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—Pisanio,
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 thy self
Into a 'haviour of less fear, ere wilderness ^note
Vanquish my stayder senses—what's the matter?
Why tender'st thou that paper to me, with
A look untender? if't be summer news,
Smile to't before; if winterly, thou need'st
But keep that count'nance 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 e'en mortal to me.

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

Thy mistress, Pisanio, hath play'd the strumpet in my bed: the testimonies whereof lye 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 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 Pander to her dishonour, and equally to me disloyal.

&plquo;Pis.
&plquo;What shall I need to draw my sword? the paper
&plquo;Hath cut her throat already.—No, 'tis slander;
&plquo;Whose edge is sharper than the sword, whose tongue
&plquo;Out-venoms all the worms of Nile; whose breath
&plquo;Rides on the posting winds, and doth belye
&plquo;All corners of the world. Kings, Queens, and states,
&plquo;Maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the Grave
&plquo;This viperous slander enters. What chear, Madam?&prquo;

&plquo;Imo.
&plquo;False to his bed! what is it to be false?
&plquo;To lye in watch there, and to think on him?
&plquo;To weep 'twixt clock and clock? if sleep charge nature,
&plquo;To break it with a fearful dream of him,
&plquo;And cry my self awake? that false to's bed!&prquo;

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. ^{2 note}Some Jay of Italy
(^{3 note}Whose meether was her painting) hath betray'd him:

Poor I am stale, a garment out of fashion;
And, for I'm richer than to hang by th' walls,
I must be ript: to pieces with me: oh,
Men's vows are womens' traitors.—All good Seeming
By thy revolt, oh husband, shall be thought
Put on for villany: not born, where't grows;
But worn, a bait for ladies.

Pis.
Madam, hear me—

&plquo;Imo.
&plquo;True honest men being heard, like false Æneas,
&plquo;Were in his time thought false: and Sinon's Weeping
&plquo;Did scandal many a holy tear; took pity
&plquo;From most true wretchedness. ^{4 note}
So thou, Posthumus,
&plquo;Wilt lay the leven to all proper men;
&plquo;Goodly, and gallant, shall be false and perjur'd,
&plquo;From thy great fail.&prquo; 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 my self, 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. 'Gainst self-slaughter
There is a prohibition so divine,
^{5 note}That cravens my weak hand: come, here's my heart—
(Something's afore't)—soft, soft, we'll no defence; [Opening her breast.
Obedient as the scabbard!—What is here?
The Scriptures of the loyal Leonatus
All turn'd to Heresie? away, away, [Pulling his letters out of her bosom.
Corrupters of my faith! you shall no more
Be stomachers to my heart: thus may poor fools
Believe false teachers: tho' those, that are betray'd,
Do feel the treason sharply, yet the traitor
Stands in worse case of woe. And thou, Posthumus,
That set my disobedience 'gainst the King,
And mad'st me put into contempt the suits
Of princely fellows, shalt hereafter find,
It is no act of common passage, but
A strain of rareness: and I grieve my self,
To think, when thou shalt be dis-edg'd by her
Whom now thou tir'st on, how thy memory
Will then be pang'd by me.—Pr'ythee, dispatch;
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 break mine eye-balls first.

Imo.
Ah, 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've 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,
And singular in his art, hath done you both
This cursed injury.

Imo.
Some Roman Curtezan—

Pis.
No, on my life.
I'll give him 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 th' Court—

Imo.
No Court, no Father; nor no more ado
With that harsh, noble, simple, Nothing, Cloten:
That Cloten, whose love-suit hath been to me
As fearful as a siege.

Pis.
If not at Court,
Then not in Britaine must you 'bide.

Imo.
Where then?
Hath Britaine all the Sun that shines? Day, night,
Are they not but in Britaine? I'th' world's volume
Our Britaine seems as of it, but not in it;
In a great pool, a swan's nest. Pr'ythee, think,
There's living out of Britaine.

Pis.
I'm most glad,
You think of other place: th' Ambassador,
Lucius the Roman, comes to Milford-Haven
To morrow. ^{6 note}

Report should render him hourly to your ear,
As truly as he moves.

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

Pis.
Well then, here's the point:
&plquo;You must forget to be a woman; change
&plquo;Command into obedience; fear and niceness
&plquo;(The handmaids of all women, or, more truly,
&plquo;Woman its pretty self,) to waggish courage;
&plquo;Ready in gybes, quick-answer'd, saucy, and
&plquo;As quarrellous as the weazel: ^{8 note}

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

Pis.
First, make your self but like one.
Fore-thinking 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 your self, desire his service, tell him
Wherein you're happy; (which will make him (a) ^note so,
If that his head have ear in musick;) doubtless,
With joy he will embrace you; for he's honourable,
And, doubling That, most holy. ^{9 note}
Your means abroad
You have me, rich; and I will never fail
Beginning, nor supply.

Imo.
Thou'rt 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. ^{1 note}
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 farewel;
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're 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, severally.

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