University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

SCENE I.

A Chamber in Rome.
Enter Posthumus and Philario.
Post.
Fear it not, Sir; I would I were so sure
To win the King, as I am bold, her Honour
Will remain hers.

Phil.
What means do you make to him?

Post.
Not any, but abide the change of time,
Quake in the present Winter's State, and wish
That warmer days would come, in these fear'd hopes,
I barely gratify your Love; they failing
I must die much your Debtor.

Phil.
Your very Goodness, and your Company,
O'erpays all I can do. By this your King
Hath heard of great Augustus; Caius Lucius
Will do's Commission throughly. And I think
He'll grant the Tribute; or your Countrymen,
Will look upon our Romans, whose remembrance
Is yet fresh in their Grief.

Post.
I do believe.
Statist though I am none, nor like to be,
That this will prove a War, they'll send no Tribute
Our Countrymen the Britons
Are Men more order'd than when Julius Cæsar
Smil'd at their lack of Skill, but found their Courage
Worthy his frowning at. Their Discipline,
Now mingled with their Courage, will make known
To their Approvers, they are People, such
As mend upon the World; and more than that,
They have a King, whose Love and Justice to them
May ask and have their Treasures, and their Blood.

Phil.
See Iachimo.

Post.
The swiftest Harts have posted you by Land;
And Winds of all the Corners kiss'd your Sails,
To make your Vessel nimble.

Phil.
Welcome, Sir.

Post.
I hope the briefness of your Answer made
The speediness of your Return.

Iach.
Your Lady,
Is one of the fairest that ever I look'd upon.

Post.
And therewithal the best, or let her Beauty
Look through a Casement to allure false Hearts,
And be false with them.

Iach.
Here are Letters for you.

Post.
Their Tenour good, I trust.

Iach.
'Tis very like.

[Posthumus reads the Letters.
Phil.
Was Caius Lucius in the British Court,
When you were there?

Iach.
He was expected then,
But not approach'd.

Post.
All is well yet.
Sparkles this Stone as it was wont, or is't not
Too dull for your good wearing?

Iach.
If I'd lost it,
I should have lost the Worth of it in Gold;
I'll make a Journey twice as far, t'enjoy
A second Night of such sweet Shortness, as
Was mine in Britain, for the Ring is won.

Post.
The Stone's too hard to come by.

Iach.
Not a whit,
Your Lady being so easy.

Post.
Make not, Sir,
Your Loss, your Sport; I hope you know that we
Must not continue Friends.

Iach.
Good Sir, we must,
If you keep Covenant; had I not brought
The Knowledge of your Mistress home, I grant
We were to question farther; but I now
Profess myself the winner of her Honour,
Together with your Ring; and not the Wronger
Of her, or you, having proceeded but
By both your Wills.

Post.
If you can make't apparent
That you have tasted her in Bed; my Hand,
And Ring is yours. If not, the soul Opinion
You had of her pure Honour, gains, or loses
Your Sword or mine, or masterless leaves both
To who shall find them.

Iach.
Sir, my Circumstances
Being so near the Truth, as I will make them,
Must first induce you to believe; whose strength
I will confirm with Oath. which I doubt not
You'll give me leave to spare, when you shall find
They need it not.

Post.
Proceed.

Iach.
First, her Bed-chamber,
Where I confess I slept not, but profess
Had that was well worth Watching, it was hang'd
With richest Stuff, the Colours blue and silver:
A piece of Work
So bravely done, so rich, that it did strive
In Workmanship and Value.

Post.
This is true;
And this you might have heard of here, by me,
Or by some other.

Iach.
More Particulars
Must justify my Knowledge.

Post.
So they must,
Or do your Honour Injury.

Iach.
The Chimney
Is South the Chamber, and the Chimney-piece
Chaste Dian, bathing; never saw I Figures
So likely to report themselves; the Painter
Was as another Nature dumb, out-went her,
Motion and Breath lest out.

Post.
This is a Thing
Which you might from Relation likewise reap,
Being, as it is, much spoke of.

Iach.
The Roof o'th' Chamber
With golden Cherubims is fretted.

Post.
What's this t'her Honour?
Let it be granted you have seen all this,
(Praise be to your Remembrance,) the Description
Of what is in her Chamber, nothing saves
The Wager you have laid.

