O, master! what a strange infection
Is fallen into thy ear? What false Italian
(As poisonous-tongu'd, as handed,) hath prevail'd
On thy too ready hearing?-Disloyal? No:
She's punish'd for her truth; and undergoes,
More goddess-like than wife-like, such assaults
As would take in1 some virtue.-O, my master!
Thy mind to her is now as low, as were
Thy fortunes.-How! that I should murder her?
Upon the love, and truth, and vows, which I
Have made to thy command?-I, her?-her blood?||
If it be so to do good service, never
Let me be counted serviceable. How look I,
That I should seem to lack humanity,
So much as this fact comes to? Do't: the letter
[Reading.

That I have sent her, by her own command
Shall give thee opportunity :-O damn'd paper!
Black as the ink that's on thee! senseless bauble,
Art thou a feodary2 for this act, and look'st
So virgin-like without? Lo, here she comes.
Enter Imogen.

I am ignorant in what I am commanded.
Imo. How now, Pisanio?

Pis. Madam, here is a letter from my lord.
Imo. Who? thy lord? that is my lord? Leonatus?
O, learn'd indeed were that astronomer,
That knew the stars, as I his characters;
He'd lay the future open.-You good gods,
Let what is here contain'd relish of love,
Of my lord's health, of his content, yet not,
That we two are asunder, let that grieve him,-
(Some griefs are med'cinable;) that is one of them,
For it doth physic love;-of his content,
All but in that!--Good wax, thy leave:-Bless'd be
You bees, that make these locks of counsel! Lovers,
And men in dangerous bonds, pray not alike;
Though forfeiters you cast in prison, yet
You clasp young Cupid's tables.-Good news,
gods!
[Reads.
Justice, and
your father's wrath, should he take
me in his dominion, could not be so cruel to me,
as you, O the dearest of creatures, would not even
renew me with your eyes. Take notice, that I am
in Cambria, at Milford-Haven. What your own
love will, out of this, advise you, follow. So, he
wishes you all happiness, that remains loyal to his
vow, and your, increasing in love,

LEONATUS POSTHUMUS.
O, for a horse with wings!-Hear'st thou, Pisanio?
He is at Milford-Haven: Read, and tell me
How far 'tis thither. If one of mean affairs
May plod it in a week, why may not I
Glide thither in a day?-Then, true Pisanio
(Who long'st, like me, to see thy lord:

long'st,

who

O, let me 'bate, but not like me: yet long'st,-
But in a fainter kind:-O, not like me;

Why should excuse be born or ere begot?
We'll talk of that hereafter. Pr'ythee, speak,
How many score of miles may we well ride

'Twixt hour and hour?

Pis.
One score, 'twixt sun and sun,
Madam, 's enough for you; and too much too.
Imo. Why, one that rode to his execution, mar,
Could never go so slow: I have heard of riding
wagers,

Where horses have been nimbler than the sands
That run i'the clock's behalf:-But this is foolery :-
Go, bid my woman feign a sickness; say,
She'll home to her father: and provide me, presently
A riding-suit; no costlier than would fit
A franklin's4 housewife.

Pis.
Madam, you're best conside
Imo. I see before me, man, nor here, nor here,
Nor what ensues; but have a fog in them,
That I cannot look through. Away, I pr'ythee;
Do as I bid thee: There's no more to say;
Accessible is none but Milford way.

[Exeuni

SCENE III.-Wales. A mountainous country with a cave. Enter Belarius, Guiderius, and

Arviragus.

When you above perceive me like a crow,
That it is place which lessens, and sets off.
And you may then revolve what tales I have told
you,

Of courts, of princes, of the tricks in war:
This service is not service, so being done,
But being so allow'd: To apprehend thus,
Draws us a profit from all things we see:
And often, to our comfort, shall we find
The sharded6 beetle in a safer hold
Than is the full-wing'd eagle. O, this life
Is nobler, than attending for a check;
Richer, than doing nothing for a babe;
Prouder, than rustling in unpaid-for silk:
Such gain the cap of him, that makes them fine,
Yet keeps his book uncross'd: no life to ours.7
Gui. Out of your proof you speak we, poor
unfledg'd,

not

For mine's beyond beyond,) say, and speak thick,3|| Have never wing'd from view o'the nest; nor know
(Love's counsellor should fill the bores of hearing,
To the smothering of the sense,) how far it is
To this same blessed Milford: And, by the way,
Tell me how Wales was made so happy, as
To inherit such a haven: But, first of all,
How we may steal from hence; and, for the gap
That we shall make in time, from our hence-going,
And our return, to excuse :-but first, how get

hence:

What air's from home. Haply, this life is best,
If quiet life be best; sweeter to you,
That have a sharper known; well corresponding
With your stiff age; but, unto us, it is
A cell of ignorance; travelling abed;
A prison for a debtor, that not dares
To stride a limit.8

Arv.

