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Britain. The garden of Cymbeline's palace.
Enter two Gentlemen.

First Gent.
You do not meet a man but frowns: our bloods
No more obey the heavens than our courtiers
Still seem as does the king.

Sec. Gent.
But what's the matter?

First Gent.
His daughter, and the heir of's kingdom, whom
He purposed to his wife's sole son--a widow
That late he married--hath referr'd herself
Unto a poor but worthy gentleman: she's wedded;
Her husband banish'd; she imprison'd: all
Is outward sorrow; though I think the king
Be touch'd at very heart. (10)

Sec. Gent.
None but the king?

First Gent.
He that hath lost her too; so is the queen,

That most desired the match; but not a courtier,

Although they wear their faces to the bent

Of the king's looks, hath a heart that is not

Glad at the thing they scowl at.

Sec. Gent.
And why so?

First Gent.
He that hath miss'd the princess is a thing

Too bad for bad report: and he that hath her--

I mean, that married her, alack, good man

And therefore banish'd--is a creature such

As, to seek through the regions of the earth

For one his like, there would be something failing

In him that should compare. I do not think

So fair an outward and such stuff within

Endows a man but he.

Sec. Gent.
You speak him far.

First Gent.
I do extend him, sir, within himself,

Crush him together rather than unfold

His measure duly.

Sec. Gent.
What's his name and birth?

First Gent.
I cannot delve him to the root: his father

Was called Sicilius, who did join his honour (30)

Against the Romans with Cassibelan,

But had his titles by Tenantius whom

He served with glory and admired success,

So gain'd the sur-addition Leonatus;

And had, besides this gentleman in question,

Two other sons, who in the wars o' the time

Died with their swords in hand; for which their father,

Then old and fond of issue, took such sorrow

That he quit being, and his gentle lady,

Big of this gentleman our theme, deceased

As he was born. The king he takes the babe (41)

To his protection, calls him Posthumus Leonatus,

Breeds him and makes him of his bed-chamber,

Puts to him all the learnings that his time

Could make him the receiver of; which he took,

As we do air, fast as 'twas minister'd,

And in's spring became a harvest, lived in court--

Which rare it is to do--most praised, most loved,

A sample to the youngest, to the more mature

A glass that feated them, and to the graver

A child that guided dotards; to his mistress,

For whom he now is banish'd, her own price

Proclaims how she esteem'd him and his virtue;

By her election may be truly read

What kind of man he is.

Sec. Gent.
I honor him

Even out of your report. But, pray you, tell me,

Is she sole child to the king?

First Gent.
His only child.

He had two sons: if this be worth your hearing,

Mark it: the eldest of them at three years old,

I' the swathing-clothes the other, from their nursery (60)

Were stol'n, and to this hour no guess in knowledge

Which way they went.

Sec. Gent.
How long is this ago?

First Gent.
Some twenty years.

Sec. Gent.
That a king's children should be so convey'd,

So slackly guarded, and the search so slow,

That could not trace them!

First Gent.
Howsoe'er 'tis strange,

Or that the negligence may well be laugh'd at,

Yet it is true, sir.

Sec. Gent.
I do well believe you.

First Gent.
We must forbear: here comes the gentleman,

The queen, and princess. [Exeunt.

No, be assured you shall not find me, daughter,

After the slander of most stepmothers,

Evil-eyed unto you: you're my prisoner, but

Your gaoler shall deliver you the keys

That lock up your restraint. For you, Posthumus,

So soon as I can win the offended king,

I will be known your advocate: marry, yet

The fire of rage is in him, and 'twere good

You lean'd unto his sentence with what patience

Your wisdom may inform you.

Please your highness,

I will from hence to-day. (80)

You know the peril.

I'll fetch a turn about the garden, pitying

The pangs of barr'd affections, though the king

Hath charged you should not speak together. Exit.


Dissembling courtesy! How fine this tyrant

Can tickle where she wounds! My dearest husband,

I something fear my father's wrath; but nothing--

Always reserved my holy duty--what

His rage can do on me: you must be gone;

And I shall here abide the hourly shot (90)

Of angry eyes, not comforted to live,

But that there is this jewel in the world

That I may see again.

My queen! my mistress!

O lady, weep no more, lest I give cause

To be suspected of more tenderness

Than doth become a man. I will remain

The loyal'st husband that did e'er plight troth:

My residence in Rome at one Philario's,

Who to my father was a friend, to me

Known but by letter: thither write, my queen, (100)

And with mine eyes I'll drink the words you send,

Though ink be made of gall. Re-enter QUEEN.

