Such and such pictures;-there the window:-such
The adornment of her bed;-the arras* figures,
Why, such and such:-and the contents o' the story,-
Ah, but some natural notes about her body,
Above ten thousand meaner moveables
Would testify to enrich mine inventory.
O sleep, thou ape of death, lie dull upon her!
And be her sense but as a monument,
Thus in a chapel lying!-come off, come off;←
[Taking off her bracelet.
As slippery as the Gordian knot was hard!
"Tis mine; and this will witness outwardly,
As strongly as the conscience does within,
To the madding of her lord. On her left breast
A mole cinque-spotted, like the crimson drops
I' the bottom of a cowslip: here's a voucher,
Stronger than ever law could make this secret
Will force him think I have pick'd the lock, and ta'en
The treasure of her honour. No more.-To what end?
Why should I write this down, that's rivetted,
Screw'd to my memory? She hath been reading late
The Tale of Tereus; here the leaf's turn'd down,
Where Philomel gave up :-I have enough:
To the trunk again, and shut the spring of it.
Swift, swift, you dragons of the night! that dawning
May bare the raven's eye: I lodge in fear;
Though this a heavenly angel, hell is here.
IMPATIENCE OF A WIFE TO MEET HER HUSBAND.
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; who long'st,-
O, let me bate,-but not like me :-yet long'st,-
But in a fainter kind;-O, not like me;
For mine's beyond beyond), say, and speak thick,*
(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;
Why should excuse be born or e'er begot?
We'll talk of that hereafter. Pr'ythee, speak,
How many score of miles may we well ride
"Twixt hour and hour?
One score, 'twixt sun and sun,
Madam, 's enough for you; and too much too.
Imo. Why, one that rode to his execution, man, 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
Madam, you're best consider.
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.
Crowd one word on another, as fast as possible.
Whose edge is sharper than the sword; whose tongue
Outvenoms all the worms of Nile: whose breath
Rides on the posting winds, and doth belie
All corners of the world: kings, queens, and states,
Maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave,
This viperous slander enters.
SCENE. Before the Cave of Belarius.
Enter Imogen, in Boy's Clothes.
Imo. I see a man's life is a tedious one:
I have tired myself; and for two nights together
Have made the ground my bed. I should be sick,
But that my resolution helps me.-Milford,
When from the mountain-top Pisanio show'd thee,
Thou wast within a ken: O Jove! I think,
Foundations fly the wretched: such, I mean,
Where they should be relieved. Two beggars told me,
I could not miss my way: will poor folks lie,
That have afflictions on them; knowing 'tis
A punishment or trial? Yes; no wonder,
When rich ones scarce tell true: to lapse in fulness
Is sorer, than to lie for need; and falsehood
Is worse in kings than beggars.-My dear lord!
Thou art one o' the false ones. Now I think on thee,
My hunger's gone: but even before, I was
At point to sink for food.-But what is this?
Here is a path to it: 'tis some savage hold:
I were best not call; I dare not call: yet famine,
Ere clean it o'erthrow nature, makes it valiant.
Plenty and peace breed cowards; hardness ever
Of hardiness is mother.
Gui. Fear no more the heat o' the sun,
Nor the furious winter's rages:
Thou thy worldly task hast done,
Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages;
Golden lads and girls all must,
As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.
Arv. Fear no more the frown o' the great,
Thoua rt past the tyrant's stroke,
Care no more to clothe and eat;
To thee the reed is as the oak:
The sceptre, learning, physic, must
All follow this, and come to dust.
Gui. Fear no more the lightning-flash,
Arv. Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone;
Gui. Fear not slander, censure * rash;
Arv. Thou hast finish'd joy and moan:
Both. All lovers young, all lovers must
Consign to thee, and come to dust.
Gui. No exorcisor harm thee!
Arv. Nor no witchcraft charm thee!
Gui. Ghost unlaid forbear thee!
Arv. Nothing ill come near thee!
Both. Quiet consummation have;
And renowned be thy grave.
Thou divine nature, how thyself thou blazon'st
In these two princely boys! They are as gentle
As zephyrs, blowing below the violet,
Not wagging his sweet head: and yet as rough,
Their royal blood enchafed, as the rudest wind,
That by the top doth take the mountain pine,
And make him stoop to the vale. "Tis wonderful,
That an invisible instinct should frame them,
To royalty unlearn'd; honour untaught;
Civility not seen from other; valour,
That wildly grows in them, but yields a crop
As if it had been sow'd.
† Seal the same contract.
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