What should we speak of,

When we are old as you? when we shall hear
The rain and wind beat dark December, how,
In this our pinching cave, shall we discourse
The freezing hours away? We have seen nothing:
We are beastly; subtle as the fox, for prey;
Like warlike as the wolf, for what we eat :
Dur valour is, to chace what flies; our cage
We make a quire, as doth the prison bird,
And sing our bondage freely.
Bel.

How you speak!
Did you but know the city's usuries,
And felt them knowingly: the art o'the court,
As hard to leave, as keep; whose top to climb
's certain falling, or so slippery, that

The fear's as bad as falling: the toil of the war,
A pain that only seems to seek out danger
'the name of faine, and honour; which dies i'the
search;

And hath as oft a slanderous epitaph,
As record of fair act; nay, many times,
Doth ill deserve by doing well; what's worse,
Must court'sy at the censure:-O, boys, this story||
The world may read in me: My body's mark'd
With Roman swords: and my report was once
First with the best of note: Cymbeline lov'd me;
And when a soldier was the theme, my name
Was not far off: Then was I as a tree,
Whose boughs did bend with fruit: but in one night,
A storm, or robbery, call it what you will,
Shook down my mellow hangings, nay, my leaves,
And left me bare to weather.

Thou didst unjustly banish me: whereon,
At three, and two years old, I stole these babes;
Thinking to bar thee of succession, as
Thou reft'st me of my lands. Euriphile,
Thou wast their nurse; they took thee for their
mother,

And every day do honour to her grave:
Myself, Belarius, that am Morgan call'd,
They take for natural father. The game is up. [Ex.
SCENE IV.-Near Milford-Haven. Enter Pi-
sanio and Imogen.

Imo. Thou told'st me, when we came from horse,
the place

Was near at hand :-Ne'er long'd my mother so
To see me first, as I have now :-Pisanio! Man!
Where is Posthumus? What is in thy mind,
That makes thee stare thus? Wherefore breaks
that sigh

From the inward of thee? One, but painted thus,
Would be interpreted a thing perplex'd
Beyond self-explication: Put thyself
Into a haviour of less fear, ere wildness
Vanquish my staider senses. What's the matter?
Why tender'st thou that
paper to me, with
A look untender? If it be summer news,
Smile to't before: if winterly, thou need'st
But keep that countenance still.-My husband's
hand!

That drug-damn'd Italy hath out-craftied him,
And he's at some hard point.-Speak, man; thy
tongue

May take off some extremity, which to read
Would be even mortal to me.

Pis.

Please you, read; And you shall find me, wretched man, a thing The most disdain'd of fortune.

But that two villains, whose false oaths prevail'd
Before my perfect honour, swore to Cymbeline,
I was confederate with the Romans: so,
Follow'd my banishment; and, this twenty years,
This rock, and these demesnes, have been my world:ed the strumpet in my bed; the testimonies where-
Where I have liv'd at honest freedom; paid
More pious debts to heaven, than in all

The fore-end of my time.--But, up to the mountains;

Imo. [Reads.] Thy mistress, Pisanio, hath play

of lie bleeding in me. I speak not out of weak surmises; from proof as strong as my grief, and as certain as I expect my revenge. That part, thou, Pisanio, must act for me, if thy faith be not tainted with the breach of hers. Let thine own hands take away her life: I shall give thee opportunities at Milford-Haven: she hath my letter for the purpose: Where, if thou fear to strike, and to val-make me certain it is done, thou art the pander to [Exeunt Gui. and Arv.||her dishonour, and equally to me disloyal.