Be brief, I pray you:

If the king come, I shall incur I know not

How much of his displeasure. [Aside]

I'll move him

To walk this way: I never do him wrong,

But he does buy my injuries, to be friends;

Pays dear for my offences. Exit.

Should we be taking leave

As long a term as yet we have to live,

The loathness to depart would grow. Adieu!

Nay, stay a little:

Were you but riding forth to air yourself,

Such parting were too petty. Look here, love;

This diamond was my mother's: take it, heart;

But keep it till you woo another wife,

When Imogen is dead.

How, how, another?

You gentle gods, give me but this I have,

And sear up my embracements from a next

With bonds of death! [Putting on the ring.]

Remain, remain thou here

While sense can keep it on. And, sweetest, fairest,

As I my poor self did exchange for you, (120)

To your so infinite loss, so in our trifles

I still win of you: for my sake wear this;

It is a manacle of love; I'll place it

Upon this fairest prisoner. [Putting a bracelet upon her arm.

O the gods!

When shall we see again?
Enter CYMBELINE and Lords.

Alack, the king!

Thou basest thing, avoid! hence, from my sight!

If after this command thou fraught the court

With thy unworthiness, thou diest: away!

Thou'rt poison to my blood.

The gods protect you!

And bless the good remainders of the court!

I am gone. [Exit.

There cannot be a pinch in death

More sharp than this is.

O disloyal thing,

That should'st repair my youth, thou heap'st

A year's age on me.

I beseech you, sir,

Harm not yourself with your vexation:

I am senseless of your wrath; a touch more rare

Subdues all pangs, all fears.

Past grace? obedience?

Past hope, and in despair; that way, past grace.

That mightst have had the sole son of my queen!

O blest, that I might not! I chose an eagle, (140)

And did avoid a puttock.

Thou took'st a beggar; wouldst have made my throne

A seat for baseness.

No; I rather added

A lustre to it.

O thou vile one!


It is your fault that I have loved Posthumus:

You bred him as my playfellow, and he is

A man worth any woman, overbuys me

Almost the sum he pays.

What, art thou mad?

Almost, sir: heaven restore me! Would I were

A neat-herd's daughter, and my Leonatus

Our neighbour shepherd's son! (150)

Thou foolish thing! Re-enter QUEEN.

They were again together: you have done

Not after our command. Away with her,

And pen her up.

Beseech your patience. Peace,

Dear lady daughter, peace! Sweet sovereign,

Leave us to ourselves; and make yourself some comfort

Out of your best advice.

Nay, let her languish

A drop of blood a day; and, being aged,

Die of this folly! Exeunt Cymbeline and Lords.

Fie! you must give way. Enter PISANIO.

Here is your servant. How now, sir! What news?

My lord your son drew on my master. (160)


No harm, I trust, is done?

There might have been,

But that my master rather play'd than fought

And had no help of anger: they were parted

By gentlemen at hand.

I am very glad on't.

Your son's my father's friend; he takes his part.

To draw upon an exile! O brave sir!

I would they were in Afric both together;

Myself by with a needle, that I might prick

The goer-back. Why came you from your master? (170)

On his command: he would not suffer me

To bring him to the haven; left these notes

Of what commands I should be subject to,

When't pleased you to employ me.

This hath been

Your faithful servant: I dare lay mine honor

He will remain so.

I humbly thank your highness.

Pray, walk awhile.

About some half-hour hence,

I pray you, speak with me: you shall at least

Go see my lord aboard: for this time leave me. [Exeunt.


The same. A public place.
Enter CLOTEN and two Lords.

First Lord.
Sir, I would advise you to shift
a shirt; the violence of action hath made you
reek as a sacrifice: where air comes out, air
comes in: there's none abroad so wholesome
as that you vent.

If my shirt were bloody, then to shift
it. Have I hurt him?

Sec. Lord.
No, 'faith; not so
much as his patience.

First Lord.
Hurt him! his body's a passa-
ble carcass, if he be not hurt: it is a thoroughfare
for steel, if it be not hurt.

Sec. Lord.
His steel was in debt;
it went o' the backside the town.

The villain would not stand me.

Sec. Lord.
No; but he fled for-
ward still, toward your face.

