Why tendereft thou that paper to me, with
A look untender? if't be fummer news,
Smile to't before; if winterly, thou needest
But keep that countenance still. My husband's

hand?

That drug lamned Italy hath out-craftied him,
And he's at fome hard point.

tongue

Speak, man; thy

May take off fome extremity, which to read
Would be e en mortal to me.

Pif. Please you, read;

And you fhall find me, wretched man, a thing:

The most difdained of fortune.

66

Imogen reads..

Thy mitrefs, Pifanio, hath played the ftrumpet in my bed: the teftimonies whereof ly bleeding in me. I fpeak not out of weak furmife, but "from proof as ftrong as my grief, and as certain "as I expect my revenge. That part thou, Pifanio, "must act for me. If thy faith be not tainted with "the breach of hers, let thine own hand take away "her life: I fhall give thee opportunity at Mil"ford-Haven. She hath my letter for the pur"pofe; where, if thou fear to strike, and to make me "certain it is done, thou art the pander to her difhonour, and equally to me difloyal."

Pif. What shall I need to draw my fword? the

paper

Hath cut her throat already.---No, 'tis Slander; Whofe edge is fharper than the fword, whofe tongue Out-venoms all the worms of Nile, whofe breath Rides on the pofting winds,, and doth belye [States, All the corners of the world. Kings, Queens, and Maids, matrons, nay, the fecrets of the grave

This viperous Slander enters. What cheer, Madam

Imo. Falfe to his bed! what is it to be false? To ly in watch there, and to think on him? To weep 'twixt clock and clock? if fleep charge

nature,

To break it with a fearful dream of hi»,

And ery myfelf awake? that falfe to's bed!.
Pif. Alas, good lady!

Imo. I falfe? thy confcience witnefs, Iachimo,-* Thou didst accuse him of incontinency:

Thou then look'dft like a villain: now, methinks, Thy favour's good enough. Some jay of Italy (33) (Whofe mother was her painting) hath betrayed Poor I am ftale, a garment out of fashion; [him: And, for I'm richer than to hang by the walls,.

(33)

-Some joy of Italy

Chafe mother was her painting) bath betrayed him.] This paffage has ftrongly lain under my, fufpicion, though I have not ventured to give it an emendation. If the text be genuine as it ftands, it feems to me to have this fenfe, whofe mother was a bird of the fame feather, i. e. fuch another gay ftrumpet, which is fevere enough. I have imagin ed the Poet might have wrote;

(Whofe m ther was her planting)

1. e. was bawd to her, and planted her on Pofthumus, which is ftill more farcaftical. Again, Mr Rowe gives us a read ing which I would very eagerly efpoufe, were I fure the word were ftandard, and that it were not coined by the ca fual invcifion of an M into a W:

(Whole wother was her painting)

i. e. whofe chief beauty was her artificial face, her falfe complexion. For Mr Gildon, in his fert gary prefixed to Shakespeare's poems, comes boldly and tells us, wother fige nifies merit, beauty, &c. But I fhrewdly fufpect he ftruck out thefe interpretations to fort with the fenfe of the reading found in Mr Rowe, and trufted implicitly to his theme being genuine. But I have fearched in vain, and can find no fuch word as wether. Spelman, in his Giffary, has woth, which he expounds eloquentia, facundia, eloquence. But this, I am afraid, in no kind will ferve our turn..

I must be ript: to pieces with me: oh,

Men's vows are women's traitors.---- ---All good feeming

By thy revolt, oh hufband, fhall be thought

Put on for villainy; not born where't grows,
But worn, a bait for ladies.

Pif. Madam, hear me---

[Æneas,

Imo. True. honeft men being heard, like falfe Were in his time thought falfe; and Sinon's weeping: Did fcandal many a holy tear, took pity

From most true wretchednefs. So thou, Pofthumus, Wilt lay the leven to all proper men;

Goodly and gallant, fhall be falfe and perjured,
From thy great fail. Come, fellow, be thou honeft,«
Do thou thy master's bidding: when thou feest him,
A little witness my obedience. Look!

I draw the fword myself, take it, and hit
The innocent manfion of my love, my heart;
Fear not, 'tis empty of all things but grief;
Thy mafter is not there; who was, indeed,
The riches of it. Do his bidding, strike;
Thou mayeit be valiant in a better caufe,
But now thou feemelt a coward, -

Pif. Hence, vile inftrument!
Thou shalt not damn my hand.

Imo. Why, I must die;

And, if I do not by thy hand, thou art

No fervant of thy maiter's.

'Gaint felf-flaughter

There is a prohibition fo divine,

That cravens my weak hand: come, here's my heart-(Something's afore't--foft, foft, we'll no defence;)

[Opening her breast

Obedient as the fcabbard! --What is here ?

The fcriptures of the loyal Leonatus

All turned to herefy? away, away,

[Pulling his Letters out of her Bafoms -

Corrupters of my faith! you fhall no more
Be ftomachers to my heart: thus may poor fools
Believe falfe teachers: though those, that are be-
trayed,

Do feel the treason sharply, yet the traitor

Stands in worfe cafe of woe. And thou, Pofthu--
That fet my disobedience 'gainst the King, [mus,
And made me put into contempt the suits

Of princely fellows, fhalt hereafter find
It is no act of common paffage, but

A ftrain of rareness: and I grieve myself
To think, when thou fhalt be dif-edged by her
Whom now thou tireft on, how thy memory
Will then be pang'd by me.---Pr'ythee, difpatch;:
The lamb entreats the butcher. Where's thy knife ?
Thou art too flow to do thy master's bidding,
When I defire it too.

Pif. O gracious Lady!

Since I received command to do this business,
I have not flept one wink.

Imo. Do't, and to bed then.

Pif. I'll break mine eye-balls first.
Imo. Ah, wherefore then

Didft undertake it? why haft thou abused
So many miles, with a pretence? this place!
Mine action! and thine own! our hories labour
The time inviting thee? the perturbed court,
For my being abfent? whereunto I never
Purpose return. Why haft thou gone fo far,
To be unbent, when thou haft ta'en thy ftand,
Th' elected deer before thee?

Pif. But to win time

To lofe fo bad employment, in the which
I have confidered of a courfe: good lady,
Hear me with patience.

Imo. Talk thy tongue weary, fpeal.

I've heard I am a ftrumpet, and mine ear, Therein falfe ftruck, can take no greater wound Nor tent to bottom that. But speak.

Pif. Then, Madam,

I thought you would not back again..
Ima. Molt like,

Bringing me here to kill me.
Pif. Not fo neither;

But if I were as wife as honest, then

My purpose would prove well; it cannot be
But that my master is abus'd; some villain,
And fingular in his art, hath done you both
This curfed injury.

Ima. Some Roman courtezan

Pif. No, on my life.

I'll give him notice you are dead, and fend him
Some bloody fign of it: for 'tis commanded
I fhould do fo. You fhall be mifs'd at court,
And that will well confirm it.

Imo. Why, good fellow,

What fhall I do the while? where bide? how live? Or in my life what comfort, when I am

Dead to my husband?

Pif. If you'll back to the court

Imo. No court, no father; nor no more ado With that harfh, noble, fimple Nothing, Cloten: That Cloten, whofe love-fuit hath been to me As fearful as a fiege.

Pif. If not at court,

Then not in Britain muft you 'bide.

Imo. Where then?

Hath Britain all the fun that fhines

day, night,

Are they not but in Britain? i' th' world's volume Our Britain feems as of it, but not in it;

In a great pool, a fwan's neft.

There's living out of Britain.

Pr'ythee, think,