not, though I had found
Gold strew'd i' the floor^{5 note}. Here's money for my meat:

I would have left it on the board, so soon
As I had made my meal, and parted
With prayers for the provider.

Gui.
Money, youth?

Arv.
All gold and silver rather turn to dirt!
As 'tis no better reckon'd, but of those
Who worship dirty gods.

Imo.
I see, you are angry.
Know, if you kill me for my fault, I should
Have died, had I not made it.

Bel.
Whither bound?

Imo.
To Milford-Haven.

Bel.
What's your name?

Imo.
Fidele, sir. I have a kinsman, who
Is bound for Italy: he embark'd at Milford;
To whom being going, almost spent with hunger,
I am fallen in this offence.

Bel.
Pr'ythee, fair youth,
Think us no churls, nor measure our good minds
By this rude place we live in. Well encounter'd.
'Tis almost night: you shall have better cheer
Ere you depart; and thanks, to stay and eat it.—
Boys, bid him welcome.

Gui.
Were you a woman, youth,
I should woo hard, but be your groom.—In honesty,
I bid for you, as I do buy.

Arv.
I'll make't my comfort,
He is a man: I'll love him as my brother;
And such a welcome as I'd give to him,
After long absence, such is yours.—Most welcome.
Be sprightly, for you fall 'mongst friends.

Imo.
'Mongst friends!
If brothers?—[Aside.] Would it had been so, that they
Had been my father's sons: then, had my prize
Been less; and so more equal ballasting
To thee, Posthumus.

Bel.
He wrings at some distress.

Gui.
Would I could free't!

Arv.
Or I; whate'er it be,
What pain it cost, what danger. Gods!

Bel.
Hark, boys. [Whispering.

Imo.
Great men,
That had a court no bigger than this cave,
That did attend themselves, and had the virtue
Which their own conscience seal'd them, (laying by
That nothing gift of differing multitudes^{6 note})
Could not out-peer these twain. Pardon me, gods!
I'd change my sex to be companion with them,
Since Leonatus false^{7 note}.

Bel.
It shall be so.
Boys, we'll go dress our hunt.—Fair youth, come in:
Discourse is heavy, fasting; when we have supp'd,
We'll mannerly demand thee of thy story,
So far as thou wilt speak it.

Gui.
Pray, draw near.

Arv.
The night to the owl, and morn to the lark, less welcome.

Imo.
Thanks, sir.

Arv.
I pray, draw near. [Exeunt.

SCENE VII. Rome. Enter Two Senators and Tribunes.

1 Sen.
This is the tenour of the emperor's writ:
That since the common men are now in action
'Gainst the Pannonians and Dalmatians^{8 note};
And that the legions now in Gallia are
Full weak to undertake our wars against
The fallen-off Britons, that we do incite
The gentry to this business. He creates
Lucius pro-consul; and to you, the tribunes,
For this immediate levy he commands
His absolute commission. Long live Cæsar!

Tri.
Is Lucius general of the forces?

2 Sen.
Ay.

Tri.
Remaining now in Gallia?

1 Sen.
With those legions
Which I have spoke of, whereunto your levy
Must be suppliant: the words of your commission
Will tie you to the numbers, and the time
Of their despatch.

Tri.
We will discharge our duty. [Exeunt.

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