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Though this a heav'nly angel, hell is here. [Clock strikes, One, two, three: time, time!
[Goes into tbe trunk, the Scene closes.
Without the Palace under Imogen's Apartment.
Enter Cloten and Lords. i Lord. Your Lordship is the most patient man in
loss, the coldest that ever turn'd up ace. Clot. It would make any man cold to lose.
i Lord. But not every man patient, after the noble temper of your Lordship ; you are most hot and furious when you win.
Clot. Winning will put any man into courage : If I could get this foolish Imogen, I shall have gold enough: It's almoft morning, is't not?
i Lord. Day, my Lord.
Clot. I would this musick would come : I am advised to give her musick a-mornings, they say it will penetrate.
Enter Musicians. Come on, tune; if you can penetrate here with your fingering, so; we'll try with tongue too ; if none will do, let her remain : but I'll never give o'er. First, a very excellent good conceited thing ; after, a wonderful sweet air with admirable rich words to it ; and then let her consider.
And Phæbus 'gins arise,
s' Each chalic'd flower supplies ;'
6 Witb 5 On chalie'd powers that lies:
6With all the things that pretty bin :
So, get you gone — if this penetrate, I will consider your
musick the better : if it do not, it is a vice in her ears; which horse-hairs, and cats-guts, 7'with the voice of unpav'd eunuch to boot, can never amend.
[Exeunt Musicians. Enter Queen and Cymbeline. 2 Lord. Here comes the King.
Clot. I am glad I was up so late, for that's the reason I was up so early : he cannot chuse but take this service I have done, fatherly. Good-morrow to your Majesty, and to my gracious mother.
Cym. Attend you here the door of our stern daughter ? Will she not forth?
Clot. I have affaild her with musick, but she vouchsafes no notice.
Cym. The exile of her minion is too new.
Queen. You are most bound to th' King,
Clot. Senseless ? not fo.
Enter a Messenger.
Cym. A worthy fellow,
Clot. If she be up, I'll speak with her ; if not, Let her lye still, and dream. By your leave, ho ! I know her woinen are about her what If I do Jine one of their hands? mi 'cis gold Which buys admittance, oft it doth, yea, makes Diana's rangers false themselves, and yield Their deer to th' stand o' th' ftealer : and 'tis gold Which makes the true man kill'd, and saves the thief; Nay, sometimes hangs both thief and true man : what Can it not do, and undo? I will make One of her women lawyer to me, for I yet not understand the case myself. By your leave.
[Knocks. Enter a Lady. Lady. Who's there that knocks? Clot. A gentleman. Lady. No more? Clot. Yes, and a gentlewoman's son. Lady. That's more Vol. VI.
Than 8 the one is 9 his
Than some, whose tailors are as dear as yours,
Clot. Your Lady's person, is she ready?
Clot. There is gold for you,
Lady, How, my good name?
Imo. Good morrow, Sir ; you lay out too much pains
Clot. Still I swear I love you.
Imo. If you but faid so, 'twere as deep with me:
Clot. This is no answer.
Imo. But that you shall not say I yield, being filent, I would not speak. I pray you, spare me ; 'faith, I shall unfold equal discourtesie To your best kindness : one of your great knowing Should learn, being taught, forbearance.
Clot. To leave you in your madness, 'cwere my fin; I will not do't.
Imo. Fools 2 'cure' not mad folks, Sir.
Imo. As I am mad I do :
i I Mall think is good ?
2 are . . . old edit. Warb. emend.
By th' very truth of it, I care not for you :
Clot. You sin against
Imo. Prophane fellow !
Clot. The south-fog rot him !
Imo. He never can meet more mischance, than come
Clot. How now ?
Imo, 3 Were they all made such men. How now, Pifanio ?