First Lord.
Stand you! You have land
enough of your own: but he added to your
having; gave you some ground.

Sec. Lord.
[Aside] As many inches as you
have oceans. Puppies!

I would they had not come between

Sec. Lord.
So would I, till you
had measured how long a fool you were upon
the ground.

And that she should love this fellow
and refuse me!

Sec. Lord.
If it be a sin to make a
true election, she is damned.

First Lord.
Sir, as I told you always, her
beauty and her brain go not together: she's a
good sign, but I have seen small reflection of
her wit.

Sec. Lord.
She shines not upon
fools, lest the reflection should hurt her.

Come, I'll to my chamber. Would
there had been some hurt done!

Sec. Lord.
I wish not so; unless it
had been the fall of an ass, which is no great

You'll go with us?

First Lord.
I'll attend your lordship.

Nay, come, let's go together.

Sec. Lord.
Well, my lord. [Exeunt.


A room in Cymbeline's palace.

I would thou grew'st unto the shores o' the haven,

And question'dst every sail: if he should write,

And I not have it, 'twere a paper lost,

As offer'd mercy is. What was the last

That he spake to thee?

It was his queen, his queen!

Then waved his handkerchief?

And kiss'd it, madam.

Senseless linen! happier therein than I!

And that was all?

No, madam; for so long

As he could make me with this eye or ear (10)

Distinguish him from others, he did keep

The deck, with glove, or hat, or handkerchief,

Still waving, as the fits and stirs of's mind

Could best express how slow his soul sail'd on,

How swift his ship.

Thou shouldst have made him

As little as a crow, or less, ere left

To after-eye him.

Madam, so I did.

I would have broke mine eye-strings; crack'd them, but

To look upon him, till the diminution

Of space had pointed him sharp as my needle,

Nay, follow'd him, till he had melted from

The smallness of a gnat to air, and then

Have turn'd mine eye and wept. But, good Pisanio,

When shall we hear from him?

Be assured, madam,

With his next vantage.

I did not take my leave of him, but had

Most pretty things to say: ere I could tell him

How I would think on him at certain hours

Such thoughts and such, or I could make him swear

The shes of Italy should not betray (30)

Mine interest and his honour, or have charged him,

At the sixth hour of morn, at noon, at mid- night,

To encounter me with orisons, for then

I am in heaven for him; or ere I could

Give him that parting kiss which I had set

Betwixt two charming words, comes in my father

And like the tyrannous breathing of the north

Shakes all our buds from growing. Enter a Lady.

The queen, madam,

Desires your highness' company.

Those things I bid you do, get them dispatch'd.

I will attend the queen. (40)

Madam, I shall. [Exeunt.


Rome. Philario's house.
Enter PHILARIO, IACHIMO, a Frenchman, a Dutchman, and a Spaniard.

Believe it, sir, I have seen him in
Britain: he was then of a crescent note, expected
to prove so worthy as since he hath
been allowed the name of; but I could then
have looked on him without the help of admiration,
though the catalogue of his endowments
had been tabled by his side and I to
peruse him by items.

You speak of him when he was less
furnished than now he is with that which
makes him both without and within.

I have seen him in France: we
had very many there could behold the sun
with as firm eye as he.

This matter of marrying his king's
daughter, wherein he must be weighed rather
by her value than his own, words him, I doubt
not, a great deal from the matter.

And then his banishment.

Ay, and the approbation of those
that weep this lamentable divorce under her
colors are wonderfully to extend him; be it
but to fortify her judgement, which else an easy
battery might lay flat, for taking a beggar without
less quality. But how comes it he is to
sojourn with you? How creeps acquaintance?

His father and I were soldiers together;
to whom I have been often bound for
no less than my life. Here comes the Briton:
let him be so entertained amongst you as suits,
with gentlemen of your knowing, to a stranger
of his quality. Enter POSTHUMUS.

I beseech you all, be better known to this gentleman,
whom I commend to you as a noble
friend of mine: how worthy he is I will leave
to appear hereafter, rather than story him in
his own hearing.

Sir, we have known together in

Since when I have been debtor to you
for courtesies, which I will be ever to pay and
yet pay still.

Sir, you o'er-rate my poor kindness:
I was glad I did atone my countryman
and you; it had been pity you should have
been put together with so mortal a purpose as
then each bore, upon importance of so slight
and trivial a nature.

