Pif. I was going, Sir,

To give him welcome.

Imo. Continues well my Lord

His health, 'beseech you?

Iach. Well, Madam.

Imo. Is he difpos'd to mirth? I hope, he is.

Iach. Exceeding pleafant; none a ftranger there So merry, and fo gamefome; he is call'd

The Britain Reveller.

Imo. When he was here,

He did incline to sadness, and oft times
Not knowing why.

Iach. I never faw him fad.

There is a Frenchman his companion, one,
An eminent Monfieur, that, it feems much loves
A Gallian girl at home, he furnaces

The thick fighs from him; whiles the jolly Briton,
Your Lord, I mean, laughs from 's free lungs, cries
Oh!

Can my fides hold, to think, that man, who knows
By history, report, or his own proof,

What woman is, yea, what she cannot chufe
But must be,

Will's free hours languifh for affured bondage?
Imo. Will my Lord fay fo?

Iach. Ay, Madam, with his eyes in flood with laughter.

It is a recreation to be by,

And hear him mock the Frenchman: but heav'n knows, Some men are much to blame.

Imo. Not he, I hope.

lach. Not he. But yet heav'n's bounty tow'rds him might

Be us'd more thankfully. In himself, 'tis much;
In you, whom I account his, beyond all talents;
Whilft I am bound to wonder, I am bound

To pity too.

Imo. What do you pity, Sir?

Iach. Two creatures heartily.

Imo. Am I one, Sir?

You look on me; what wreck difcern you in me,
Deferves your pity?

lach. Lamentable! what!

To hide me from the radiant fun, and folace
I' th' dungeon by a snuff?

Imo. I pray you, Sir,

Deliver with more openness your answers

To my demands.

Why do you pity me?

Iach. That others do,

I was about to fay, enjoy your-but
It is an office of the Gods to venge it,
Not mine to speak on't.

Imo. You do feem to know

Something of me, or what concerns me. Pray you,
Since doubting, things go ill, often hurts more
Than to be fure they do; for certainties
Or are paft remedies, or timely knowing,
The remedy's then born; difcover to me
? What both you fpur and stop.

Iach. Had I this cheek

To bathe my lips upon; this hand, whose touch,
Whofe ev'ry touch would force the feeler's foul
To th' oath of loyalty; this object, which
Takes pris'ner the wild motion of mine eye,
Fixing it only here; fhould I, damn'd then,
Slaver with lips, as common as the stairs

8

That mount the Capitol ; 3 join gripes with hands

6 timely knowing,] Rather timely known.

7 What both you Spur and flop.] What it is that at once incites you to fpeak, and restrains you from

it.

& join gripes with hand, &c.] The old edition reads,

join gripes with hands Made hard with hourly falfhood, (falfhood as

I

With labour) then by peeping in an eye, &c.

read,

-then lye peepingThe authour of the prefent regulation of the text I do not know, but have suffered it to ftand, the not right. Hard with falfbood, is, hard by being often griped with frequent change of hands.

Made

Made hard with hourly falfhood, as with labour;
Then glad myself by peeping in an eye,
Base and unluftrous as the fmoaky light
That's fed with ftinking tallow; it were fit,
That all the plagues of hell fhould at one time
Encounter fuch revolt.

Imo. My Lord, I fear,
Has forgot Britain.

Iach. And himself.

Not I,

Inclin'd to this intelligence, pronounce

The beggary of this change; "but 'tis your graces,
That from my muteft conscience to my tongue,
Charms this report out.

Imo. Let me hear no more.

Iach. O dearest foul! your caufe doth ftrike my heart With pity, that doth make me fick. A Lady So fair, and faften'd to an empery,

Would make the great'ft King double! to be partner'd
With tomboys, hir'd with that felf-exhibition
Which your own coffers yield!-with difeas'd ventures
That play with all infirmities for gold,

Which rottennefs lends nature! fuch boyl'd stuff,
As well might poifon Poifon! Be reveng'd;
Or fhe, that bore you, was no Queen, and you
Recoil from your great stock.

Imo. Reveng'd!

How should I be reveng'd, if this be true?
As I have fuch a heart, that both mine ears
Must not in hafte abufe, if it be true,

How fhall I be reveng'd?

lach. Should he make me

Live like Diana's Prieft, betwixt cold fheets?
Whiles he is vaulting variable ramps

In your defpight, upon your purfe? Revenge it!
I dedicate myself to your fweet pleasure,
More noble than that runagate to your bed

9 —hir'd with that felf-exhi❤ with the very pension which you bition] Groft Arumpets, hired allow your husband.

And

And will continue faft to your affection,

Still clofe, as fure.

Imo. What ho, Pifanio!

Iach. Let me my fervice tender on your lips.
Imo. Away!--I do condemn mine ears, that have
So long attended thee. If thou wert honourable,

Thou wouldst have told this tale for virtue, not
For fuch an end thou feek'ft; as base, as strange:
Thou wrong't a Gentleman, who is as far

From thy report, as thou from honour; and
Solicit'ft here a Lady, that disdains

Thee, and the Devil alike. What ho, Pifanio!
The King my father fhall be made acquainted
Of thy affault; if he fhall think it fit,
A faucy ftranger in his court to mart
'As in a Romish stew, and to expound
His beaftly mind to us; he hath a court
He little cares for, and a daughter whom
He not refpects at all. What ho, Pifanio!
Iach. O happy Leonatus, I may fay;
The credit, that thy Lady hath of thee,
Deferves thy truft, and thy most perfect goodness.
Her affur'd credit! Bleffed live you long,
A Lady to the worthieft Sir, that ever.
Country call'd his! and you his mistress, only
For the moft worthieft fit! Give me your pardon.
I have spoke this, to know if your affiance
Were deeply rooted; and fhall make your Lord,
That which he is, new o'er: and he is one
The trueft manner'd, fuch a holy witch,
That he enchants focieties into him;

Half all men's hearts are his.

Imo. You make amends.

Iach. He fits 'mong men, like a defcended God; .

As in a Romith few,] The ftews of Rome are defervedly cenfured by the reformed. This

is one of many inftances in which Shake/peare has mingled the manners of diftant ages in this play.

He

He hath a kind of honour fets him off,
More than a mortal feeming. Be not angry,
Moft mighty Princefs, that I have adventur'd
To try your taking of a falfe report; which hath
Honour'd with confirmation your great judgment,
In the election of a Sir, fo rare,

Which, you know, cannot err. The love I bear him, Made me to fan you thus; but the Gods made you, Unlike all others, chafflefs. Pray, your pardon.

Imo. All's well, Sir.

for yours.

Take my pow'r i' th' court

Iach. My humble thanks; I had almoft forgot
T' intreat your Grace but in a small request,
And yet of moment too, for it concerns
Your Lord; myfelf, and other noble friends
Are partners in the business.

Imo. Pray, what is't?

Iach. Some dozen Romans of us, and your Lord,
Best feather of our wing, have mingled fums
To buy a prefent for the Emperor:

Which I, the factor for the reft, have done
In France; 'tis plate of rare device, and jewels
Of rich and exquifite form, their values great;
And I am something curious, being strange,
To have them in fafe ftowage: may it please you
To take them in protection?

Imo. Willingly;

And pawn mine honour for their fafety. Since
My Lord hath int'reft in them, I will keep them
In my bed-chamber.

Iach. They are in a trunk,

Attended by my men: I will make bold

To fend them to you, only for this night;
I must a-board to-morrow.

Imo. O no, no.

Iach. Yes, I beseech you: or I fhall short By length'ning my return. From Gallia,

VOL. VII.

U