Iach.
Then if you can
[Pulling out the Bracelets.
Be pale, I beg but leave to air this Jewel: See!—
And now 'tis up again; it must be married
To that your Diamond.

Post.
Jove!—
Once more let me behold it: Is it that
Which I left with her?

Iach.
Sir, I thank her, that:
She strip'd it from her Arm, I see her yet.
Her pretty Action did out-self her Gift,
And yet enrich'd it too; she gave it me,
And said she priz'd it once.

Post.
May be, she pluck'd it off
To send it me.

Iach.
She writes so to you? doth she?

Post.
O no, no, no, 'tis true. Here take this too,
It is a Basilisk unto mine Eye,
Kills me to look on't: Let there be no Honour,
Where there is Beauty, Truth, where Semblance, Love,
Where there's another Man. The Vows of Women
Of no more Bondage be, to where they are made,
Than they are to their Virtues, which is nothing;
O, above Measure false!—

Phil.
Have Patience, Sir,
And take your Ring again: 'tis not yet won?
It may be probable she lost it; or
Who knows, one of her Women, being corrupted,
Hath stoll'n it from her.

Post.
Very true,
And so I hope he came by't; back my Ring,
Render to me some corporal Sign about her
More evident than this; for this was stole.

Iach.
By Jupiter, I had it from her Arm.

Post.
Hark you, he swears; by Jupiter he swears.
'Tis true—nay keep the Ring—'tis true; I am sure
She could not lose it; her Attendants are
All honourable; they induc'd to steal it!
And by a Stranger!—no, he hath enjoy'd her,
The cognizance of her Incontinency
Is this: she hath bought the Name of Whore, thus dearly.
There, take thy hire, and all the Fiends of Hell
Divide themselves between you!

Phil.
Sir, be patient;
This is not strong enough to be believ'd,
Of one persuaded well of—

Post.
Never talk on't;
She hath been colted by him.

Iach.
If you seek
For further satisfying; under her Breast,
Worthy the pressing, lies a Mole, right proud
Of that most delicate Lodging. By my Life
I kist it, and it gave me present hunger
To feed again, though full. You do remember
This stain upon her?

Post.
Ay, and it doth confirm
Another stain, as big as Hell can hold,
Were there no more but it.

Iach.
Will you hear more?

Post.
Spare your Arithmetick.
Ne'er count the Turns: Once, and a Million.

Iach.
I'll be sworn—

Post.
No swearing:
If you will swear you have not done't, you lye,
And I will kill thee if thou dost deny
Thou'st made her Strumpet.

Iach.
I'll deny nothing.

Post.
O that I had her here, to tear her Limb-meal;
I will go there and do't i'th' Court before
Her Father—I'll do something—

[Exit.
Phil.
Quite besides
The Government of Patience. You have won;
Let's follow him, and pervert the present Wrath
He hath against himself.

Iach.
With all my Heart.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

A Chamber.
Enter Posthumus.
Post.
Is there no way for Men to be, but Women
Must be half-workers? We are Bastards all,
And that most venerable Man, which I
Did call my Father, was, I know not where,
When I was stampt. Some Coiner with his Tools
Made me a Counterfeit; yet my Mother seem'd
The Dian of that time; so doth my Wife
The Non-pareil of this—Oh Vengeance, Vengeance!
Me of my lawful Pleasure she restrain'd,
And pray'd me oft Forbearance; did it with
A Pudency so Rosie, the sweet View on't
Might well have warm'd old Saturn—
That I thought her
As chaste as unsun'd Snow. Oh, all the Devils!
This yellow Iachimo in an Hour—was't not?—
Or less; at first? Perchance he spoke not, but
Like a full acorn'd Boar, a German one,—
O! Torture to my Mind. Could I find out
The Woman's part in me, for there's no Motion
That tends to Vice in Man, but I affirm
It is the Woman's part; be it lying, note it,
The Woman's; Flattering, hers; Deceiving, hers;
Lust, and rank Thoughts, hers, hers; Revenges hers;
Ambitions, Covetings, change of Prides, Disdain,
Nice-longing, Slanders, Mutability:
All Faults that may be named, nay, that Hell knows
Why hers, in part, or all; or rather all. For even to Vice
They are not constant, but are changing still;
One Vice, but of a Minute old, for one
Not half so old as that. I'll write against them,
Detest them, curse them—yet 'tis greater Skill
In a true Hate, to pray they have their Will;
The very Devils cannot plague them better.

