Pif. Good Madam, hear me
Imo.True honeft Men being heard, like false Æneas,
Were in his time thought falfe: and Synon's weeping
Did scandal many a holy Tear; took pity
From most true Wretchednefs. So thou Pofthumus,
Wilt lay the leven to all proper Men;
Goodly, and Gallant, fhall be False and Perjur'd,
From thy great fail: Come, Fellow, be thou honeft,
Do thou thy Mafter's bidding. When thou feeft him,
A little witness my Obedience. Look,
I draw the Sword my self, take it, and hit
The innocent Manfion 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 Caufe:
But now thou feem'ft a Coward.
Pif. Hence, vile Inftrument,
Thou shall not damn my Hand.
Imo. Why, I muft die,
And if I do not by thy Hand, thou art
No Servant of thy Mafter's.
There is a Prohibition fo divine
That cravens my weak Hand: Come, here's my Heart-
Something's afore't----Soft, foft, we'll no defence
Obedient as the Scabbard. What is here,
The Scriptures of the Loyal Leonatus,
All turn'd to Herefie? Away, away,
[Pulling his Letter out of her Bofom.
Corrupters of my Faith, you shall no more
Be Stomachers to my Heart: Thus may poor Fools
Believe falfe Teachers: Though those that are betray'd
Do feel the Treafon fharply, yet the Traitor
Stands in worfe cafe of Woe. And thou Pofthumus,
That didft fet up my Difobedience 'gainst the King
My Father, and mad'ft me put into contempt the Suits
Of Princely Fellows; fhalt hereafter find
It is no act of common paffage, but
A ftrain of Rarenefs: And I grieve my self,
To think, when thou shalt be difedg'd by her,
That now thou tireft on, how thy Memory
Will then be pang'd by me.. Prethee dispatch,
The Lamb entreats the Butcher. Where's the Knife?..
Thou art too flow to do thy Mafter's bidding,
When I defire it too.
Since I receiv'd Command to do this Bufinefs,
I have not flept one wink.
Imo. Do't, and to bed then.
Pif. I'll break mine Eye-balls firft.
Imo. Wherefore then
Didft 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 abfent; whereunto I never
Purpofe return? why haft thou gone fo far
To be unbent? when thou haft ta'en thy ftand,
Th' elected Deer before thee?
Pif. But to win time
To lofe fo bad employment, in the which
I have confider'd of a Courfe; good Lady,
Hear me with Patience.
Imo. Talk thy Tongue weary, fpeak;
I have heard I am a Strumpet, and mine ear
Therein falfe ftrook, can take no greater Wound
Nor tent, to bottom that. But speak.
I thought you would not back again.
Imo. Most like,
Bringing me here to kill me.
Pif. Not fo neither;
But if I were as wife, as honeft, then
My purpofe would prove well; it cannot be,
But that my Mafter is abus'd, fome Villain,
Ay, and fingular in his Art, hath done you
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 Sign of it. For 'tis Commanded
I fhould do fo; you fhall be mifs'd at Court,
And that will well confirm it.
Imo. Why, good Fellow;
What fhall 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,
That Cloten; whofe Love-fuit hath been to me
As fearful as a Siege.
Pif. If not at Court,
Then not in Britain must you bide.
Imo. Where then?
Hath Britain all the Sun that fhines? Day? Night?
Are they not but in Britain? I'th' World's Volume
Our Britain feems as of it, but not in't;
In a great Pool a Swan's Neft, prethee think
There's Livers out of Britain.
Pif. I am moft glad
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 Difguife
That which t'appear it self, must not yet be,
But by felf-danger, you fhould tread a Courfe
Pretty, and full of view; yea, happily, near
The Refidence of Pofthumus; fo nigh, at leaft,
That though his Action were not visible, yet
Report fhould render him hourly to your Ear,
As truly as he moves.
Ime. Oh for fuch means,
Though Peril to my Modefty, not Death on't,
I would adventure.
Pif. Well then, there's the Point;
You must forget to be a Woman, change
Command into Obedience. Fear and Nicenefs,
The Handmaids of all Women, or more truly
Woman it's pretty felf, into a waggifh Courage,
Ready in Gybes, quick-anfwer'd, fawcy, and
As quarrellous as the Weazel: Nay, you must
Forget that rareft Treafure of your Cheek,
Expofing it (but oh the harder Heart,
Alack no remedy) to the 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, Hofe, all
That anfwer to them. Would you in their ferving,
And with what imitation you can borrow
From Youth of fuch a Seafon, 'fore Noble Lucius
Prefent your felf, defire his Service; tell him
Wherein you're happy, which will make him know,
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 fupplyment.
Ime. Thou art all the Comfort
The Gods will diet me with. Prethee away.
There's more to be confider'd; but we'll even
All that good time will give us. This attempt
I am Soldier too, and will abide it with
A Prince's Courage. Away, I prethee.
Pif. Well, Madam, we must take a fhort farewel,
Left being mifs'd, I be fufpected 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 fick at Sea,
Or Stomach qualm'd at Land, a dram of this
Will drive away Diftemper. To fome shade,
And fit you to your Manhood; may the Gods
Direct you to the best.
Imo. Amen: I thank thee.
SCENE III. The Palace.
Enter Cymbeline, Queen, Cloten, Lucius, and Lords.
Cym. Thus far, and fo farewel.
Luc. Thanks, Royal Sir;
My Emperor hath wrote, I muft from hence,
And am right forry, that I must report ye
My Master's Enemy.
Cym. Our Subjects, Sir,
Will not endure his Yoak; and for our felf
To fhew lefs Soveraignty than they, muft needs
Appear un-King like.
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 ómit:
So farewel, noble Lucius.
Luc. Your Hand, my Lord.
Clot. Receive it friendly; but from this time forth I wear it as your Enemy.
Is yet to name the Winner. Fare you well.
Cym. Leave not the worthy Lucius, good my Lords, Till he have croft Severn. Happinefs. [Exit Lucius, &c. Queen. He goes hence frowning; but it honours us, That we have given him Cause.
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 Britain.
Queen. 'Tis not fleepy Bufinefs,
But must be look'd to fpeedily, and ftrongly.
Cym. Our expectation that it should 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 have noted it. Call her before us, for
We have been too light in fufferance.
Since the Exile of Pofthumus, most retir'd
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