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The gods will diet me with. Prythee, away :
Pis. Well, madam, we must take a short farewell :
A Room in Cymbeline's Palace.
Enter CYMBELINE, Queen, CLOTEN, LUCIUS, and
Cym. Thus far; and so farewell.
Thanks, royal sir.
Our subjects, sir,
8 Equal to.
So, sir, I desire of you A conduct over land, to Milford-Haven. Madam, all joy befal 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,
We have noted it. Call her before us ; for
[Exit an Attendant. Queen.
Re-enter an Attendant.
Where is she, sir? How
Please you, sir,
Queen. My lord, when last I went to visit her,
Her doors lock'd?
Clo. That man of hers, Pisanio, her old servant,
Go, look after.
Pisanic, thou that stand'st so for Posthumus !-
'Tis certain she is fled:
All the better : May
[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;9 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
Enter PISANIO. Shall—Who is here? What are you packing, sirrah?
9 Than any lady, than all ladies, than all womankind.
Come hither : Ah, you precious pandar ! Villain,
O, good my lord !
Alas, my lord,
Where is she, sir ? Come nearer ;
Pis. O, my all-worthy Yord!
[Presenting a Letter, Clo.
Let's see't:--I will pursue her
Or this, or perish.