[Exit.

SCENE III.

A Palace.
Enter in State, Cymbeline, Queen, Cloten, and Lords at one Door: and at another, Caius Lucius and Attendants.
Cym.
Now say, what would Augustus Cæsar with us?

Luc.
When Julius Cæsar was in Britain,
Cassibelan thine Uncle, did for him,
And his Succession, grant to Rome a Tribute,
Yearly three thousand Pounds; which by thee lately
Is left untender'd.

Queen.
And to kill the marvel,
Shall be so ever.

Clot.
There be many Cæsars,
Ere such another Julius: Britain's a World
By itself, and we will nothing pay
For wearing our own Noses.

Tribute? Why should we pay Tribute? If Cæsar can
hide the Sun from us with a Blanket, or put the Moon
in his Pocket, we will pay him Tribute for Light;
else, Sir, no more Tribute.

Cym.
You must know,
'Till the injurious Romans did extort
This Tribute, we were free. Say then to Cæsar,
Our Ancestor was that Mulmutius, which
Ordain'd our Laws, whose use the Sword of Cæsar
Hath too much mangled; whose repair and franchise,
Shall by the Power we hold be our good deed,
Though Rome be therefore angry.

Luc.
I am sorry,
That I am to pronounce, Augustus Cæsar,
Cymbeline's Eenemy. War, and Confusion
In Cæsar's Name pronounce I 'gainst thee: Look
For Fury, not to be resisted. Thus defy'd,
I thank thee for myself.

Cym.
Thou art welcome, Caius.

Clot.

His Majesty bids you welcome. Make Pastime
with us a Day, or two, or longer: If you seek us afterwards
in other Terms, you shall find us in our Saltwater
Girdle: If you beat us out of it, it is yours: if

you fall in the Adventure, our Crows shall fare the
better for you: And there's an end.

Luc.
So, Sir.

Cym.
I know your Master's Pleasure, and he mine:
All the Remain, is welcome.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

A Chamber.
Enter Pisanio reading a Letter.
Pis.
How? of Adultery? Wherefore write you not
What Monsters have accused her? Leonatus!
Oh Master, what a strange Infection
Is fall'n into thy Ear? what false Italian,
As poisonous tongu'd, as handed, hath prevail'd
On thy too ready hearing? Disloyal? No,
She's punish'd for her Truth; and undergoes
More Goddess-like, than Wife-like, such Assaults
As would take in some Virtue. Oh my Master,
Thy Mind to her, is now as low, as were
Thy Fortunes. How? That I should murder her,
Upon the Love, and Truth, and Vows, which I
Have made to thy Command!—I her!—Her Blood!
If it be so, to do good Service, never
Let me be counted serviceable. How look I,
That I should seem to lack Humanity,
So much as this Fact comes to? Do't—
[the Letter Reading.
That I have sent her, by her own Command,
Shall give the Opportunity. Damn'd Paper!
Black as the Ink that's on thee:
Lo here she comes.
Enter Imogen.
I am ignorant in what I am commanded.

Imo.
How now, Pisanio?

Pis.
Madam, here is a Letter from my Lord.

Imo.
Reading.

Justice , and your, Father's Wrath, should he take me in his
Dominion, could not be so cruel to me, as you, oh the
dearest of Creatures, would even renew me with your Eyes,
Take notice that I am in Cambria at Milford-Haven:
What your own Love will out of this advise you, follow.
So he wishes you all Happiness, that remains Loyal to his
Vow, and your increasing in Love.

Leonatus Posthumus.

Pis.
One Score 'twixt Sun, and Sun,
Madam's enough for you: And too much too.

Imo.
Why, one that rode to's Execution, Man,
Could never go so slow: But this is Foolery.
Go, bid my Women feign a Sickness, say
She'll home to her Father, and provide me present
A riding Suit: No costlier than would fit
A Franklin's Housewife.

Pis.
Madam, you'd best consider.

Imo.
I see before me Man, nor here, nor here,
Nor what ensues, but have a Fog in them,
That I cannot look thro'. Away, I pr'ythee,
Do as I bid thee; there's no more to say;
Accessible is none but Milford way.

[Exeunt.

SCENE V.

