Guard me beseech yee.

Sleepes.

Iachimo from the Trunke.

Iach. The Crickets sing, and mans ore-labor'd sense Repaires it selfe by rest: Our Tarquine thus

Did softly presse the Rushes, ere he waken'd
The Chastitie he wounded.

Cytherea,

How bravely thou becom'st thy Bed; fresh Lilly,
And whiter then the Sheetes: that I might touch,
But kisse, one kisse. Rubies unparagon'd,

20

How deerely they doo't: 'Tis her breathing that
Perfumes the Chamber thus: the Flame o' th' Taper
Bowes toward her, and would under-peepe her lids.
To see th'inclosed Lights, now Canopied
Under these windowes, White and Azure lac'd
With Blew of Heavens owne tinct. But my designe.
To note the Chamber, I will write all downe, 30
Such, and such pictures: There the window, such
Th'adornement of her Bed; the Arras, Figures,
Why such, and such: and the Contents o' th' Story.
Ah, but some naturall notes about her Body,
Above ten thousand meaner Moveables
Would testifie, t'enrich mine Inventorie.

O sleepe, thou Ape of death, lye dull upon her,
And be her Sense but as a Monument,
Thus in a Chappell lying. Come off, come off;
[Taking off her bracelet.]

40

As slippery as the Gordian-knot was hard.
'Tis mine, and this will witnesse outwardly,
As strongly as the Conscience do's within:
To'th'madding of her Lord. On her left brest
A mole Cinque-spotted: Like the Crimson drops
I'th' bottome of a Cowslippe. Heere's a Voucher,
Stronger then ever Law could make; this Secret
Will force him thinke I have pick'd the lock, and t'ane

The treasure of her Honour. No more: to what end?
Why should I write this downe, that's riveted, 49
Screw'd to my memorie. She hath bin reading late,
The Tale of Tereus, heere the leaffe's turn'd downe
Where Philomele gave up. I have enough,
To'th'Truncke againe, and shut the spring of it.
Swift, swift, you Dragons of the night, that dawning
May beare the Ravens eye: I lodge in feare,
Though this a heavenly Angell: hell is heere.

One, two, three: time, time. [Goes into the trunk.

Clocke strikes

Exit.

The scene closes.]

Scena Tertia.

[An ante-chamber adjoining Imogen's apartments.]

Enter Clotten, and Lords.

1. [Lord] Your Lordship is the most patient man in losse, the most coldest that ever turn'd up Ace. Clot. It would make any man cold to loose.

1. [Lord] But not every man patient after the noble temper of your Lordship; You are most hot, and furious when you winne.

[Clo.] Winning will put any man into courage: if I could get this foolish Imogen, I should have Gold enought it's al- | most morning, is't not?

1 [Lord] Day, my Lord.

I I

Clot. I would this Musicke would come: I am advised to give her Musicke a mornings, they say it will peneEnter Musitians.

trate.

Come on, tune: If you can penetrate her with your fingering, so: wee'l try with tongue too: if none will do, let 55. beare: bare-STEEVENS.

14. a: o'-THEOBALD.

her remaine: but Ile never give o're. First, a very excellent good conceyted thing; after a wonderful sweet aire, with admirable rich words to it, and then let her consider.

SONG.

Hearke, bearke, the Larke at Heavens gate sings, and Phabus gins arise,

His Steeds to water at those Springs

on chalic' d Flowres that lyes:

21

And winking Mary-buds begin to ope their Golden eyes With every thing that pretty is, my Lady sweet arise:

Arise, arise.

29

[Clo.] So, get you gone: if this pen trate, I will consider your Musicke the better: if it do not, it is a voyce in her eares which Horse-haires, and Calves-guts, nor unpaved Eunuch to boot, can never amed. [Exeunt Musicians.]

the voyce of

Enter Cymbaline, and Queene.

2 [Lord] Heere comes the King.

Clot. I am glad I was up so late, for that's the reason I was up so earely: he cannot choose but take this Service I have done, fatherly. Good morrow to your Majesty, and to my gracious Mother. 39

Cym. Attend you here the doore of our stern daughter Will she not forth?

Clot. I have assayl'd her with Musickes, but she vouchsafes no notice.

Cym. The Exile of her Minion is too new,

27-8. 4 11. ending begin, eyes, is, arise-POPE.

30. pen trate: penetrate-2-4F.

33. amed: amend-2-4F.

42. Musickes: music (musick)-Hanmer.

31. voyce: vice-RowE.

She hath not yet forgot him, some more time
Must weare the print of his remembrance on't,
And then she's yours.

Qu. You are most bound to' th' King,
Who let's go by no vantages, that may
Preferre you to his daughter: Frame your selfe
To orderly solicity, and be friended
With aptnesse of the season: make denials
Encrease your Services: so seeme, as if
You were inspir'd to do those duties which
You tender to her: that you in all obey her,
Save when command to your dismission tends,
And therein you are senselesse.

Clot. Senselesse? Not so.

[Enter a Messenger.]

50

Mes. So like you (Sir) Ambassadors from Rome; The one is Caius Lucius.

Cym. A worthy Fellow,

Albeit he comes on angry purpose now;

But that's no fault of his: we must receyve him

According to the Honor of his Sender,

60

And towards himselfe, his goodnesse fore-spent on us
We must extend our notice: Our deere Sonne,

When you
have given good morning to your Mistris,
Attend the Queene, and us, we shall have neede
T'employ you towards this Romane.

Come our Queene.

69

Exeunt [all but Cloten].

Clot. If she be up, Ile speake with her: if not

Let her lye still, and dreame: [Knocks.] by your leave

hoa,

I know her women are about her: what

46. on't: out-Rowe.

69-70. 1 1.-RowE.

51. solicity: soliciting-2COLLIER.

If I do line1 one of their hands, 'tis Gold

Which buyes admittance (oft it doth) yea, and makes Diana's Rangers false themselves, yeeld up

Their Deere to' th'stand o'th'Stealer: and 'tis Gold Which makes the True-man kill'd, and saves the Theefe: Nay, sometime hangs both Theefe, and True-man: what Can it not do, and undoo? I will make 80

One of her women Lawyer to me, for 1 fill with gold I yet not understand the case my selfe.

By your leave.

Knockes.

Enter a Lady.

La. Who's there that knockes?

Clot. A Gentleman.

La. No more.

Clot. Yes, and a Gentlewomans Sonne.

La. That's more

Then some whose Taylors are as deere as yours, 90 Can justly boast of: what's your Lordships pleasure? Clot. Your Ladies person, is she ready?

La. I, to keepe her Chamber.

Clot. There is Gold for you,

Sell me your good report.

La. How, my good name? or to report of you What I shall thinke is good. The Princesse.

Clot. Good morrow fairest, Sister your sweet hand. Imo. Good morrow Sir, you lay out too much paines

For purchasing but trouble: the thankes I give,

Is telling you that I am poore of thankes,
And scarse can spare them.

92-3. new 1. at To-HANMER.