Imatges de pàgina
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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 his fword.
Pif. Oh, good my Lord!

Clot. Where is thy Lady? or, by Jupiter,
I will not ask again. Clofe villain,

I'll have this fecret from thy heart, or rip
Thy heart to find it. Is fhe with Pofthumus?
From whose so many weights of baseness cannot
A dram of worth be drawn.

Pif. Alas! my Lord,

How can fhe be with him? when was fhe miss'd?
He is in Rome.

Clot. Where is fhe, 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 miftrefs is, at once,

At the next word; no more of worthy Lord.
Speak, or thy filence on the instant is

Thy condemnation and thy death.

Pif. Then, Sir,

This paper is the hiftory of my knowledge

Touching her flight.

Clot. Let's fee't; I will purfue her

Even to Auguftus' throne.

Pif. Or this, or perish.

She's far enough, and what he learns by this,

May prove his travel, not her danger.

Clot. Humh.

Pif. I'll write to my Lord fhe's dead. Oh,

Imogen,

Safe may'st thou wander, fafe return again !

} Afide.

Oh, Afide.

Clot.

Clot. Sirrah, is this letter true?

Pif. Sir, as I think.

Clot. It is Pofthumus's hand, I know't. Sirrah, if thou would't not be a villain, but do me true fervice; undergo thofe employments wherein I fhould have caufe to ufe thee with a serious induftry, that is, what villainy foe'er I bid thee do, perform it directly and truly; I would think thee an honeft man, thou fhouldft neither want my means for thy relief, nor my voice for thy preferment.

Pif. Well, my good Lord.

Clot. Wilt thou ferve me? for fince patiently and conftantly thou haft ftuck to the bare fortune of that beggar Pofthumus, thou can't not in the course of gratitude but be a diligent follower of mine. Wilt thou ferve me?

Pif. Sir, I will.

Clot. Give me thy hand, here's my purse. of thy late mafter's garments in thy poffeffion?

Haft any

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

Clot. The first fervice thou doft me, fetch that fuit hither; let it be thy first fervice, go.

Pif. I fhall, my Lord.

- even

[Exit. Clot. Meet thee at Milford-Haven →→ I forgot to ask him one thing, I'll remember't anon; there, thou villain Pofthumus, will I kill thee. I would thefe garments were come. She faid upon a time, (the bitterness of it I now belch from my heart,) that the held the very garment of Posthumus in more refpect than my noble and natural perfon, together with the adornment of my qualities. With that fuit upon my back will I ravifh her; firft kill him, and in her eyes there fhall fhe fee my valour, which will then be a torment to her contempt. He on the ground, my speech of infultment ended on his dead body, and when my luft hath dined, (which as I fay, to vex her, I will execute in the cloaths that the fo prais'd) to the Court I'll + 'kick'

'kick' her back, foot her home again. She hath defpis'd me rejoycingly, and I'll be merry in my revenge. Enter Pifanio, with a fuit of cloaths.

Be thofe the garments?

Pif. Ay, my noble Lord.

Clot. How long is't fince she went to Milford-Haven? Pif. She can scarce be there yet.

Clot. Bring this apparel to my chamber, that is the fecond thing that I have commanded thee. The third is, that thou wilt be a voluntary mute to my defign. Be but duteous, and true preferment fhall 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'ft me to my lofs: for true to thee, Were to prove falfe, which I will never be, To 'her that is moft true. To Milford go, And find not her, whom thou purfu'ft. Flow, flow, You heav'nly bleffings, on her! this fool's speed Be croft with flownefs; labour be his meed!

Imo.

I

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Enter Imogen in boy's Cloaths.

See a man's life is a tedious one:

[Exit.

I've tired my felf; and for two nights together
Have made the ground my bed. I fhould be fick,
But that my refolution helps me. Milford,
When from the mountain-top Pifanio fhew'd thee,
Thou waft within a ken. O Jove, I think
Foundations fly the wretched, fuch I mean

Where they fhould be reliev'd. Two beggars told me,
I could not mifs my way. Will poor folks lie
That have affliction on them, knowing 'tis

A punishment or tryal? 67yet no wonder,

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When

6 yes no wonder,

When rich ones fcarce tell true.

To lapfe in fullness Is forer, than to lie for need; and falfhood Is worfe in Kings, than beggars. My dear Lord! Thou'rt one o' th' falfe ones; now I think on thee, My hunger's gone; but ev'n before, I was

At point to fink for food. But what is this?

-

[Seeing the Cave. Here is a path to't 'tis fome favage hold; 'Twere beft not call; I dare not call; yet famine, Ere it clean o'er-throw nature, makes it valiant. Plenty and peace 7 'breed cowards, hardness ever Of hardiness is mother. Ho! who's here?

If any thing that's civil, fpeak; if favage,

8

Take, or yield food: no anfwer ? then I'll enter.
Beft draw my fword; and if mine enemy

But fear the fword like me, he'll scarcely look on't.
Grant fuch a foe, good heav'ns! [She goes into the Cave.

Enter Bellarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus.

Bel. You, Paladour, have prov'd beft woodman, and Are mafter of the feaft; Cadwal and I

Will play the cook, and fervant, 'tis our match:
The fweat of industry would dry, and die

But for the end it works to. Come, our ftomachs
Will make what's homely favoury; weariness
Can fnore upon the flint, when refty floth
Finds the down pillow hard. Now peace be here,
Poor houfe, that keep'ft thy felf!

Guid. I'm throughly weary.

Arv. I'm weak with toil, yet ftrong in appetite. [that Guid. There is cold meat i' th' cave, we'll brouze on Whilft what we've kill'd be cook'd.

Bel. Stay, come not in

But that it eats our victuals, I fhould think

It were a Fairy.

Guid. What's the matter, Sir?

Bel. By Jupiter, an Angel! or if not,

[Looking in.

An

7 breeds 8 Take or lend

Ho! no answer ?

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

Enter Imogen.'

Imo. Good mafters, harm me not;

Before I enter'd here, I call'd, and thought

T' have begg'd, or bought, what I have took: good troth
I have ftol'n nought, nor would not, though I'd found
Gold ftrew'd o' th' floor. Here's money for my meat,
I would have left it on the board fo foon

As I had made my meal: and parted thence
With prayers for the provider.

Guid. Money, youth?

Arv. All gold and filver 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. 'Say, what is your name?

I

Imo. Fidele, Sir; I have a kinfman, who
Is bound for Italy: 'he embarques' at Milford,
To whom being going, almoft fpent with hunger,

I'm fall'n in this offence.

Bel. Pr'ythee, fair youth,

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

Guid. Were you a woman, youth,

I fhould wooe hard, but be your groom in honefty; 'I'd bid for you, as I would buy.`

Arv. I'll make't my comfort

VOL. VI.

M

9 What's your name? 1 he embark'd 2 I bid for you, as I do buy.

He

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