A Forest with a Cave.
Enter Bellarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus.
Bel.
A goodly Day, not to keep House with such,
Whose Roof's as low as ours: See, Boys! this Gate
Instructs you how t'adore the Heav'ns; and bows you
To Morning's holy Office. Gates of Monarchs
Are arch'd so high, that Giants may get through
And keep their impious Turbands on, without
Good-morrow to the Sun. Hail, thou fair Heav'n,
We house i'th' Rock, yet use thee not so hardly,
As prouder Livers do.

Guid.
Hail, Heav'n!

Arv.
Hail, Heav'n!

Bel.
Now for our Mountain Sport, up to yond Hill,
Your Legs are young: I'll tread these Flats. Consider,
When you above perceive me like a Crow,
That it is Place which lessens and sets off,
And you may then revolve what Tales I told you,
Of Courts of Princes, of the Tricks in War,
That Service is not Service, so being done,
But being so allow'd. To apprehend thus,
Draws us a Profit from all Things we see:
And often to our Comfort shall we find
The sharded Beetle, in a safer hold
Than is the full-wing'd Eagle. Oh this Life,
Is nobler than attending for a Check;
Richer, than doing nothing for a Bauble;
Prouder than rustling in unpaid-for Silk:
Such gain the Cap of him, that makes them fine,
Yet keeps his Book uncross'd; no Life to ours.

Guid.
Out of your Proof you speak; we poor unfledg'd
Have never wing'd from view o'th' Nest; nor know not
What Air's from Home. Hap'ly this Life is best,
If quiet Life is best; sweeter to you
That have a sharper known: well-corresponding
With your stiff Age; but unto us it is
A Cell of Ignorance; travelling a-Bed,
A Prison for a Debtor, that not dares
To stride a Limit.

Arv.
What should we speak of
When we are old as you? when we shall hear
The Rain and Wind beat dark December? How,
In this our pinching Cave, shall we discourse
The freezing Hours away? we have seen nothing,

Bel.
How you speak?
Did you but know the City's Usuries,
And felt them knowingly; the Art o'th' Court,
As hard to leave, as keep, whose top to climb
Is certain falling, or so slipp'ry, that
The Fear's as bad as falling. The Toil o'th' War,
A Pain, that only seems to seek out Danger
I'th' name of Fame, and Honour; which dies i'th' search,
And hath as oft a sland'rous Epitaph,
As Record of fair Act; nay, many time
Doth ill deserve, by doing well: what's worse
Must curt'sie at the Censure. Oh Boys, this Story
The World may read in me: My Body's mark'd
With Roman Swords; and my Report was once
First with the best of Note. Cymbeline lov'd me,
And when a Soldier was the Theam, my Name
Was not far off: Then was I as a Tree
Whose Boughs did bend with Fruit. But in one Night,
A Storm or Robbery, call it what you will,
Shook down my mellow Hangings, nay my Leaves,
And left me bare to Weather.

Guid.
Uncertain Favour!

Bel.
My Fault being nothing, as I have told you oft,
But that two Villains, whose false Oaths-prevail'd
Before my perfect Honour, swore to Cymbeline,
I was Confederate with the Romans: So
Follow'd my Banishment, and this twenty Years,
This Rock, and these Demesnes, have been my World,
Where I have liv'd at honest Freedom, pay'd
More pious Debts to Heav'n, than in all
The fore-end of my time—But, up to th'Mountains,
This is not Hunters Language; he that strikes
The Venison first, shall be Lord o'th' Feast,
To him the other two shall minister,
And we will fear no Poison, which attends
In place of greater State:
I'll meet you in the Valleys.
[Exeunt.
How hard it is to hide the Sparks of Nature?
These Boys know little they are Sons to th'King,
And Cymbeline dreams not they are alive.
They think they are mine, and tho' train'd up thus meanly
I'th' Cave there on the brow, their Thoughts do hit
The Roofs of Palaces, and Nature prompts them
In simple and low things, to prince it much
Beyond the Trick of others. This Polidore,
(The heir of Cymbeline and Britain, whom
The King his Father call'd Guiderius) Jove!
When on my three foot Stool I sit, and tell
The warlike Feats I've done, his Spirits fly out
Into my Story, say thus mine Enemy fell,
And thus I set my foot on's Neck, even then
The Princely Blood flows in his Cheek, he sweats,
Strains his young Nerves, and puts himself in posture
That acts my Words. The younger Brother, Cadwal,
(Once Arviragus) in as like a figure
Strikes Life into my Speech, and shews much more
His own conceiving. Hark, the Game is rouz'd—
O Cymbeline! Heav'n, and my Conscience know
Thou did'st unjustly banish me, whereon
At three and two years old, I stole these Babes,
Thinking to bar thee of Succession, as
Thou reft'st me of my Lands. Euriphile
Thou wast their Nurse, they take thee for their Mother,
And every Day do Honour to her Grave;
Myself Belarius, that am Morgan call'd,
They take for natural Father. The Game is up.

