University of Virginia Library

SCENE Another part of the Forest.
Enter Philario, and Imogen in boy's clothes.
IMOGEN.
Thou told'st me when we came from home, the place
Was near at hand. Ne'er long'd his mother so
To see him first, as I do now. Where are we?
Here is no path, no proof of habitation;
And, but we tread on solid earth, methinks
We're out o'th' bounds o'th' world—I pray, Philario,
Where dost thou lead me? It will soon be night,
For see the lamp of Phœbus is nigh quench'd
In Thetis' watry bosom.—

PHILARIO.
Madam, here
Our journey ends:

IMOGEN.
Here! where is Leonatus?

PHILARIO.
Lady, at Rome—'twere treason to be here.

IMOGEN.
Alas! what means this coldness of reply?
Hast thou abus'd me with a forged letter?
Where is my lord, Philario?—What's the matter?
Why offer'st thou that paper to me with
A look untender? how! my husband's hand!
Quick, slay, or cure me outright.

PHILARIO.
Please you, read,
And you shall find the duty I am bound to.

IMOGEN
reads.

My wife, Philario, hath play'd the strumpet in my
bed; the testimonies whereof lie 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, Philario, must act for me; Let thine
own hand take away her life; I shall give thee oppurtunity
in the road to Milford: my letter is for that
purpose to her: so, if thou fear to strike, and to certify
it is done, thou hast broken thy vows, and art a
traitor to friendship.

(Imogen drops the letter, stands silent, and in the utmost consternation.)

PHILARIO.
Is her amazement innocent or guilty?
Tell me some God,—for sure a mortal wit
May else misconstrue such perplexity.—
(Aside.)
Madam, what cheer? are you prepar'd to die?

IMOGEN.
I false! I false to's bed? have I been chaste
As snows that sun-beam never kist, for this?
Gods! have I left my father's gilded roof,
The rights of birth, the largesses of fortune,
The pageants of pre-eminence, and all
That womanhood is said to doat on, yea
And womanhood itself?—have I left these,
No jewel taken with me but my honour,
To hear I'm false? oh! oh!

PHILARIO.
She heeds me not.—]

IMOGEN.
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 false to's bed!

PHILARIO.
What shall I do? I must be home to th' point.
(Aside.)
Lady, I stand not here to try your cause:
I am your executioner :—your judge,
My friend, to whom I've sworn all offices,
Appoints me to this deed;—if thou art guilty,
I hold the sword of justice; if guilt-free,
Thy blood must light on Leonatus' head—
One pray'r and I dispatch.—

IMOGEN.
That paper, Sir,
Hath done the bus'ness: You may sheath your sword;—
I've heard I am a strumpet, and my heart
Therein false struck, can take no greater wound,
Nor tent to bottom that.

PHILARIO.
O yet bethink you—
With what a weight descends the guilty soul,
Sunk with a load of unrepented crimes?
For such th' infernal ministers prepare
The darkest cells of Erebus.

IMOGEN..
Nay, preach not,
But do thy work—and when thou seest my lord,
A little witness my obedience;—look—
Smiling I meet thy angry sword—come, hit
Th'innocent mansion of my love, my heart—
Prythee, dispatch—Is that the stern Philario,
That came on murder's errand?—Strike—for now
The lamb intreats the butcher.

PHILARIO.
O that look
Would out-face proof. (Aside.)
Hence thou vile instrument,
Thou shalt not damn my hand.—
(Throws down the sword.)
It cannot be
But that my friend's abus'd—some crafty villain
That's sing'lar in his art, hath done you both
This cursed injury.—O thou vip'rous slander,
Thy edge is sharper than the murd'rous sword;
Thy tongue out-venoms all the worms of Nile;
Thy breath, that rides upon the posting winds,
Belies all corners of the world.—I'll speak
As from most firm conviction of her virtue,
To probe her still more deeply—I have yet
More test to put her to.

(Aside.)
IMOGEN.
Alas! Philario,
Some jay of Italy, with painted feathers,
Hath robb'd me of his heart; poor I am stale;
A cast-off robe; a garment out of fashion;
And, for I'm richer than to hang by th' wall,
I must be ript—to pieces with me—oh!
Men's vows are women's traitors.

PHILARIO.
If it be so,
(As I confess it doth provoke belief)
The face of virtue shall from hence be thought
The mask of villainy; and Leonatus
Hath laid the level to all proper men;
Goodly and gallant shall be false and perjur'd,
From his great fall.

IMOGEN.
Take up thy sword, Philario,
Behold my breast obedient as the scabbard.—
I liv'd but to one end, to do his pleasure,
And to that end would die.—

PHILARIO.
O gracious lady,
Since I receiv'd command to do this bus'ness,
I scarce have slept one wink.

IMOGEN.
Do't, and to bed then.

PHILARIO.
I'll wake mine eye-balls blind first. No, thou sweetest,
If he hath stain'd his loyalty, his mind
Is now as low to thine, as were his fortunes.—
What! shall his vileness batteries erect
To shake thy fort of innocence?—Live, lady,
To kill him with thine eye—he shall be told
That I have done his bidding, and awhile
You in some residence obscure shall 'bide,
As is thy present habit.—Come, let's hence.
Sure this discourse hath much bewilder'd me,
Or we have march'd too wide.—Fortune befriend us,
Else we have far to supper.—This way, lady.—

[Exeunt.