 | Cymbeline |  |
SCENE III.
The Forest.Enter Cloten alone.
Clot.
I am near to th'Place where they should meet,
if Pisanio have mapp'd it truly. How fit his Garments
serve me! Posthumus, thy Head, which is now growing
upon thy Shoulders, shall within this Hour be off, thy
Mistress enforc'd; thy Garments cut to Pieces before her
Face, and all this done, spurn her home to her Father,
who may, happily, be a little angry for my so rough
usage; but my Mother having Power of his Testiness,
shall turn all into my Commendations. My Horse is
ty'd up safe, out Sword, and to a sore Purpose; Fortune
put them into my Hand; this is the very Description of
their Meeting place, and the Fellow dares not deceive
me.
[Exit.
| Cymbeline | |