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That, which, t'appear itself, must not yet be,
But by self-danger; you should tread a course
Pretty, and full of view; yea, haply, near
The residence of Posthumus ; so nigh, at least,
That though his actions were not visible,
Report should render him hourly to your car,
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:
You must forget to be a woman; change
Command into obedience ; fear and niceness
(The handmaids of all women, or, more truly,
Woman its pretty self.) to waggilh courage;
Ready in gybes, quick-answer'd, faucy, and
As quarrellous as the weazel: nay, you must
Forget that ratest treasure of your cheek;
Exposing it (but, oh, the harder Hap!
Alack, no remedy) to the greedy touch
Of common-kifling Tilan; and forget
Your laboursome and dainty trims, wherein
You made great Juno angry.
Imo, Nay, be brief:
I see into thy end, and am almost
A man already
Pif. First, make yourself but like one.
Fore-thinking this, I have already fit,
('Tis in my cloak-bag) doublet, hát, 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 yourself, desire his service, tell him
Wherein you're happy; (which will make him so,
If that his head have ear in music.) doubtless,
With joy he will embrace you; for he's honourable,
And, doubling That, most holy. 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. Prythee, away.
There's more to be consider’d; but we'll even
All that good time will give us. This attempt
I'm soldier to, and will abide it with
A Prince's courage. Away, I pr’ythee.
. 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 lick at sea,
Or ftomach-qualm’d at land, a dram of this
Will drive away distemper-To some shade,
And fit you to your manhood; may the Gods
to the best! Imo. Amen : I thank thee. [Exeunt, severally.
S CE N E V.
Changes to the Palace of Cymbeline.
Enter Cymbeline, Queen, Cloten, Lucius, and Lords.
HUS far, and so farewel.: m. T.
Luc. Thanks, royal Sir.
My Emperor hath wrote; I must from hence ;
And am right forry, that I must report ye
My mafler's enemy:
Cym. Our Subjects, Sir,
Will not endure his yoke; and for ourself
To shew lefs Sovereignty than they, must needs
Luc. 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, farewel, noble Lucius.
Luc. Your hand, my Lord.
Clot. Receive it friendly; but from this time forth
I wear it as your enemy.
Luc. Th' event
Is yet to name the winner. Fare you well.
Cym. Leave not the worthy Lucius, good my Lords, 'Till he have crost the Severn. Happiness !
Exit Lucius, &c.
Queen. He goes hence frowning; but it honours us,
That we have giv'n him cause.
Clot. '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 Britaine.
Queen. 'Tis not sleepy business;
But must be look'd to speedily, and strongly.
Cym. Our expectation, that it should be thus,
Hath made us forward. But, my gentle Queen,
Where is our Daughter? She hath not appear’d
Before the Roman, nor to us bath tender'd
The duty of the day. She looks as like
A thing more made of malice, than of duty;
We've noted it. Call her before us, for
We've been too light in sufferance. [Exit a Servant.
Queen. Royal Sir,
Since the exile of Posthumus, most retir'd
Hath her life been; the cure whereof, my lord,
'Tis time must do. 'Beseech your Majesty,
Forbear sharp speeches to her. She's a lady
So tender of rebukes, that words are strokes,
And strokes death to her.
Re-enter the Servant.
Cym. Where is she, Sir? how
Can her contempt be answer'd ?
Seru. Please you, Sir, Her chambers are all lock'd, and there's no answer That will be given to th’loudest noise.
Queen. My lord, when laft I went to visit her, She pray'd me to excuse her keeping close ; Whereto conftrain'd by her infirmity, She should that duty leave unpaid to you Which daily she was bound to proffer; this She wilh'd me to make known; but our great court Made me to blame in mem'ry.
Cyni. Her doors lock'd ? Not seen of late ? grant beav'ns, That, which I fear, Prove false ?
[Exit. Queen. Son, I fay, follow the King.
Clot. That man of hers, Pifanio, her old fervant, I have not seen these two days.
[Exit. Queen. Go, look afterPisanio, thou that stand'ft fo for Posthumus!He hath a drug of mine; I pray, his absence Proceed by swallowing That; for he believes, It is a thing most precious.
But for her, Where is the gone? haply, despair hath seiz'd her; Or, wing'd with fervor of her love, she's flown To her delir'd Posthumus; gone she is To death, or in dishonour; and my end Can make good use of either. She being down, I have the placing of the British crown.
How now, my
Clot. 'Tis certain, she is fled,
Go in and cheer the King; he rages, none
Dare come about him.
Queen. All the better; may
This night fore-fall him of the coming day!
[Exit Queen. Clot. I love, and hate her ;--for she's fair and royal,
And that she hath all courtly parts more exquisite
* Than lady Ladies; winning from each one
The best she hath, and she of all compounded
Out-sells them all: I love her therefore ;-but,
Disdaining me, and throwing favours on
The low Posthumus, flanders fo 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
Who is here? what are you packing, firrah ?
Come hither; ah! you precious pander, villain,
Where is thy lady? in a word, or else
Thou’rt straightway with the fiends.
[Drawing his Sword. Pif. Oh, my good lord !
Clot. Where is thy lady? or, by Jupiter,
I will not alk again. Clofe villain,
I'll have this secret from thy heart, or rip
Thy heart to find it. Is she with Posthumus?
From whore so many weights of baseness cannot
A dram of worth be drawn.
Pif. Alas, my lord,
How can fhe be with him ? when was she miss d ?
He is in Rome.
Clot. Where is she, Sir? come nearer;
No farther halting ; satisfy me home,
What is become of her.
* Than lady Ladies woman; from each one -]This Line is Nonsense. It should be read and pointed thus, Than lady Ladies; winning from each one)
-The Sense of the Whole is this, I love her because she has, in more exquisite Degree, all those courtly Parts that ennoble [Lady] Women of Quality (Ladies) winning from cach of them the best of their good Qualities, &C.