To be more fresh, reviving. She is fool'd
With a moft falfe effect; and I the truer,

So to be falfe with her.

Queen. No further fervice, Doctor,

Until I fend for thee.

Cor. I humbly take my leave.

[Exit.

Queen. Weeps the ftill, fay'ft thou? dost thou think,

in time

She will not quench, and let inftructions enter
Where folly now poffeffes? do thou work;
When thou shalt bring me word she loves my fon,
I'll tell thee on the inftant, thou art then
As great as is thy mafter; greater; for
His fortunes all lye fpeechlefs, and his name
Is at last gafp. Return he cannot, nor
Continue where he is: to fhift his being,
Is to exchange one mifery with another;
And every day, that comes, comes to decay
A day's work in him. What fhalt thou expect,
To be depender on a thing that leans?

Who cannot be new built, and has no friends,
So much as but to prop him?-Thou tak'st up

[Pifanio looking on the Viol.
Thou know'ft not what; but take it for thy labour;
It is a thing I make, which hath the King
Five times redeem'd from death; I do not know
What is more cordial. Nay, I pr'ythee, take it;
It is an earnest of a farther Good

That I mean to thee. Tell thy mistress how

The cafe ftands with her; do't, as from thyfelf:

(5) Think, what a change thou chanceft on; but

think;

Thou haft thy mistress ftill; to boot, my fon

(5) Think what a Chance thou chanceft on.

Who

] I hardly

think, our Author would have exprefs'd himself thus badly, on no Ncceffity. Both the old Folio's read,

Think what a Chance thou changest on.

But I fufpect, there is ftill a flight Error made by the firft Tranfcri ber. I imagine, the Poet wrote;

VOL. VII.

K

Think

Who fhall take notice of thee. I'll move the King
To any fhape of thy preferment, fuch

As thou'lt defire; and then myself, I chiefly,
That fet thee on to this defert, am bound
To load thy merit richly. Call my women-

[Exit Pifan.
Think on my wordsA fly and conftant knave,
Not to be shak'd; the agent for his mafter;
And the remembrancer of her, to hold

The hand fast to her Lord. I've giv'n him That,
Which, if he take, fhall quite unpeople her
Of leidgers for her fweet; and which fhe, after,
Except the bend her humour, shall be affur'd
To tafte of too.

Enter Pifanio, and Ladies.

So, fo; well done, well done;

The violets, cowflips, and the primroses,
Bear to my closet; fare thee well, Pifanio,
Think on my words.

Pif. And thall do:

[Exeunt Queen and Ladies.

[Exit.

But when to my good Lord I prove untrue,

I'll choak myfelf; there's all I'll do for you.

SCENE changes to Imogen's Apartments.

Enter Imogen alone.

Imo. A Father cruel, and a Stepdame false,

A foolish faitor to a wedded lady,

That hath her husband banish'd-O, that husband!
My fupream crown of grief, and those repeated
Vexations of it- -Had I been thief ftoln,
As my two brothers, happy! but most miferable
Is the defire, that's glorious. Bless'd be thofe,
How mean foe'er, that have their honeft wills,

i. e. if you will fall into my measures, do but think how you will chance to change your Fortunes for the better, in the Confequences that will attend your Compliance,

Which seasons comfort. Who may this be? fie!

Enter Pifanio, and Iachimo.

Pis. Madam, a noble Gentleman of Rome Comes from my Lord with letters.

lach. Change you, Madam ; The worthy Leonatus is in fafety, And greets your Highness dearly. Imo. Thanks, good Sir,

You're kindly welcome.

Iach. All of her, that is out of door, most rich! If the be furnish'd with a mind fo rare,

She is alone th' Arabian bird; and I

Have loft the wager. Boldnefs be my friend!
Arm me, Audacity, from head to foot:

Or, like the Parthian, I fhall flying fight,

Rather directly fly.

Imogen reads.