[Exit.

SCENE VI.

The Palace.
Enter Cymbeline, Queen, Cloten, Lucius, and Lords.
Cym.
Thus far, and so farewel.

Luc.
Thanks, Royal Sir;
I am right sorry, that I must report you
My Master's Enemy. I desire of you
A Conduct over Land, to Milford-Haven.

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.
Sir, the Event
Is yet to name the Winner. Fare you well.

[Ex. Lucius, &c.
Queen.
He goes hence frowning: but it honours us,
That we have given him Cause.

Clot.
'Tis all the better,
Your valiant Britons have their Wishes in it.

Queen.
'Tis not sleepy Business,
But must be looked 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 has 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 1st Lord.
Queen.
Royal Sir,
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 1st Lord.
Cym.
Where is she, Sir? How
Can her Contempt be answer'd?

1 Lord.
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 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.

[Exit.
Queen.
Son, I say; follow the King.

Clot.
That Man of hers, Pisanio, her old Servant
I have not seen these two Days.

[Exit.
Queen.
Go look after—
Pisanio, he that stand'st so for Posthumus!—
He has a Drug of mine; I pray his Absence
Proceed by swallowing that; for he believes
It is a thing most precious. But for her,
Where is she gone? haply Despair hath seiz'd her;
Or wing'd with Fervor of her Love, she's flown
To her desired 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.

[Exeunt.

SCENE VII.

A Wood.
Enter Pisanio and Imogen.
Imo.
Thou told'st me when we came from Horse the Place
Was near at hand: O where is Posthumus'
Say good Pisanio? What is in thy Mind
That makes thee stare thus? One but painted thus
Would be interpreted a thing perplex'd
Beyond self-explication. What's the Matter?
Why tender'st thou that Paper to me,
If't be summer News.
Smile to't before, if winterly thou need'st
But keep that Count'nance still. My Husband's Hand?
That drug-damn'd Italy, hath out-crafted him,
And he's at some hard point. Speak, Man; thy Tongue
May take off some Extremity, which to read
Would be even Mortal to me.

Pis.
Please you read,
And you shall find me, wretched Man, a thing
The most disdain'd of Fortune.

Imogen
reads.

Thy Mistress, Pisanio, hath play'd the Strumpet in
my Bed: The Testimonies whereof lye bleeding in me.
I speak not out of weak Surmises, but from Proof as strong
as my Grief, and as certain as I expect my Revenge. That

part thou Pisanio, must act for me, if thy Faith be not
tainted with the breach of hers; let thine own Hands take
away her Life: I shall give thee Opportunity at Milford
Haven. She hath my Letter for the purpose; where, if thou
fear to strike, and to make me certain it is done, thou art the
Pander to her Dishonour, and equally to me Disloyal.

Pis.
What shall I need to draw my Sword, the Paper
Hath cut her Throat already. No, 'tis Slander,
Whose Edge is sharper than the Sword, whose Tongue
Out-venoms all the Worms of Nile, whose Breath
Rides on the posting Winds, and doth belye
All Corners of the World, Kings, Queens, and States,
Maids, Matrons, nay the Secrets of the Grave
This viperous Slander enters. What chear, Madam?

Imo.
False to his Bed! What is it to be false?
To lie in watch there, and to think on him?
To weep 'twixt Clock and Clock? If Sleep charge Nature,
To break it with a fearful Dream of him.
And cry myself awake? that's false to's Bed,

Pis.
Alas, good Lady!

Imo.
I false? thy Conscience witness, Iachimo,
Thou didst accuse him of Incontinency,
Thou then look'st like a Villain: Now, methinks,
Thy Favour's good enough. Some Jay of Italy,
Whose Feathers were her painting, hath betrayed him,
Poor I am stale, a Garment out of Fashion,
I must be ript; to pieces with me: Oh,
Mens Vows are Womens Traitors. All good seeming
By thy Revolt, oh, Husband, shall be thought
Put on for Villany.

