Your labourfome and dainty trims, wherein Imo. Nay, be brief: I fee into thy end, and am almoft 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, hofe, all From youth of fuch a season, 'fore noble Lucius Imo. Thou'rt all the comfort The Gods will diet me with. Pr'ythee, away.. This attempt Wherein you're happy, which will make him know, With joy he will embrace you ;] Thus, all the Editions: But, furely, the Paflage is faulty both in the Text and Pointing. Which will make him know, what? What Connection has This with the Rest of the Sentence? Shakespeare can't be fufpected, certainly, of fo baid a Meaning as this; If you'll tell him wherein you are happy, That will make him know wherein you're happy: and yet This is the only Meaning, I think, the Words can carry, as they now ftand. I take the Poet's Senfe to be This. Pifanio tells Imogen, if She would difguife herself in the Habit of a Youth, present herself before Lucius the Roman General, offer her Service, and tell him wherein She was happy, i. e. what an excellent Talent She had in Singing; this would make him happy, if he had an Ear for Mufick, and he would gladly receive her. For, afterwards, Belarius and Arviragus, talking of Imogen, give this Description of her, whom they take for a Boy : Bel. This Youth, howe'er diftreft, feems to have had Good Ancestors. Arv. How Angel-like be fings! I reform'd the Text in the Appendix to my SHAKESPEARE Reftor'd, and Mr. Pope has thought fit to embrace my Correction in his last Edition. Dd 3 I'm I'm foldier to, and will abide it with Pif. Well, Madam, we must take a fhort farewel Your carriage from the Court. My noble Miftrefs, Imo. Amen: I thank thee. [Exeunt, feverally. SCENE changes to the Palace of Cymbeline. Enter Cymbeline, Queen, Cloten, Lucius, and Lords, Cym. HUS far, and fo farewel. Luc. Thanks, royal Sir. My Emperor hath wrote; I must from hence, My mafter's enemy. Cym. Our Subjects, Sir, Will not endure his yoak, and for our felf To fhew lefs Soveraignty than they, must needs 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. 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 Queen. He goes hence frowning; but it honours us, That we have giv'n him caufe. Clot. 'Tis all the better; Your valiant Britains 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 Britaine. Queen. 'Tis not fleepy business; But must be look'd to fpeedily, and ftrongly. Cym. Our expectation, that it fhould be thus, We've been too light in fufferance. [Exit a Servant. Since the Exile of Pofthumus, most retir'd Re-enter the Servant, Cym. Where is the, Sir? how Her chambers are all lock'd, and there's no answer Dd 4 She She wifh'd me to make known; but our great Court Made me to blame in mem❜ry. Cym. Her doors lock'd? Not feen of late? grant heav'ns, That, which I fear, Prove false! [Exit. Queen. Son, I fay, follow the King. Clot. That man of hers, Pifanio, her old fervant, I have not seen these two days. [Exit. Queen. Go, look after Pifanio, thou that ftand'ft fo for Pofthumus!· He hath a drug of mine; I pray, his abfence Where is the gone? haply, defpair hath feiz'd her; To death, or to dishonours and my End Re-enter Cloten. How now, my Son? Clot. 'Tis certain, fhe is fled. Go in and cheer the King, he rages, none Queen. All the better; may This night fore-ftall him of the coming day! [Exit Queen. Clot. I love, and hate her; - for fhe's fair and royal, And that the hath all courtly parts more exquifite Than lady, ladies, woman; from each one The beft the hath, and the of all compounded Out-fells them all: I love her therefore; but, Dildaining me, and throwing favours on The low Pofthumus, flanders fo her judgment, That what's elfe rare, is choak'd; and in that point I will conclude to hate her, nay, indeed, To be reveng'd upon her. For when fools Shall Enter Enter Pifanio. Who is here? what! are you packing, firrah? Thou'rt ftraightway with the fiends. ידי Pif. Oh, my good Lord! [Drawing his Sword. Clot. Where is thy Lady? or, by Jupiter, I'll have this fecret from thy heart, or rip Pif. Alas, my Lord, How can the be with him? when was fhe miss'd? Clot. Where is the, Sir? come nearer; Pif. Oh, my all-worthy Lord! Discover where thy Mistress is, at once, Pif. Then, Sir, This paper is the hiftory of my knowledge Touching her flight. Clot. Let's fee't; I will purfue her Even to Auguftus' throne. Pif. Or this, or perish. She's far enough; and what he learns by this, he learns by this, afide. May prove his travel, not her danger. Clot. Humh. Pif, I'll write to my Lord, the's dead. Oh, Imogen, Safe may'ft thou wander, fafe return again! Pif. Sir, as I think. afide. Clot. |