[Afide.

He is one of the nobleft note, to whofe kindnesses 1 am moft infinitely tyed. Reflect upon him accordingly, as you value your truft.

So far I read aloud :

But even the very middle of my heart

Leonatus.

Is warm'd by th' reft, and takes it thankfully.
You are as welcome, worthy Sir, as I

Have words to bid you; and fhall find it fo,
In all that I can do.

lach. Thanks, fairest Lady

What! are men mad? hath nature given them eyes
To fee this vaulted arch, and the rich crop
Of fea and land, which can distinguish 'twixt
The fiery orbs above, (6) and the twinn'd ftones
Upon th' unnumber'd beach? and can we not

Partition

Upon the number'd Beach.] I have no Idea, in what Senfe the Beach, or Shore, fhould be call'd number'd. I have ventur'd, against all the Copies, to fubftitute

Partition make with fpectacles fo precious 'Twixt fair and foul?

Imo. What makes your admiration ?

lach. It cannot be i'th' eye; (for apes and monkeys, 'Twixt two such she's, would chatter this way, and Contemn with mowes the other :) Nor i' th' judgment; (For Idiots, in this cafe of favour, would Be wifely definite :) Nor i' th' appetite: (Slutt'ry, to fuch neat excellence oppos'd, Should make defire vomit emptiness, Not fo allur'd to feed.)

Imo. What is the matter, trow ?
lach. The cloyed will,

That fatiate, yet unfatisfy'd defire, (that tub,
Both fill'd and running;) ravening first the lamb,
Longs after for the garbage-

Imo. What, dear Sir,

Thus raps you? are you well?

lach. Thanks, Madam, well-'Beseech you, Sir,

[To Pifanio. Defire my man's abode, where I did leave him;

He's ftrange, and peevish.

Pif. I was going, Sir,

To give him welcome.

Imo. Is he difpos'd to mirth? I hope, he is.
Iach. Exceeding pleasant; none a stranger there

So merry and fo gamefome; he is call'd

The Britaine Reveller.

Upon th' unnumber'd Beach.

i. e. the infinite, extenfive Beach, if we are to understand the Epithet as coupled to That Word. But, I rather think, the Poet intended an Hypallage, like That in the Beginning of OVID'S Metamorphofes :

(In nova fert Animus mutatas dicere formas
Corpora,)

And then we are to understand the Paffage thus; and the infinite
Number of twinn'd Stones upon the Beach.

Imo. When he was here,

He did incline to fadnefs, and oft times
Not knowing why.

Iach. I never faw him fad.

There is a Frenchman his companion, one,

An eminent Monfieur, that, it seems, much loves
A Gallian girl at home. He furnaces

The thick fighs from him; whiles the jolly Briton,
(Your Lord, I mean,) laughs from's free lungs, cries.
Oh!

Can my fides hold, to think, that man, who knows
By history, report, or his own proof,

What woman is, yea, what she cannot chuse
But must be, will his free hours languish out
For affur'd bondage?

Imo. Will my Lord say so ?

Iach. Ay, Madam, with his eyes in flood with laughter. It is a recreation to be by,

And hear him mock the Frenchman: but heav'n knows, Some men are much to blame.

Imo. Not he, I hope.

lach. Not he. But yet heav'n's bounty tow'rds him

might

Be us'd more thankfully. In himself, 'tis much;
In you, whom I count his, beyond all talents;
Whilft I am bound to wonder, I am bound

To pity too.

Imo. What do you pity, Sir? lach. Two creatures heartily.

Imo. Am I one, Sir?

You look on me; what wreck difcern you

Deferves your pity?

lach. Lamentable! what!

in me,

To hide me from the radiant fun, and folace

I' th' dungeon by a snuff?

Imo. I pray you, Sir,

Deliver with more openness your answers
To my demands. Why do you pity me?

lach. That others do,

I was about to fay, enjoy your

-but