SCENE V.

A Room in CYMBELINE's Palace. Enter CYMBELINE, Queen, CLOTEN, LUCIUS, and Lords.

Cym. Thus far; and so farewell.

Luc. Thanks, royal sir.

My emperor hath wrote;

I must from hence;

And am right sorry, that I must report ye

My master's enemy.

Cym. Our subjects, sir,

Will not endure his yoke; and for ourself
To show less sovereingty than they, must needs
Appear unkinglike.

Luc. So, sir, I desire of you

A conduct over land, to Milford-Haven.—
Madam, all joy befall your grace, and you !

Cym. My lords, you are appointed for that office;
The due of honour in no point omit :-

So, farewell, noble Lucius.

Luc. Your hand, my lord.

:

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

Luc. Sir, the event

Is yet to name the winner: Fare you well.

Cym. Leave not the worthy Lucius, good my lords,

Till he have cross'd the Severn.--Happiness!

[Exeunt LUCIUS, and Lords. Queen. He goes hence frowning: but it honours us, That we have given him cause.

Clo. 'Tis all the better;

Your valiant Britons have their wishes in it.

Cym. Lucius hath wrote already to the emperor
How it goes here. It fits us therefore, ripely,
Our chariots and our horsemen be in readiness;
The powers that he already hath in Gallia
Will soon be drawn to head, from whence he moves
His war for Britain.

Queen. 'Tis not sleepy business;

But must be look'd to speedily, and strongly.
Cym. Our expectation that it would 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 us like

A thing more made of malice, than of duty:
We have noted it.-Call her before us; for
We have been too slight in sufferance.

Queen. Royal sir,

[Exit an Attendant.

Since the exile of Posthumus, 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 an Attendant.

Cym. Where is she, sir? How

Can her contempt be answer'd?
Attend. Please you, sir,

Her chambers are all lock'd; and there's no answer
That will be given to the loud'st of noise we make.
Queen. My lord, when last I went to visit her,
She pray'd me to excuse her keeping close;
Whereto constrain'd by her infirmity,

She should that duty leave unpaid to you,
Which daily she was bound to proffer this

She wish'd me to make known; but our great court
Made me to blame in memory.

Cym. Her doors lock'd?

Not seen of late? Grant, heavens, that which I fear,

Prove false !

Queen. Son, I say, follow the king.

Clo. That man of her's, Pisanio, her old servant,

I have not seen these two days.

Queen. Go, look after.

[Exit.

[Exit CLOTEN.

Pisanio, thou that stand'st so for Posthúmus!

He hath a drug of mine: I pray, his absence

Proceed by swallowing that;

It is a thing most precious.

for he believes

But for her,

Where is she gone? Haply, despair hath seiz'd her;
Or, wing'd with fervour of her love, she's flown
To her desir'd Posthumus: Gone she is

To death, or to dishonour; and my end

Can make good use of either: She being down,
I have the placing of the British crown.

Go in, and cheer the king; he rages; none
Dare come about him.

Queen. All the better: May

This night forestall him of the coming day!

[Exit.

Clo. I love, and hate her for she's fair and royal;

And that she hath all courtly parts more exquisite
Than lady, ladies, woman; from every one
The best she hath, and she, of all compounded,
Outsells them all I love her therefore; but,
Disdaining me, and throwing favours on
The low Posthúmus, slanders so her judgment,
That what's else rare, is chok'd; and, in that point,
I will conclude to hate her, nay, indeed,

To be reveng'd upon her. For, when fools

Enter PISANIO.

Shall- -Who is here? what! are you packing, sirrah? Come hither: Ah, you precious pandar! Villain,

Where is thy lady? In a word; or else

Thou art straightway with the fiends.

Pis. O, good my lord!

Clo. 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.

Pis. Alas, my lord,

How can she be with him? When was she miss'd?
He is in Rome.

Clo. Where is she, sir? Come nearer ;
No further halting: satisfy me home,
What is become of her?

Pis. O, my all-worthy lord!

Clo. 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.

Pis. Then, sir,

This paper is the history of my knowledge

Touching her flight.

Clo. Let's see't :-I will pursue her

[Presenting a letter.

[2] She has all courtly parts, says he, more exquisite than any lady, than all ladies, than all womankind.

JOHNSON.

Even to Augustus' throne..

Pis. Or this, or perish.

She's far enough; and what he learns by this,
May prove his travel, not her danger.

Clo. Humph!

Pay, whet vayder, she return againogen, Safe may'st thou wander, safe return again!

Clo. Sirrah, is this letter true?

Pis. Sir, as I think.

Aside.

Aside.

Clo. It is Posthumus' hand; I know't.-Sirrah, if thou wouldst 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 villany soe'er I bid thee do, to perform it, directly and truly,—I would think thee an honest man: thou shouldst neither want my means for thy relief, nor my voice for thy preferment, Pis. Well, my good lord.

Clo. Wilt thou serve me? For since patiently and constantly thou hast stuck to the bare fortune of that beggar Posthumus, thou canst not in the course of gratitude but be a diligent follower of mine. Wilt thou serve me? Pis. Sir, I will.

Clo. Give me thy hand, here's my purse.

thy late master's garments in thy possession?

Hast any of

Pis. I have, my lord, at my lodging, the same suit he wore when he took leave of my lady and mistress.

Clo. The first service thou dost me, fetch that suit hither let it be thy first service; go.

:

Pis. I shall, my lord.

[Exit. Clo. Meet thee at Milford-Haven :-I forgot to ask him one thing; I'll remember't anon :-Even 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 suit upon my back, will I ravish her First kill him, and in her eyes; there shall she see my valour, which will then be a torment to her contempt. He on the ground, my speech of insultment ended on his dead body, and when my lust hath dined, (which, as I say, to vex her, I will execute in the clothes that she so praised,) to the court I'll knock her back,

foot her home again. She hath despised me rejoicingly, and I'll be merry in my revenge.

Re-enter PISANIO, with the Clothes.

-Be those the garments?

Pis. Ay, my noble lord.

Clo. How long is't since she went to Milford-Haven? Pis. She can scarce be there yet.

Clo. Bring this apparel to my chamber; that is the second thing that I have commanded thee: the third is, that thou shall be a voluntary mute to my design. Be but luteous, 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. Pis. Thou bidd'st me to my loss: for, true to thee, Were to prove false, which I will never be, To him that is most true.-To Milford go, And find not her whom thou pursu'st. Flow, flow, You heavenly blessings, on her! This fool's speed Be cross'd with slowness; labour be his meed !

SCENE VI.

[Exit.

Before the Cave of BELARIUS. Enter IMOGEN, in Boy's Clothes.
Ino. I see, a man's life is a tedious one:

I have tir'd myself; 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 show'd thee,
Thou wast within a ken: O Jove! I think,
Foundations fly 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 afflictions on them; knowing 'tis.
A punishment, or trial? Yes; no wonder,
When rich ones scarce tell true: To lapse in fulness
Is sorer, than to lie for need ;3 and falsehood

Is worse in kings, than beggars.-My dear lord!
Thou art one o'the false ones: Now I think on thee,
My hunger's gone; but even before, I was
At point to sink for food.-But what is this?
Here is a path to it: 'Tis some savage hold :-
I were best not call; I dare not call: yet famine,
[S] Is sorer,---is a greater or heavier crime. JOHNSON.