a wonderful sweet air, with admirable rich words to it, and then let her consider.

SONG.

Hark! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,
And Phoebus 'gins arise,

His steeds to water at those springs
On chalic'd flowers that lies;

And winking Mary-buds begin
To ope their golden eyes;

With every thing that pretty bin:
My lady sweet, arise;
Arise, arise.

So, get you gone: If this penetrate, I will consider
your music the better :2 if it do not, it is a vice in
her
ears, which horse-hairs, and cats-guts, nor the
voice of unpaved eunuch to boot, can never amend.
[Exeunt Musicians.

Enter Cymbeline and Queen.

2 Lord. Here comes the king.

Clo. I am glad, I was up so late; for that's the reason I was up so early: He cannot choose but take this service I have done, fatherly.-Good mor row to your majesty, and to my gracious mother. Cym. Attend you here the door of our stern daughter?

Will she not forth?

Clo. I have assailed her with music, but she vouchsafes no notice.

Cym. The exile of her minion is too new; She hath not yet forgot him: some more time Must wear the print of his remembrance out, And then she's yours.

Queen. You are most bound to the king; Who lets go by no vantages, that may Prefer you to his daughter: Frame yourself To orderly solicits; and be friended

(1) Cups. (2) Will pay you more for it.

With aptness of the season: make denials
Increase your services: so seem, 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 senseless.

Clo.

Senseless? not so.

Enter a Messenger.

Mess. So like you, sir, embassadors 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 receive him According to the honour of his sender;

And towards himself his goodness forespent on us We must extend our notice.-Our dear son, When you have given good morning to your mis.

tress,

Attend the queen, and us; we shall have need To employ you towards this Roman.-Come, ou

queen.

[Exeunt Cym. Queen, Lords, and Mess. Clo. If she be up, I'll speak with her; if not, Let her lie still, and dream.-By your leave ho![Knocks

I know her women are about her; What
If I do line one of their hands? 'Tis gold
Which buys admittance; oft it doth; yea, and

makes

Diana's rangers false themselves, yield up

Their deer to the stand of the stealer; and 'tis gold Which makes the true man kill'd, and saves the

thief;

Nay, sometime, hangs both thief and true man: What

Can it not do, and undo? I will make

(1) With solicitations not only proper, but welltimed.

One of her women lawyer to me; for
I yet not understand the case myself.
By your leave.

Enter a Lady.

Lady. Who's there, that knocks?

Clo.

Lady.

[Knocks.

A gentleman.

No more?

That's more

Clo. Yes, and a gentlewoman's son.

Lady.

Than some, whose tailors are as dear as yours, Can justly boast of: What's your lordship's plea

sure?

Clo. Your lady's person: Is she ready?
Lady.

To keep her chamber.

Ay,

Clo. There's gold for you; sell me your good

report. Lady. How! my good name? or to report of you What I shall think is good?-The princess

Enter Imogen.

Clo. Good morrow, fairest sister: Your sweet hand.

Imo. Good morrow, sir: You lay out too much

pains For purchasing but trouble: the thanks I give, Is telling you that I am poor of thanks, And scarce can spare them.

Clo.

Still, I swear, I love you. Imo. If you but said so, 'twere as deep with me: If you swear still, your recompense is still

That I regard it not.

Clo.

This is no answer.

Imo. But that you shall not say I yield, being

silent,

I would not speak. I pray you, spare me : i'faith, I shall unfold equal discourtesy

Το your best kindness; one of your great knowing Should learn, being taught, forbearance.

Clo. To leave you in your madness, 'twere my sin: I will not.

Imo. Fools are not mad folks.

Clo.

Do you call me fool? Imo. As I am mad, I do : If you'll be patient, I'll no more be mad; That cures us both. I am much sorry, sir, You put me to forget a lady's manners, By being so verbal :1 and learn now, for all, That I, which know my heart, do here pronounce, By the very truth of it, I care not for you; And am so near the lack of charity

(To accuse myself,) I hate you: which I had rather You felt, than make't my boast.

Clo. You sin against Obedience, which you owe your father. For The contract you pretend with that base wretch, (One, bred of alms, and foster'd with cold dishes, With scraps o'the court,) it is no contract, none: And though it be allow'd in meaner parties, (Yet who, than he, more mean?) to knit their souls (On whom there is no more dependency But brats and beggary) in self-figur'd knot;2 Yet you are curb'd from that enlargement by The consequence o'the crown; and must not soil The precious note of it with a base slave, A hilding for a livery, a squire's cloth, A pantler, not so eminent. Imo. Profane fellow ! Wert thou the son of Jupiter, and no more, But what thou art, besides, thou wert too base To be his groom: thou wert dignified enough, Even to the point of envy, if 'twere made Comparative for your virtues, to be styl'd The under-hangman of his kingdom; and hated For being preferr'd so well.

(1) So verbose, so full of talk.

(2) In knots of their own tying.

(3) A low fellow, only fit to wear a livery.

Clo.

The south fog rot him! Imo. He never can meet more mischance, than

come

To be but nam'd of thee. His meanest garment,
That ever hath but clipp'd his body, is dearer,
In my respect, than all the hairs above thee,
Were they all made such men.-How now, Pisanio?
Enter Pisanio.

Clo. His garment? Now, the devil

Imo. To Dorothy my woman hie thee presently:Clo. His garment?

Imo.

I am sprighted! with a fool; Frighted, and anger'd worse :-Go, bid my woman Search for a jewel, that too casually

Hath left mine arm; it was thy master's: 'shrew me,
If I would lose it for a revenue

Of any king's in Europe. I do think,
I saw't this morning: confident I am,
Last night 'twas on mine arm; I kiss'd it:
I hope, it be not gone, to tell my lord
That I kiss aught but he.

Pis.

"Twill not be lost.

Ay; I said so, sir.

If you will make't an action, call witness to't.

Clo. I will inform your father.

Your mother too:

Imo. She's my good lady; and will conceive, I hope, But the worst of me. So I leave you, sir,

Clo.

To the worst of discontent.

[Exit

I'll be reveng'd:

[Erit

His meanest garment?-Well.

SCENE IV-Rome. An apartment in Philario's house. Enter Posthumus and Philario.

Post. Fear it not, sir: I would, I were so sure (1) Haunted.