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Nor tent to bottom that. But speak.
PISANIO. Then, madam,

I thought you would not back again.
IMOGEN. Most like-

Bringing me here to kill me.
PISANIO. 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.
IMOGEN. Some Roman courtezan!

PISANIO. 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.
IMOGEN. 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?
PISANIO. If you'll back to th' court-

IMOGEN. 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.

PISANIO. If not at court,
Then not in Britain must you bide.

IMOGEN. Where then?
Hath Britain all the sun that shines? Day, night,

Are they not but in Britain? I' th' world's volume
Our Britain seems as of it, but not in't;

In a great pool a swan's nest. Prithee think
There's livers out of Britain.

PISANIO. I am most glad
You think of other place. Th' ambassador,

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 itself must not yet be

But by self-danger, you should tread a course
Pretty and full of view; yea, happily, 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.

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

I would adventure.
PISANIO. 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 it pretty self- into 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, and forget

Your laboursome and dainty trims wherein
You made great Juno angry.

IMOGEN. Nay, be brief;
I see into thy end, and am almost

A man already.
PISANIO. 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're happy- which will 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, rich; and I will never fail
Beginning nor supplyment.

IMOGEN. Thou art all the comfort
The gods will diet me with. Prithee away!

There's more to be consider'd; but we'll even
All that good time will give us. This attempt

I am soldier to, and will abide it with
A prince's courage. Away, I prithee.

PISANIO. 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!
IMOGEN. Amen. I thank thee. Exeunt severally

SCENE V.
Britain. CYMBELINE'S palace

Enter CYMBELINE, QUEEN, CLOTEN, LUCIUS, and LORDS
CYMBELINE. Thus far; and so farewell.

LUCIUS. Thanks, royal sir.
My emperor hath wrote; I must from hence,

And am right sorry that I must report ye
My master's enemy.

CYMBELINE. Our subjects, sir,
Will not endure his yoke; and for ourself

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

LUCIUS. So, sir. I desire of you
A conduct overland to Milford Haven.

Madam, all joy befall your Grace, and you!
CYMBELINE. My lords, you are appointed for that office;

The due of honour in no point omit.
So farewell, noble Lucius.

LUCIUS. Your hand, my lord.
CLOTEN. Receive it friendly; but from this time forth

I wear it as your enemy.
LUCIUS. Sir, the event

Is yet to name the winner. Fare you well.
CYMBELINE. Leave not the worthy Lucius, good my lords,

Till he have cross'd the Severn. Happiness!
Exeunt LUCIUS and LORDS

QUEEN. He goes hence frowning; but it honours us
That we have given him cause.

CLOTEN. 'Tis all the better;
Your valiant Britons have their wishes in it.

CYMBELINE. 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 pow'rs that he already hath in Gallia

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

QUEEN. 'Tis not sleepy business,
But must be look'd to speedily and strongly.

CYMBELINE. Our expectation that it would 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 us like
A thing more made of malice than of duty;

We have noted it. Call her before us, for
We have been too slight in sufferance. Exit a MESSENGER

QUEEN. Royal sir,
Since the exile of Posthumus, most retir'd

Hath her life been; the cure whereof, my lord,
'Tis time must do. Beseech your Majesty,

Forbear sharp speeches to her; she's a lady
So tender of rebukes that words are strokes,

And strokes death to her.
Re-enter MESSENGER

CYMBELINE. Where is she, sir? How
Can her contempt be answer'd?

MESSENGER. Please you, sir,
Her chambers are all lock'd, and there's no answer

That will be given to th' loud 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.

CYMBELINE. Her doors lock'd?
Not seen of late? Grant, heavens, that which I fear

Prove false! Exit
QUEEN. Son, I say, follow the King.

CLOTEN. 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
To her desir'd Posthumus. Gone she is

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.
Re-enter CLOTEN

How now, my son?
CLOTEN. 'Tis certain she is fled.

Go in and cheer the King. He rages; none
Dare come about him.

QUEEN. All the better. May
This night forestall him of the coming day! Exit

CLOTEN. I love and hate her; for she's fair and royal,
And that she hath all courtly parts more exquisite

Than lady, ladies, woman. From every one
The best she hath, and she, of all compounded,

Outsells them all. I love her therefore; but
Disdaining me and throwing favours on

The low Posthumus 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

Shall-
Enter PISANIO

Who is here? What, are you packing, sirrah?
Come hither. Ah, you precious pander! Villain,

Where is thy lady? In a word, or else
Thou art straightway with the fiends.

PISANIO. O good my lord!


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