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Another Room in the same.
Imo. A father cruel, and a step-dame false; A foolish suitor to a wedded lady, That hath her husband banish'd ;-0, that hus
band! My supreme crown of grief! and those repeated Vexations of it! Had I been thief-stolen, As my two brothers, happy! but most miserable Is the desire that's glorious : Blessed be those, How mean soe'er, that have their honest wills, Which seasons comfort.-Who may
this be? Fye!
Enter PISANIO and IACHIMO.
Pis. Madam, a noble gentleman of Rome;
Change you, madam ?
Thanks, good sir : You are kindly welcome. Iach. All of her, that is out of door, most rich!
[Aside. If she be furnish'd with a mind so rare, She is alone the Arabian bird ; and I Have lost the wager.
Boldness be my friend! Arm
me, audacity, from head to foot! Or, like the Parthian, I shall flying fight;
Rather, directly fly.
Imo. [Reads.)—He is one of the noblest note, to whose kindnesses I am most infinitely tied. Reflect upon him accordingly, as you value your truest
LEONATUS, So far I read aloud : But even the very middle of my heart Is warm'd by the rest, and takes it thankfully. You are as welcome, worthy sir, as I Have words to bid you; and shall find it so, In all that I can do. Iach.
Thanks, fairest lady. What ! are men mad ? Hath nature given them eyes To see this vaulted arch, and the rich crop Of sea and land, which can distinguish 'twixt The fiery orbs above, and the twinn'd stones Upon the number'd beach ? and can we not Partition make with spectacles so precious 'Twixt fair and foul ? Imo.
What makes your admiration ?
apes and monkeys,
Imo. What is the matter, trow?
The cloyed will,
7 Making mouths.
(That satiate yet unsatisfied desire,
What, dear sir,
[To PISANIO. My man's abode where I did leave him: he Is strange and peevish. Pis.
I was going, sir, To give him welcome.
[Exit Pisanio. Imo. Continues well my lord? His health, 'beseech
you? Iach. Well, madam. Imo. Is he dispos'd to mirth? I hope, he is.
Iach. Exceeding pleasant; none a stranger there So
merry and so gamesome : he is call'd
When he was here,
I never saw him sad.
8 Shy and foolish.
But must be, will his free hours languish for
laughter. It is a recreation to be by, And hear him mock the Frenchman : But, heavens
know, Some men are much to blame. Imo.
Not he, I hope.
Imo. What do you pity, sir?
Am I one, sir?
Lamentable! What !
I pray you, sir,
my demands. Why do you pity me?
You do seem to know
Something of me, or what concerns me; 'Pray you,
Had I this cheek
touch, would force the feeler's soul
My lord, I fear,
And himself. Not I,
Let me hear no more.
-9 What you seem anxious to utter, and yet withhold.