Pis.
Good Madam, hear me—

Imo.
Come, Fellow, be thou honest,
Do thou thy Master's bidding. When thou seest him,
A little witness my Obedience. Look,
I draw the Sword myself, take it, and hit
The innocent Mansion of my Love, my Heart,
Fear not, 'tis empty of all things but Grief:
Thy Master is not there, who was indeed
The Riches of it. Do his bidding, strike,
Thou may'st be valiant in a better Cause:
But now thou seem'st a Coward.

Pis.
Hence vile Instrument,
Thou shall not damn my Hand.

Imo.
Why I must die.
And if I do not by thy Hand, thou art
No Servant of thy Master's. Against Self-slaughter
There is a Prohibition so divine
That cravens my weak Hand: Come, here's my Heart—
Something's afore't—Soft, soft, we'll no Defence;
What is here,
[Opening her Breast.
The Scriptures of the Loyal Leonatus,
All turn'd to Heresie? Away, away,
[Pulling his Letter out of her Bosom.
Corrupters of my Faith, you shall no more
Be Stomachers to my Heart: Pr'ythee dispatch,
The Lamb intreats the Butcher. Where's the Knife?
Thou art too slow to do thy Master's bidding,
When I desire it too.

Pis.
O gracious Lady!
Since I receiv'd Command to do this Business
I have not slept one wink.

Imo.
Do't, and to bed then.

Pis.
I'll break mine Eye-balls first.

Imo.
Wherefore then, didst undertake it?
Why hast thou gone so far
To be unbent? when thou hast ta'en thy Stand,
Th'elected Deer before thee?

Pis.
But to win time
To lose so bad Employment, in the which
I have consider'd of a Course; good Lady,
Hear me with Patience.

Imo.
Talk thy Tongue weary, speak;
I have heard I am a Strumpet, and mine Ear,
Therein false struck, can take no greater Wound,
Nor Tent, to bottom that. But speak.

Pis.
It cannot be,
But that my Master is abus'd, some Villain,
Ay, and singular in his Art, hath done you both
This cursed Injury.

Imo.
Some Roman Courtezan?

Pis.
No, on my Life;
I'll give him Notice you are dead, and send him
Some bloody Sign 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?

Pis.
If you'll back to th'Court.

Imo.
No Court, no Father;

Pis.
If not at Court,
Then not in Britain must you bide. Where then?

Imo.
Hath Britain all the Sun that shines?
There's Living out of Britain.

Pis.
I am most glad
You think of other Place: Th'Ambassador,
Lucius the Roman, comes to Milford-Haven
To-morrow. Now, if you could wear a Mein
Dark as your Fortune is, you should tread a Course
Pretty, and full of view; yea, happily, near
The Residence of Posthumus; so nigh, at least,
That though his Action were not visible, yet
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, there's the Point:
You must forget to be a Woman, change
Command in Obedience, Fear and Niceness,
The Handmaids of all Women, or more truly
Woman its pretty self, into a waggish Courage,
Ready in Gybes, quick-answer'd, sawcy, and
As quarrellous as the Weazel: Nay, you must
Forget that rarest Treasure of your Cheek,
Exposing it (but oh the harder Heart,
Alack, no Remedy) to the greedy Touch
Of common-kissing Titan; and forget
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.

Pis.
First, make yourself but like one.
Fore-thinking this, I have already fit,
('Tis in your 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, 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 doubling that, most holy. For means abroad,
You have me rich, and I will never fail
Beginning, nor supply.

Imo.
Thou art all the Comfort
The Gods will diet me with. This Attempt
I am Soldier to, and will abide it with
A Prince's Courage. Away, I pr'ythee.

Pis.
Well, Madam, we must take a short farewel,
Lest being miss'd, I be suspected of
Your Carriage from the Court. My noble Mistress,
Here is a Phial Glass
What's in't is precious: If you are sick at Sea,
Or Stomach qualm'd at Land, a taste of this
Will drive away Distemper. To some Shade,
And fit you to your Manhood; may the Gods
Direct you to the best

Imo.
Amen, I thank thee.

[Exeunt.