Pif. I'll break mine eye-balls first.

Imo. Ah wherefore then

Didst undertake it? why haft thou abus'd
So many miles, with a pretence? this place?
Mine action? and thine own? our horfes labour?
The time inviting thee? the perturb'd court
For my being absent? whereunto I never
Purpose return. Why haft thou gone so far
To be unbent? when thou haft ta'en thy stand,
Th' elected deer before thee?

Pif. But to win time

To lose so bad employment, in the which
I have confider'd of a courfe; good lady,
Hear me with patience.

Imo. Talk thy tongue weary, speak.
I've heard I am a ftrumpet, and mine ear
(Therein false struck) can take no greater wound,
Nor tent to bottom that. But speak.

Pif. Then, madam,

I thought you would not back again.

Imo. Moft like

Bringing me here to kill me.

Pif. Not fo neither;

:

But if I were as wife as honeft, then
My purpose would prove well; it cannot be
But that my master is abus'd, some villain
And fingular in his art, hath done you both
This curfed injury.

Imo. Some Roman curtezan?

Pif. No, on my life.

I'll give him notice you are dead, and send him
Some bloody fign of it: for 'tis commanded

I fhould do fo.

You fhall 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?

Pif. If you'll back to th' court --

Imo. No court, no father; nor no more ado With that harsh, noble, fimple nothing, Cloten: Whofe love-fuit hath been to me

As fearful as a fiege.

Pif. If not at court,

Then not in Britain must you bide.

Imo. Where then?

Hath Britain all the fun that fhines? Day? night?
Are they not but in Britain? i'th' world's volume
Our Britain seems as of it, but not in it;

In a great pool a swan's neft.
There's living out of Britain.

Pif. I'm most glad

Pr'ythee think

You think of other place: th' Ambaffador,
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 t'appear it self, must not yet be,
But by felf-danger; you fhould tread a course
Pretty, and full of view; yea haply near
The refidence of Pofthumus; fo nigh, at least,
That though his action were not vifible,
Report should render him hourly to your ear,
As truly as he moves.

Imo. Oh! for fuch means,

(Though peril to my modefty, not death on't,) I would adventure.

Pif. 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 waggish courage, Ready in gybes, quick-anfwer'd, fawcy, and 'As quarrellous as the weazel: nay, you must • Forget that rareft treasure of your cheek, Expofing it (but oh the harder heart,

Alack, no remedy) to th❜ greedy touch < Of common-kiffing Titan; and forget

• Your labourfome and dainty trims, wherein
• You made great Juno angry.
Imo. Nay, be brief:

I fee into thy end, and am almost

A man already.

Pif. First, make your felf but like one.

Fore-thinking this, I have already fit,

('Tis in my cloak-bag) doublet, hat, hose, all
That answer to them. Would you in their serving,
And with what imitation you can borrow
From youth of such a season, before Lucius
Present your self, defire his fervice; tell him
Wherein you're happy, which will make him know,
If that his head have ear in musick, doubtless
With joy he will embrace you; for he's honourable,
And doubling that, most holy. Your means abroad;
You have me rich, and I will never fail.
Beginning, nor supply.

Imo. Thou'rt all the comfort

The gods will diet me with. Pr'ythee away.
There's more to be confider'd; but we'll even
All that good time will give us.

This attempt

I'm

I'm foldier to, and will abide it with

A prince's courage. Away, I pr'ythee.

Pif. Well, madam, we must take a fhort farewel.
Left 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're fick at sea,
Or stomach-qualm'd at land, à dram of this
Will drive away diftemper to some shade,
And fit you to your manhood; may the gods
Direct you to the best!

Imo. Amen: I thank thee.

SCENE V.

The Palace of Cymbeline.

[Exeunt.

Enter Cymbeline, Queen, Cloten, Lucius, and Lords.

Cym. c. Thanks, royal Sir.
HUS far, and fo farewel.
TH

My Emperor hath wrote; I muft from hence,

And am right forry, that I must report ye

My master's enemy.

Cym. Our fubjects, Sir,

Will not endure his yoak; and for our self

To fhew lefs foveraignty then they, must needs
Appear un-kinglike.

Luc. So, Sir: I defire of you

A conduct over land, to Milford-Haven.

Madam, all joy befal your grace; and you.

Cym. My lords, you are appointed for that office;

The due of honour in no point omit:

So farewel, noble Lucius.

Luc.

Luc. Your hand, my lord.

Clot. Receive it friendly; but from this time forth.

I wear it as your enemy.

Luc. Th'event

Is yet to name the winner.

Fare you well.

Cym. Leave not the worthy Lucius, good my lords,

'Till he have croft the Severn. Happiness! [Exit Lucius, &c. Queen. He goes hence frowning; but it honours us

That we have giv'n him cause.

Clot. 'Tis all the better,

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 horfemen be in readiness;
The powers that he already hath in Gallia

Will foon be drawn to head, from whence he moves
His war for Britain.

Queen. 'Tis not fleepy business,

But must be look'd to speedily, and strongly.
Cym. Our expectation that it should be thus
Hath made us forward. But, my gentle queen,
Where is our daughter? fhe hath not appear'd
Before the Roman, nor to us hath tender'd
The duty of the day. She looks as like
A thing more made of malice, than of duty;
We've noted it. Call her before us, for
We've been too light in fufferance.
Queen. Royal Sir,

Since th' exile of Pofthumus, moft retir'd
Hath her life been; the cure whereof, my lord,
'Tis time must do. Befeech your majesty,

Forbear sharp fpeeches to her. She's a lady
So tender of rebukes, that words are strokes,
And strokes death to her.

Enter