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I thought, you would not back again.

Imo. Molt like,
Bringing me here to kill ine.

Pil. Noc fo neither;
But if I were as wile as honest, then
My purpose would prove well; it cannot be,
But that my matter is abus’d; some villain,
And singular in his art, hath done you

Both
This curled injury.

Imo. Some Roman Curtezan
Pif. No, on my life.
I'll give him notice you are dead, and send him
Some bloody fign of it: for ’tis commanded,
I should do so. You shall be miss'd at Court,
And that will well confirm it.

Imo. Why, good fellow,
What shall I do the while where bide? how live?,
Or in my life what comfort, when I am
Dead to my husband?

Pif. If you'll back to th' Court

Imo. Nó Court, no Father; nor no more adą
With that harsh, noble, simple, Nothing, Cloten:
That Cloten, whose love-fuit hath been to me
As fearful as a fiege.

Pif. If not at Court,
Then not in Britaine must

you

bide. Imo. Where then ? Hath Britaine all the Sun that shines ? Day, night, Are they not but in Britaine? I'th' world's volume Our Britaine seems as of it, but not in it; In a great pool, a swan's neit. Pr’ythee, think, There's living out of Britaine.

Pis. I'm most glad, You think of other place: th’Ambassador, Lucius the Roman, comes to Milford-Haven To morrow. (34) Now, if you could wear a Mien Dark as your fortune is, and bur disguise

That, (34) Now, if you could wear a Mind

Dark as your Fortune is,] But the Disguise of her Person is the only Thing which Pisanio is here advising; not that he houia it:fe any

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Qua

That, which, t'appear-it self, must not yet be,
But by self-danger; you should tread a course
Pretty, and full of view; yea, haply, near
The residence of Pofthumus ; so nigh, at least,
That though his actions were not visible,
Report should render him hourly to your ear,
As truly as he moves.

Imo. Oh! for such means,
(Though peril to my modesty, not death on't)
I would adventure:

Pis. Well then, here's the point :
You must forget to be a woman; change
Command into obedience; fear and niceness,
(The handmaids of all women, or, more truly,
Woman its pretty self,) to waggish courage ;
Ready in gybes, quick-answer'd, fawcy, and
As quarrellous as the weazel: (35) nay, you muft
Forget that rarest treasure of your cheek ;
Exposing it (but, oh, the harder Hap!
Alack, no remedy) to the greedy touch
Of common-kissing Titan; and forget

Now, if you
Dark as your

Qualifications or Beauties of her Mind. I therefore think, we may safely read;

could

wear a Mien

Fortune is, Or, according to the French Orthography, from whence, I presume, arose the Corruption; Now, if you could wear a Mine.

Mr. Warburton. I have shewn in a Note, upon one of the former Plays, that Mien fignifies, not only Mine du Visage, oris Facies, the Air and Turn of the Face; but also, habitus, geftus Corporis, the Form and Gesture of the whole Person. (35)

nay, you must
Forget that rarest Treasure of your Cheek ;
Exposing it, (but oh the harder Heart,

Alack, no Remedy)] Now, who does This harder Heart relate to? Posthumus is not here talk'd of : besides, he knew Nothing of her being thus expos’d to the Inclemencies of Weather : He had enjoyn'd a Course, which would have secur'd her from these incidental Hardships. I think, common Sense obliges us to read :

But, oh, the harder Hap! 1. e. the more cruel your Fortune, that you must be obligd to such Shifts.

Mr. Warburton.

Your

Your laboursome and dainty trims, wherein
You made great Juno angry.

Imo. Nay, be brief:
I see into thy end, and am almost
A man already.

Pif. First, make your self but like one.
Fore-thinking this, I have already fit,
('Tis in my cloak-bag) doublet, hat, hose, all
That answer to them. Would you in their serving,
And with what imitation you can borrow
From youth of such a season, 'fore noble Lucius
Present your self, desire his service, (36) tell him
Wherein you're happy; (which will make him so,
If that his head have ear in musick ;) doubtless,
With joy he will embrace you; for he's honourable,
And, doubļing That, most holy. Your means abroad,
You have me rich ; and I will never fail
Beginning, nor supply.

Imo. Thou'rt all the comfort
The Gods will diet me with. Prythee, away..
There's more to be consider'd; but we'll even
All that good time will give us.

