SCENE V. A Room in CYMBELINE's Palace. Enter CYMBELINE, Queen, CLOTEN, LUCIUS, and 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. Cym. Our subjects, sir, Will not endure his yoke; and for ourself Luc. So, sir, I desire of you A conduct over land, to Milford-Haven.- Cym. My lords, you are appointed for that office; So, farewell, noble Lucius. Luc. Your hand, my lord. Clo. Receive it friendly: but from this time forth 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 Will soon be drawn to head, from whence he moves Queen. 'Tis not sleepy business; But must be look'd to speedily, and strongly. A thing more made of malice, than of duty: Queen. Royal sir, [Exit an Attendant. Since the exile of Posthumus, most retir'd Re-enter an Attendant: Cym. Where is she, sir? How Her chambers are all lock'd; and there's no answer She should that duty leave unpaid to you, She wish'd me to make known; but our great court Cym. Her doors lock'd? Not seen of late? Grant, heavens, that which I fear, Queen. Son, I say, follow the king. [Exit. Člo. That man of her's, 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!- Where is she gone? Haply, despair hath seiz'd her; To death, or to dishonour; and my end Can make good use of either: She being down, How now, my son? Re-enter CLOTEN. Clo. 'Tis certain she is fled: Go in, and cheer the king; he rages; none Queen. All the better: May This night forestall him of the coming day! [Exit. Clo. I love, and hate her: for she's fair and royal; And that she hath all courtly parts more exquisite The best she hath, and she, of all compounded, The low Posthúmus, slanders so her judgment, To be reveng'd upon her. For, when fools Enter PISANIO. Shall Who is here? what are you packing, sirrah? Come hither: Ah, you precious pandar! Villain, Where is thy lady? In a word; or else Thou art straightway with the fiends. Pis. O, good my lord! Clo. Where is thy lady? or, by Jupiter I will not ask again. Close villain, I'll have this secret from thy heart, or rip Thy heart to find it. Is she with Posthumus? From whose so many weights of baseness cannot Pis. Alas, my lord, How can she be with him? When was she miss'd? Clo. Where is she, sir? Come nearer; No further halting: satisfy me home, Pis. O, my all-worthy lord! Clo. All-worthy villain! Discover where thy mistress is, at once, At the next word,-No more of worthy lord,— Thy condemnation and thy death. Pis. Then, sir, This paper is the history of my knowledge [Presenting a letter: Clo. Let's see't :-I will pursue her [2] She has all courtly parts, says he, more exquisite than any lady, than all ladies, than all womankind, JOHNSON. Even to Augustus' throne. Pis. Or this, or perish. She's far enough; and what he learns by this, Clo. Humph! Pis.I'll write to my lord she's dead. O Imogen, Aside. Safe may'st thou wander, safe return again! Clo. Sirrah, is this letter true ? Pis. Sir, as I think. Clo. It is Posthumus' hand; I know't.-Sirrah, if thou wouldst not be a villain, but do me true service; undergo those employments, wherein I should have cause to use thee, with a serious industry,—that is, what villainy soe'er I bid thee do, to perform it, directly and truly,—I would think thee an honest man; thou shouldest neither want my means for thy relief, nor my voice for thy_preferment. Pis. Well, my good lord. Clo. Wilt thou serve me? For since patiently and constantly thou hast stuck to the bare fortune of that beggar Posthumus, thou canst not in the course of gratitude but be a diligent follower of mine. Wilt thou serve me? Pis. Sir, I will. Clo. Give me thy hand, here's my purse. Hast any of thy late master's garments in thy possession? Pis. I have, my lord, at my lodging, the same suit he wore when he took leave of my lady and mistress. Clo. The first service thou dost me, fetch that suit hither: let it be thy first service; go. Pis. I shall, my lord. [Exit. Clo. Meet thee at Milford-Haven :-I forgot to ask him one thing; I'll remember't anon:-Even there thou villain, Posthumus, will I kill thee.—I would, these garments were come. She said upon a time, (the bitterness of it I now belch from my heart,) that she held the very garment of Posthumus in more respect than my noble and natural person, together with the adornment of my qualities. With that suit upon my back, will I ravish her: First kill him, and in her eyes; there shall she see my valour, which will then be a torment to her contempt. He on the ground, my speech of insultment ended on his dead body,—and when my lust hath dined, (which, as I say, to vex her, I will execute in the clothes that she so praised,) to the court I'll knock her back, foot her home again. She hath despised me rejoicingly, and I'll be merry in my revenge.' Re-enter PISANIO, with the Clothes. -Be those the garments? Pis. Ay, my noble lord: Clo. How long is't since she went to Milford-Haven? Pis. She can scarce be there yet. Clo. Bring this apparel to my chamber; that is the second thing that I have commanded thee: the third is, that thou shall be a voluntary mute to my design. Be but duteous, and true preferment shall tender itself to thee. My revenge is now at Milford; 'Would I had wings to follow it!-Come, and be true. [Exit. Pis. Thou bidd'st me to my loss: for, true to thee, Were to prove false, which I will never be, To him that is most true.-To Milford go, And find not her whom thou pursu'st. Flow, flow, You heavenly blessings, on her! This fool's speed SCENE VI. [Exit. Before the Cave of BELARIUS. Enter IMOGEN, in Boy's Clothes. Imo. I see, a man's life is a tedious one: I have tir'd myself; and for two nights together Have made the ground my bed. I should be sick, When from the mountain-top Pisanio show'd thee, Where they should be reliev'd. Two beggars told me, A punishment, or trial? Yes; no wonder, When rich ones scarce tell true: To lapse in fulness Is worse in kings, than beggars.-My dear lord! [3] Is sorer,-is a greater or heavier crime. JOHNSON. |