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Your labourfome and dainty trims, wherein
You made great Juno angry.

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
That answer to them. Would you in their ferving,
And with what imitation you can borrow

From youth of fuch a season, 'fore noble Lucius
Present your felf, defire his fervice, (36) tell him
Wherein you're happy; (which will make him fo,
If that his head have ear in mufick ;) doubtless,
With joy he will embrace you; for he's honourable,
And, doubling That, moft 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.

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Wherein you're happy, which will make him know,
If that his Head have ear in Mufick, doubtless

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.

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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 mifs'd, I be fufpected of

Your carriage from the Court. My noble Miftrefs,
Here is a box; I had it from the Queen,
What's in't is precious: if you're fick at fea,
Or ftomach-qualm'd at land, a dram of this
Will drive away diftemper To fome fhade,
And fit you to your manhood; may the Gods
Direct you to the best!

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,
And am right forry, that I must report ye

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
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. 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,
Hath made us forward. But, my gentle Queen,
Where is our Daughter? She 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. [Exit a Servant.
Queen. Royal Sir,

Since the Exile of Pofthumus, most retir'd
Hath her life been; the cure whereof, my Lord,
'Tis time must do. Befeech your Majesty,
Forbear fharp speeches to her. She's a Lady
So tender of rebukes, that words are ftrokes,
And ftrokes death to her.

Re-enter the Servant,

Cym. Where is the, Sir? how
Can her contempt be anfwer'd?
Serv. Please you, Sir,

Her chambers are all lock'd, and there's no answer
That will be given to th' loudeft noise we make.
Queen. My Lord, when laft I went to vifit her,
She pray'd me to excufe her keeping close;
Whereto constrain'd by her infirmity,
She fhould that duty leave unpaid to you,
Which daily fhe was bound to proffer; this

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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
Proceed by fwallowing That; for he believes,
It is a thing moft precious. But for her,

Where is the gone? haply, defpair hath feiz'd her;
Or wing'd with fervor of her love, fhe's flown
To her defir'd Pofthumus; gone the is

To death, or to dishonours and my End
Can make good ufe of either. She being down,
I have the placing of the British Crown.

Re-enter Cloten.

How now, my Son?

Clot. 'Tis certain, fhe is fled.

Go in and cheer the King, he rages, none
Dare come about him.

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?
Come hither; ah! you precious pandar, villain,
Where is thy lady? in a word, or elfe

Thou'rt ftraightway with the fiends.

ידי

Pif. Oh, my good Lord!

[Drawing his Sword.

Clot. Where is thy Lady? or, by Jupiter,
I will not ask again. Clofe villain,

I'll have this fecret from thy heart, or rip
Thy heart to find it. Is the with Pofthumus?
From whose fo many weights of baseness, cannot
A dram of worth be drawn.

Pif. Alas, my Lord,

How can the be with him? when was fhe miss'd?
He is in Rome.

Clot. Where is the, Sir? come nearer;
No farther halting; fatisfie me home,
What is become of her.

Pif. Oh, my all-worthy Lord!
Clot. All-worthy villain!

Discover where thy Mistress is, at once,
At the next word; no more of worthy Lord.
Speak, or thy filence on the instant is
Thy condemnation and thy death.

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!
Clot. Sirrah, is this letter true?

Pif. Sir, as I think.

afide.

Clot.

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