This attempt (36)

tell him,
Wherein you're happy, which will make him know,
If that his Head have ear in Mufick, doubtless

With joy he will embrace you ;) Thus, all the Editions : But, surely, the Passage is faulty both in the Text and Pointing. Which will make him know, what? What Connection has This with the Rest of the Sentence ? Shakespeare can't be suspected, certainly, of so baid a Meaning as this; If yau'll tell him wherein you are happy, That will make him know wherein you're happy: and yet This is the only Meaning, I think, the Words can carry, as they now stand. I take the Poet's Sense to be This. Pisanio tells Imogen, if she would disguise herself in the Habit of a Youth, present herself before Lucius the Roman General, offer her Service, and tell him wherein She was happy, i. e. what an excellent Talent She had in Singing; this would make him happy, if he had an Ear for Musick, and he would gladly receive her. For, afterwards, Belarius and Arviragus, talking of Imogen, give this Description of her, whom they take for a Boy : Bel. This Youth, howe'er diftreft, seems to bave had

Good Ancestors. Arv. How Angel-like he sings! I reform’d the Text in the Appendix to my SHAKESPEARE Reffor’d, and Mr. Pope has thought fit to embrace my Correction in his last Edition.

I'm

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I'm soldier to, and will abide it with
A Prince's courage. Away, I pr’ythee.

Pif. Well, Madam, we must take a thort farewels
Leit, being miss'd, I be suspected of
Your carriage from the Court. My noble Mistress,
Here is a box; I had it from the Queen,
What's in't is precious : if you're fick at sea,
Or stomach-qualm’d at land, a dram of this
Will drive away distemper- To tome shade,
And fit you to your manhood; may the Gods
Direct you to the best!

Imo. Amen: I thank thee. [Exeunt, feverally,

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SCENE changes to the Palace of Cymbeline.
Enter Cymbeline, Queen, Cloten, Lucius, and Lords,
Сут. .
TH

HUS far, and so farewel.

Luc. Thanks, royal Sir.
My Emperor hath wrote; I muit from hence;
And am right forry, that I must report ye
My master's enemy

Cym. Our Subjects, Sir,
Will not endure his yoak ; and for our self
To shew less Soveraignty than they, muft needs
Appear un-kinglike.

Luc. So, Sir: I defire of you
A conduct over land, to Milford-Haven.
Madam, all joy befal your Grace, and you !

Cym. My Lords, you are appointed for that office;
The due of Honour in no point omit:
So farewel, noble Lucius.

Luc. Your hand, my Lord.

Clot. Receive it friendly, but from this time forth
I wear it as your enemy.

Luc. Th'event
Is yet to name the winner. Fare you well.

Gym. Leave not the worthy Lucius, good my Lords, 'Till he have croit the Severn. Happiness!

(Exit Lucius, &c.

Queen.

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Queen. He

goes hence frowning; but it honours us, That we have giv'n him cause.

Clot. 'Tis all the better;
Your valiant Britains have their wishes in it.

Gym, Lucius hath wrote already to the Emperor,
How it goes here. It fits us therefore ripely,
Our chariots and our horfemen be in readiness
The Powers, that he already hath in Gallia,
Will soon be drawn to head, from whence he moves
His war for Britaine.

Queen. 'Tis not neepy business;
But must be look'd to speedily, and strongly.

Cym. Our expectation, that it should be thus,
Hath made us forward. But, my gentle Queen,
Where is our Daughter? She hath not appear’d
Before the Roman, nor to us hath tender'd
The duty of the day. She looks as like
A thing more made of malice, than of duty;
We've noted it. Call her before us, for
We've been too light in sufferance. [Exit a Servant.

Queen. Royal Sir,
Since the Exile of Pofthumus, most retir'd
Hath her life been; the cure whereof, my Lord,
'Tis time must do. Beseech your Majesty,
Forbear sharp speeches to her. She's a Lady
So tender of rebukes, that words are strokes,
And strokes death to her.

Re-enter the Servant.
Cym. Where is she, Sir? how
Can her contempt be answer'd ?

Serv. Please you, Sir,
Her chambers are all lock'd, and there's no answer
That will be given to th' loudest noise we make.

Queen. My Lord, when last I went to visit her,
She pray'd me to excule her keeping close ;
Whereto constrain’d by her infirmity,
She should that duty leave unpaid to you,
Which daily she was bound to proffer; tiis

She

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