But if I were as wise as honest, then

My purpose would prove well. It cannot be,

But that my master is abus'd:

Some villain, ay, and singular in his art,

Hath done you both this cursed injury.

Imo. Some Roman courtezan.

No, on my life.

Pis. I'll give but notice you are dead, and send him Some bloody sign of it; for 'tis commanded I should do so: You shall be miss'd at court, And that will well confirm it.

Imo.

Why, good fellow, What shall I do the while? Where bide? How live. Or in my life what comfort, when I am

Dead to my husband?

If you'll back to the court,

Pis.
Imo. No court, no father; nor no more ado
With that harsh, noble, simple, nothing:

That Cloten, whose love-suit hath been to me
As fearful as a siege.

Pis.

If not at court,

Where then?

Then not in Britain must you bide.

Imo.

Hath Britain all the sun that shines? Day, night,
Are they not but in Britain? I'the world's volume
Our Britain seems as of it, but not in it;

In a great pool, a swan's nest; Pr'y thee, think
There's livers out of Britain.

Pis.

I am most glad You think of other place. The embassador, Lucius the Roman, comes to Milford-Haven To-morrow: Now, if you could wear a mind Dark as your fortune is; and but disguise That, which, to 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, yet Report should render him hourly to your ear, As truly as he moves.

Imo.

Though peril to my

I would adventure.

O, for such means! modesty, not death on't,

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 a waggish courage; Ready in gibes, quick-answer'd, saucy, and As quarrelous as the weasel: nay, you must Forget that rarest treasure of your cheek, Exposing it (but, O, the harder heart! Alack, no remedy!) to the greedy touch Of common-kissing Titan ; 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.

Pis.

First, make yourself but like one. Fore-thinking this, I have already fit

('Tis in my cleak-bag,) doublet, hat, hose, all That answer to them: Would you, in their serving And with what initation you can borrow

From youth of such a season, 'fore noble Lucius Present yourself, desire his service, tell him Wherein you are happy2 (which you'll make him know,

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,3 rich; and I will never fail Beginning, nor supplyment.

Imo.

Thou art all the comfort

The gods will diet me with. Pr'ythee, away:

(1) The sun.

(2) i. e. Wherein you are accomplished.

(3) As for your subsistence abroad, you may re ly on me.

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.

Pis. Well, madam, we must take a short farewell 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 are sick at sea,
Or stomach-qualm'd at land, a dram of this
Will drive away distemper.-To some shade,
And fit you to your manhood:-May the gods
Direct you to the best!

Imo.

Amen: I thank thee.
[Exeunt.

SCENE V-A room in Cymbeline's palace. Enter Cymbeline, Queen, Cloten, Lucius, ana

Lords.

Cym. Thus far; and so farewell.

Luc.

Thanks, royal sir. My emperor hath wrote; I must from hence; And am right sorry, that I must report ye

My master's enemy.

Сут.

Our subjects, sir,

Will not endure his yoke; and for ourself
To show less sovereignty than they, must needs
Appear unking like.

Luc.

So, sir, I desire of you

A conduct over land, to Milford-Haven.

Madam, all joy befall your grace, and you! Cym. My lords, you are appointed for that of fice;

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.

(1) Equal to.

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.

'Tis all the better;

Clo.
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, Hath made us forward. But, my gentle queen, Where is our daughter? She hath not appear'd Before the Roman, nor to us hath tender'd The duty of the day: She looks us like A thing more made of malice, than of duty: We have noted it.-Call her before us; for We have been too slight in sufferance.

[Exit an Attendant. 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.

Her chambers are all lock'd; and there's no answer
That will be given to the loud'st of noise we make.
Queen. My lord, when last I went to visit her,
She pray'd me to excuse her keeping close;
Whereto constrain'd by her infirmity,

She should that duty leave unpaid to you,
Which daily she was bound to proffer: this

She wish'd me to make known; but our great court
Made me to blame in memory.

Cym. Her doors lock'd? Not seen of late? Grant, heavens, that, which I fear, Prove false !

[Exit.

Queen.

Son, I say, follow the king.

Clo. That man of hers, Pisanio, her old servant, I have not seen these two days.

Queen. Go, look after.- [Exit Cloten. Pisanio, thou that stand'st so 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 she gone? Haply, despair hath seiz'd her; Or, wing'd with fervour of her love, she's flown To her desir'd Posthúmus: Gone she is, To death, or to dishonour; and my end Can make good use of either: She being down, I have the placing of the British crown.

Re-enter Cloten.

How now, my son?

Clo.

'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 forestall him of the coming day!

[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; from every one

(1) Than any lady, than all ladies, than all womankind.