This is not hunters' language:-He, that strikes
The venison first, shall be the lord o'the feast;
To him the other two shall minister;
And we will fear no poison, which attends
In place of greater state. I'll meet you in the
leys

How hard it is, to hide the sparks of nature!
These boys know little, they are sons to the king;
Nor Cymbeline dreams that they are alive.
They think, they are mine: and, though train'd up
thus meanly

I'the cave, wherein they bow, their thoughts do hit
The roofs of palaces; and nature prompts them,
In simple and low things to prince it, much
Beyond the trick of others. This Polydore,
The heir of Cymbeline and Britain, whom
The king his father call'd Guiderius,--Jove!
When on my three-foot stool I sit, and tell
The warlike feats I have done, his spirits fly out
Into my story: say,-Thus mine enemy fell;
And thus I set my foot on his neck; even then
The princely blood flows in his cheek, he sweats,
Strains his young nerves, and puts himself in
pos-

ture

Pis. What shall I need to draw my sword? the

Pis. Alas, good lady!

That acts my words. The younger brother, Cadwal, Imo. I false? Thy conscience witness :-Iachimo,
(Once Arvirágus,) in as like a figure,
Thou didst accuse him of incontinency;
Strikes life into my speech, and shows much more Thou then look'dst like a villain; now, methinks,
His own conceiving. Hark! the game is rous'd!-Thy favour's good enough.-Some jay2 of Italy,
O Cymbeline! heaven, and my conscience, knows,

(1) For behaviour.

(2) Putta, in Italian, signifies both a jay and a whore.

mus,

Wilt lay the leaven on all proper men;
Goodly, and gallant, shall be false and perjur'd,
From thy great fail.-Come, fellow, be thou honest:
Do thou thy master's bidding: When thou see'st him,
A little witness my obedience: Look!
I draw the sword myself: take it; and hit
The innocent mansion of my love, my heart:
Fear not; 'tis empty of all things, but grief:
Thy master is not there; who was, indeed,
The riches of it: Do his bidding; strike.
Thou may'st be valiant in a better cause;
But now thou seem'st a coward.

Pis.
Hence, vile instrument!
Thou shalt not damn my hand.
Imo.

Why, I must die;
And if I do not by thy hand, thou art
No servant of thy master's: Against self-slaughter
There is a prohibition so divine,

That cravens2 my weak hand. Come, here's my
heart;

Something's afore't:-Soft, soft; we'll no defence;
Obedient as the scabbard.-What is here?
The scriptures of the loyal Leonatus,
All turned to heresy? Away, away,
Corrupters of my faith! you shall no more

Be stomachers to my heart! Thus may poor fools
Believe false teachers: Though those that are be-
tray'd

Do feel the treason sharply, yet the traitor
Stands in worse case of wo.

Not so,

neither :

But if I were as wise as honest, then
My purpose would prove well. It cannot be,
But that my master is abus'd:
Some villain, ay, and singular in his art,
Hath done you both this cursed injury.
Imo. Some Roman courtezan.

Pis.
No, on my life.
I'll give but notice you are dead, and send him
Some bloody sign of it; for 'tis commanded
I should do so: You shall 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 niy life what comfort, when I am
Dead to my husband?

Pis.
If you'll back to the court,-
Imo. No court, no father; nor no more ado
With that harsh, noble, simple, nothing:
That Cloten, whose love-suit hath been to me
|| As fearful as a siege.
If not at court,
Then not in Britain must you bide.
Imo.

Pis.

Where then?

Hath Britain all the sun that shines? Day, night,
Are they not but in Britain? I'the world's volume
Our Britain seems as of it, but not in it;
In a great pool, a swan's nest; Pr'ythee, think
There's livers out of Britain.

And thou, Posthúmus, thou that didst set up
My disobedience 'gainst the king my father,
And make me put into contempt the suits
Of princely fellows, shalt hereafter find
It is no act of common passage, but
A strain of rareness: and I grieve myself,
To think, when thou shalt be disedg'd by her
That now thou tir'st4 on, how thy memory
Will then be pang'd by me.-Pr'ythee, despatch:
The lamb entreats the butcher: Where's thy knife?I
Thou art too slow to do thy master's bidding,
When I desire it too.

Pis.
O gracious lady,
Since I receiv'd command to do this business,
I have not slept one wink.
Imo.
Do't, and to bed then.
Pis. I'll wake mine eye-balls blind first.
Imo.
Wherefore then
Didst undertake it? Why hast thou abus'd
So many miles, with a pretence? this place?
Mine action, and thine own? our horses' labour?
The time inviting thee? the perturb'd court,
For my being absent; whereunto I never
Purpose return? Why hast thou gone so far,
To be unbent, when thou hast ta'en thy stand,
The elected deer before thee?

