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So, get you gone ---- if this penetrate, I will consider your musick the better: if it do not, it is a vice in her ears; which horse-hairs, and cats-guts, nor the voice of unpav'd eunuch to boot, can never amend.

Enter Queen and Cymbeline. 2 Lord. Here comes the King.

Clot. I am glad I was up so late, for that's the reason I was up so early: he cannot chuse but take this service I have done, fatherly. Good-morrow to your majesty, and to my gracious mother.

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

Clot. I have affaild her with musicks, 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 th' King,
Who lets go by no vantages, that may
Prefer you to his daughter. Frame your

To orderly solicits; and befriended
With aptness of the season, make denials


services ; so seem, as if
You are 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.
Clot. Senseless? not so.

Enter a Mesenger.
Mes. So like you, Sir, ambassadors from Rome;
The one is Caius Lucius.

Cym. A worthy fellow,
Albeit he comes on angry purpose now;


'tis gold

But that's no fault of his : we must receive him
According to the honour of his sender ;
And towards himself, his goodness fore-spent on
We must extend our notice: our dear son,
When you have giv’n good-morning to your mistress,
Attend the Queen and us; we shall have need
T'employ you towards this Roman. Come, our Queen.


Clot. If she be up, I'll speak with her; if not,
Let her lye still, and dream. By your leave ho!
I know her women are about her ---- what
If I do line one of their hands ?
Which buy admittance, oft it doth, yea makes
Diana's rangers false themselves, and yield
Their deer to th' stand o’th' stealer : and 'tis gold
Which makes the true man kill'd, and saves the thief;
Nay, sometimes hangs both thief and true-man: what
Can it not do, and undo? I will make
One of her wonien lawyer to me, for
I yet not understand the case my self.
By your leave.

Enter a Lady.
Lady. Who's there that knocks?
Clot. A gentleman.
Lady. No more?
Clot. Yes, and a gentlewoman's son.

Lady. That's more
Than some whose tailors are as dear as yours,
Can justly boast of: what's your lordship’s pleasure ?

Clot. Your lady's person, is she ready?
Lady. Ay, to keep her chamber.


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Clot. There is gold for you, fell me your good report.

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

Enter Imogen.
Clot. 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.

Clot. Still I swear I love you.

Imo. If you but said so, 'twere as deep with me: If

you swear ftill, your recompence is still That I regard it not.

Clot. This is no answer.

Imo. But that you shall not say I yield, being silent,
I would not speak. I pray you spare me, faith
I shall unfold equal discourtesie
To your best kindness: one of your great knowing
Should learn, being taught, forbearance.

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

Imo. Fools are not mad folks.
Clot. 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: and learn now for all,
That I who know my heart, do here pronounce

th' very truth of it, I care not for you :
And am so near the lack of charity
T'accuse my self, I hate you: which I had rather

Ey th


You felt, than make my boast.

Clot. 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’th 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-figurd knot;
Yet you are curb'd from that enlargement, by
The consequence o’th crown, and must not foil
The precious note of it with a base slave,
A hilding for a livery, a squire's cloth,
A pantler; not so eminent.

Imo. Prophane 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 dignify'd enough,
Ev'n to the point of envy, if 'twere made
Comparative for your virtues to be stild

The under hangman of his realm; and hated
For being preferr'd so well.

Clot. The south-fog rot him!

Imo. He never can meet more mischance, than come
To be but nam’d of thee. His meanest

His meanest garment
That ever hath but clipt his body,'s dearer
In my respect, than all the hairs above thee,
Were they all made such men. How now, Pifanio ?

Enter Pisanio.
Clot. His garment ? now the devil.
Imo. To Dorothy, my woman, hye thee presently.


my woman

Clot. His garment?

Imo. I am sprighted with a fool,
Frighted, and angred worse ---- go

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 in Europe. I do think
I saw't this morning; confident I am,
Last night 'twas on my arm; I kissed it.
I hope it be not gone, to tell my

lord That I kiss ought but him.

Pif. 'Twill not be lost.
Imo. I hope so; go and search.
Clot. You have abused me ---- his meanest garment ?

Imo. Ay, I said so, Sir,
If you will make’t an action, call witness to’t.
Clot. I will inform


Imo. Your mother too;
She's my good lady; and will conceive, I hope,
But the worst of me. So I leave you, Sir,
To th' worst of discontent.

Clot. I'll be revengd ;
His meanest garment ?


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Enter Posthumus, and Philario.
FAR ir not, Sir; I would I were so sure

To win the king, as I am bold her honour
Will remain hers.


F to win the king, as I am bold her honour

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