Imatges de pàgina

S c E NE VI.

Enter Pifanio. Who is here? what! are you packing, firrah ? Come hither ; ah you precious pandar, villain, Where is thy Lady? in a word, or else Thou’rt straightway with the fiends. (Drawing bis sword.

Pis. Oh, good my Lord !

Clot. Where is thy Lady ? or, by Jupiter,
I will not ask again. Close villain,
I'll have this secret from thy heart, or rip
Thy heart to find it. Is she with Posthumus ?
From whose so many weights of baseness cannot
A dram of worth be drawn.

Pif. Alas! my Lord,
How can she be with him ? when was the miss'd?
He is in Rome.

Clot. Where is she, Sir ? come nearer ;
No farther halting ; fatisfie me home,
What is become of her.

Pif. Oh, my all-worthy Lord !

Clot. All-worthy villain!
Discover where thy mistress is, at once,
At the next word; no more of worthy Lord.
Speak, or thy silence on the instant is
Thy condemnation and thy death.

Pif. Then, Sir,
This paper is the history of my knowledge
Touching her flight.

Clot. Let's feet ; I will pursue her
Even to Augustus' throne.

Pif. Or this, or perish.
She’s far enough, and what he learns by this,

Afide. May prove his travel, not her danger.

Cloi. Humh.
Pis. I'll write to my Lord she's dead. Oh,

Aside. Safe may'st thou wander, safe return again !


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Clot. Sirrah, is this letter true?
Pif. Sir, as I think,

Clot. It is Posthumus's hand, I know't. Sirrah, if thou would't not be a villain, but do me true service; undergo those employments wherein I should have cause to use thee with a serious industry, that is, what villainy soe'er I bid thee do, perform it directly and truly ; I would think thee an honest man, thou shouldīt neither want my means for thy relief, nor my voice for thy preferment

Pil. Well, my good Lord.

Clot. Wilt thou serve me. ? for since patiently and constantly thou hast stuck to the bare fortune of that beggar Posthumus, thou can’st not in the course of gratitude but be a diligent follower of mine. Wilt thou serve me?

Pif. Sir, I will.

Clot. Give me thy hand, here's my purse. Hast any of thy late master's garments in thy poffesfion ?

Pis. I have, my Lord, at the lodging, the fame fuit he wore when he took leave of my lady and mistress.

Clot. The first service thou dost me, fetch that suit hither ; Jer it be thy first service, go. Pif. I fall, iny Lord.

[Exit. Clot. Meet thee at Milford-Haven - I forgot to ask him one thing, I'll remember't anon ; there, thou villain Posthumus, will I kill thee. I would these garments were come. She said upon a time, (the bitterness of it I now belch from my heart,) that she held the very garment of Posthumus in more respect than my noble and natural person, together with the adornment of my qualities. With that fuit upon my back will I ravish her; first kill him, and in her eyes there fhall she ice my valour, which will then be a torment to her contenipt. He on the ground, my speech of infulement ended on his dead body, and when my luft hath dined, (which as I say, to vex her, I will execute in the cloathis that the lo prais’d) to the Court I'll

4 'kick'


+ kick her back, foot her home again. She hath despis’d me rejoycingly, and I'll be merry in my revenge.

Enter Pisanio, with a suit of cloaths.
Be those the garments ?

Pif. Ay, my noble Lord.
Clot. How long is’t since she went to Milford-Haven ?
Pif. She can scarce be there yet.

Clot. Bring this apparel to my chamber, that is the second thing that I have commanded thee. The third is, that thou wilt be a voluntary mute to my design. Be but duteous, and true preferment shall tender itself to thee. My revenge is now at Milford, would I had wings to follow it! come and be true.

[Exit. Pif

. Thou bidd'st me to my loss : for true to thee, Were to prove false, which I will never be, To s'her that is most true, To Milford go, And find not her, whom thou pursu'ft. Flow, Aow, You heav'nly blessings, on her ! this fool's speed Be crost with nowness; labour be his meed ! [Exit.

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S с E N E VII.

The Forest and Cave.

Enter Imogen in boy's Cloaths. Imo.

See a man's life is a tedious one :

I've tired my self ; 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 lhew'd thee, Thou waft within a ken. O jove, I think Foundations Aly the wretched, such I mean Where they should be reliev'd. Two beggars told me, I could not miss my way. Will poor folks lie That have affliction on them, knowing 'tis A punishment'or tryal ? 'yet no wonder,

When 6 yes no wonder,

4 knock

5 him


When rich ones scarce tell true. To lapse in fullness
Is forer, than to lie for need ; and fallhood
Is worse in Kings, than beggars. My dear Lord !
Thou'rt one oth' false ones ; now I think on thee,
My hunger's gone ; but ev'n before, I was
At point to sink for food. But what is this?

[Seeing the Cave. Here is a path to't --- 'ris some favage hold; 'Twere belt not call; I dare not call ; yet famine; Ere it clean o'er-throw nature, makes it valiant. Plenty and peace ? 'breed cowards, hardness ever Of hardiness is mother. Ho! who's here?

any thing that's civil, speak; if savage, 8 'Take, or yield food : no answer then I'll enter. Best draw my sword ; and if mine enemy But fear the sword like me, he'll scarcely look on't, Grant such a foe, good heav'ns ! [She goes into the Cave.

Enter Bellarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus.
Bel. You, Paladour, have prov'd best woodman, and
Are master of the feast; Cadwal and I
Will play the cook, and servant, ’tis our match :
The sweat of industry would dry, and die
But for the end it works to. Come, our stomachs
Will make what's homely favoury ; weariness
Can snore upon the Aint, when resty Noth
Finds the down pillow hard. Now peace be here,
Poor house, that keep'ít thy self !

Guid. I'm throughly weary.
Arv. I'm weak with toil, yet strong in appetite. (that

Guid. There is cold meat i' th' cave, we'll brouze on
Whilst what we've kill'd be cook'd.
Bel. Stay, come not in

[Looking in. But that it eats our victuals, I should think It were a Fairy

Guid. What's the matter, Sir ?
Bel. By Jupiter, an Angel ! or if not,


7 breeds

8 Take or lend

Ho! no answer ?

An earthly paragon. Behold divineness
No elder than a boy.

Enter Imogen.'
Imo. Good masters, harm me not ;
Before I enter'd here, I calld, and thoughe
T'have begg'd, or bought, what I have took : good troth
I have stoln nought, nor would not, though I'd found
Gold strew'd o'th' floor. Here's money for my mear,
I would have left it on the board so soon
As I had made my meal : and parted thence
With prayers for the provider.

Guid. Money, youth?

Arv. All gold and silver rather turn to dirt !
As 'tis no better reckon'd, but of those
Who worship dirty Gods.

Imo. I fee you're angry :
Know, if you kill me for my fault, I should
Have dy'd, had I not made it.

Bel. Whither bound?
Imo. To Milford-Haven.
Bel. 9 'Say, what is your name?

Imo. Fidele, Şir; I have a kinsman, who
Is bound for Italy: ''he embarques' at Milford,
To whom being going, almost spent with hunger,
I'm fall'n in this offence.

Bel. Prythee, fair youth,
Think us no churls ; nor measure our good minds
By this rude place we live in. Well-encounter'd!
'Tis almost night, you shall have better cheer
Ere you depart, and thanks to stay and eat it.
Boys, bid him welcome.

Guid. Were you a woman, youth,
I should wooe hard, but be your groom in honesty ;
ala bid for you, as I would buy.

Arv. I'll make't my comfort


He 9 What's your name?

i he embark'd i I bid for you, as I do buy.

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