(1) Likeness. (2) Cowards. (3) The writings.

Pis.
I am most glad
You think of other place. The embassador,
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, to appear itself, must not yet be,
But by self-danger; you should tread a course
Pretty, and full of view: yea, haply, near
The residence of Posthumus: so nigh, at least,
That though his actions were not visible, yet
Report should render him hourly to your ear,
As truly as he moves.

Imo.

O, for such means! Though peril to my modesty, not death on't, would adventure.

Pis.

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 a waggish courage;
Ready in gibes, quick-answer'd, saucy, and
As quarrelous as the weasel: nay, you must
| Forget that rarest treasure of
your cheek,
Exposing it (but, O, the harder heart!
Alack, no remedy!) to the greedy touch
Of common-kissing Titan ;5 and forget
Your laboursome and dainty trims, wherein
You made great Juno angry.

Imo.

Nay, be brief:
I see into thy end, and am almost
A man already.

(4) Feedest or preyest on. (5) The sub

Pis.

First, make yourself 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, 'fore noble Lucius
Present yourself, desire his service, tell him
Wherein you are happy1 (which you'll make him
know,

If that his head have ear in music,) doubtless,
With joy he will embrace you; for he's honourable,
And, doubling that, most holy. Your means abroad
You have me,2 rich; and I will never fail
Beginning, nor supplyment.
Imo.
Thou art all the comfort
The gods will diet me with. Pr'ythee, away:
There's more to be consider'd; but we'll even
All that good time will give us: This attempt
I'm soldier to,3 and will abide it with
A prince's courage. Away, I pr'ythee.

Pis. Well, madam, we must take a short farewell:
Lest, 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 are sick at sea,
Or stomach-qualm'd at land, a dram of this
Will drive away distemper.-To some shade,
And fit you to your manhood:-May the gods
Direct you to the best!
Imo.

Amen: I thank thee.
[Exeunt.
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

To show less sovereignty than they, must needs
Appear unkinglike.

Luc.

So, sir, I desire of you

A conduct over land, to Milford-Haven.

Madam, all joy befall your grace, and you!

Cym.

Re-enter an Attendant.

Where is she, sir? How
Please you, sir,

Can her contempt be answer'd?
Attend.
Her chambers are all lock'd; and there's no answer
That will be given to the loud'st of noise we make.
Queen. My lord, when last I went to visit her,
She pray'd me to excuse her keeping close
Whereto constrain'd by her infirmity,
She should that duty leave unpaid to you,
Which daily she was bound to proffer: this
She wish'd me to make known; but our great court
Made me to blame in memory.
Cym.
Her doors lock'd?
Not seen of late? Grant, heavens, that, which I fear,
Prove false!

[Exit.

Queen. Son, I say, follow the king.
Člo. That man of hers, 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!-
He hath a drug of mine: I pray, his absence
Proceed by swallowing that; for he believes
It is a thing most precious. But for her,

Where is she gone? Haply, despair hath seiz'd her;
Or, wing'd with fervour of her love, she's flown

Cym. My lords, you are appointed for that of To her desir'd Posthumus: Gone she is,

fice;

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
How it goes here. It fits us therefore, ripely,
Our chariots and our horsemen be in readiness:
The powers that he already hath in Gallia
Will soon be drawn to head, from whence he moves

(1) i. e. Wherein you are accomplished.
(2) As for your subsistence abroad, you may re-
ly on me.

To death, or to dishonour; and my end
Can make good use of either: She being down,
I have the placing of the British crown.

Clo. I love, and hate her: for she's fair and royal;
And that she hath all courtly parts more exquisite
Than lady, ladies, woman 4 from every one
The best she hath, and she, of all compounded,
Outsells them all: I love her therefore; But,
Disdaining ine, and throwing favours on
The low Posthúmus, slanders so her judgment,
That what's else rare, is chok'd; and, in that point,
I will conclude to hate her, nay, indeed,
To be reveng'd upon her. For, when fools

How can she be with him? When was she miss'd?

Clo. Bring this apparel to my chamber; that is Where is she, sir? Come nearer; third is, that thou shalt be a voluntary mute to my the second thing that I have commanded thee: the No further halting: satisfy me home, What is become of her?

Clo. It is Posthumus' hand; I know't. Sirrah, if thou would'st 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 villany 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?