University of Virginia Library

SCENE IV.

A Servant enters followed by Clodio.
Serv.
Madam, a knight of Rome attends your pleasure,
With letters from my lord.

[Exit.
Clod.
Nay, change not, lady—
The noble Leonatus is in safety,
And honour'd me with these.

[Gives Letters.
Imog.
Thanks, courteous sir!—
O, learn'd, indeed, were that astronomer,
Who knew the stars as I his characters;
He'd lay the future open—Wax, thy leave.
Blest be the bees that made these locks of counsel!
Good news, good gods!

[Reads.
Clod.
All of her, that is out of door, most rich!—
If she be furnish'd with a mind as rare,
She is alone the Arabian Bird; and I,
In rashly seeking after my own shame,
Have lost myself—Audacity befriend me!

Imog.
Most welcome, worthy sir!—for my dear lord
Here sends thrice happy tidings, that he is near,
And well, and well protected in the love
Of the most noble Lucius—Generous sir,
You have chear'd a hopeless mourner—welcome, welcome!
Have you aught else, in kind commission, from
My Leonatus; or, if not from him,
From your kind self?—as, how he look'd, or talk'd
Or smiled, or moved; or, with what circumstance
He gave this blest remembrance—These are things,
In love's fond lore, of infinite import,
Though nothing to you wise ones.

Clod.
Royal lady,
I blush to find myself not duly versed
In this sweet erudition. I have nought,
Worthy of like memorial, to deliver,
Save, that our friend, our happy Leonatus,
Bade me renew the plightings of his faith,
Upon this peerless wax.

[Offers to kiss her hand—she withdraws it.
Imog.
How, sir!—I find you grow alike forgetful
Of me, and of your message—Here—who waits?

Clod.
Your pardon, fair!—wherein have I offended?

Imog.
Is it the custom, for your Roman dames
To be so ill respected?

Clod.
Gracious goddess!
What you misdeem for insolence, with us
Marks the submissive sign of adoration;
And the fair hand of our imperial Julia,
Is daily worship'd by the lips of thousands.

Imog.
Fashion may change with fancy—Gentle sir,
I trust your knowledge will excuse our wants,
And yet conform to what it finds—Still, welcome!
All's well, I hope—pray take my power for yours,
And to your full content.

Clod.
Surpassing creature!
Were I commission'd to call forth the winds,
From east and west, to winnow her throughout,
The gods, the gods, I find, have made her chaffless.
[Aside.
Consummate queen! scepter'd in every soul
That bends before perfection!—there is, yet,
One favour—

Imog.
Ask with confidence—believe it
Already granted.

Clod.
I am come, express,
From Rome to Cymbeline, and bring a coffer
That bears the seal of Cæsar, yet inviolate.
Within, 'tis freighted with some rich contents
Of rare device, and precious estimation;
Gifts from Augustus to your royal sire,
Your princely self, and his adopted son,
Your peerless Leonatus.—For this night,
I wish them safe; and safest I should deem them
In your protection, lady.

Imog.
Send them hither;
And, for the sake of that most valued part,
Respective to my lord, I'll see them stow'd
In my own chamber.—I will answer, truly,
To your best trust—and so, good sir, good night!

Clod.
My soul bows down to thank you. Peace, and slumbers
Sweet as your graces, wait you till the morning?

[Exeunt severally.