By your pardon, sir, I was then a
young traveller; rather shunned to go even
with what I heard than in my every action to
be guided by others' experiences: but upon
my mended judgement--if I offend not to say
it is mended--my quarrel was not altogether

'Faith, yes, to be put to the arbitrement
of swords, and by such two that
would by all likelihood have confounded one
the other, or have fallen both.

Can we, with manners, ask what was
the difference?

Safely, I think: 'twas a contention
in public, which may, without contradiction,
suffer the report. It was much like an
argument that fell out last night, where each
of us fell in praise of our country mistresses;
this gentleman at that time vouching--and
upon warrant of bloody affirmation--his to be
more fair, virtuous, wise, chaste, constant-
qualified and less attemptable than any the
rarest of our ladies in France.

That lady is not now living, or this
gentleman's opinion by this worn out.

She holds her virtue still and I my

You must not so far prefer her 'fore
ours of Italy.

Being so far provoked as I was in
France, I would abate her nothing, though I
profess myself her adorer, not her friend.

As fair and as good--a kind of
hand-in-hand comparison--had been something
too fair and too good for any lady in
Britain. If she went before others I have seen,
as that diamond of yours outlustres many I
have beheld, I could not but believe she excelled
many: but I have not seen the most
precious diamond that is, nor you the lady.

I praised her as I rated her: so do I
my stone.

What do you esteem it at?

More than the world enjoys.

Either your unparagoned mistress is
dead, or she's outprized by a trifle.

You are mistaken: the one may be
sold, or given, if there were wealth enough for
the purchase, or merit for the gift: the other
is not a thing for sale, and only the gift of the

Which the gods have given you?

Which, by their graces, I will keep.

You may wear her in title yours:
but, you know, strange fowl light upon neigh-
boring ponds. Your ring may be stolen too:
so your brace of unprizable estimations; the
one is but frail and the other casual; a cunning
thief, or a that way accomplished courtier,
would hazard the winning both of first
and last.

Your Italy contains none so accomplished
a courtier to convince the honor of my
mistress, if, in the holding or loss of that, you
term her frail. I do nothing doubt you have
store of thieves; notwithstanding, I fear not
my ring.

Let us leave here, gentlemen.

Sir, with all my heart. This worthy
signior, I thank him, makes no stranger of
me; we are familiar at first.

With five times so much conversation,
I should get ground of your fair mistress,
make her go back, even to the yielding, had I
admittance and opportunity to friend.

No, no.

I dare thereupon pawn the moiety of
my estate to your ring; which, in my opinion,
o'ervalues it something: but I make my wager
rather against your confidence than her repu-
tation: and, to bar your offence herein too, I
durst attempt it against any lady in the world.

You are a great deal abused in too
bold a persuasion; and I doubt not you sustain
what you're worthy of by your attempt.

What's that?

A repulse: though your attempt, as
you call it, deserve more; a punishment too.

Gentlemen, enough of this: it came
in too suddenly; let it die as it was born, and,
I pray you, be better acquainted.

Would I had put my estate and my
neighbor's on the approbation of what I have

What lady would you choose to

Yours; whom in constancy you
think stands so safe. I will lay you ten thousand
ducats to your ring, that, commend me
to the court where your lady is, with no more
advantage than the opportunity of a second
conference, and I will bring from thence that
honor of hers which you imagine so reserved.

I will wage against your gold, gold
to it: my ring I hold dear as my finger; 'tis
part of it.

You are afraid, and therein the
wiser. If you buy ladies' flesh at a million a
dram, you cannot preserve it from tainting:
but I see you have some religion in you, that
you fear.

This is but a custom in your tongue;
you bear a graver purpose, I hope.

I am the master of my speeches, and
would undergo what's spoken, I swear.

Will you? I shall but lend my diamond
till your return: let there be covenants
drawn between's: my mistress exceeds in
goodness the hugeness of your unworthy thinking:
I dare you to this match: here's my ring.

I will have it no lay.

By the gods, it is one. If I bring you
no sufficient testimony that I have enjoyed the
dearest bodily part of your mistress, my ten
thousand ducats are yours; so is your diamond
too: if I come off, and leave her in
such honor as you have trust in, she your
jewel, this your jewel, and my gold are yours:
provided I have your commendation for my
more free entertainment.

I embrace these conditions; let us
have articles betwixt us. Only, thus far you
shall answer: if you make your voyage upon
her and give me directly to understand you
have prevailed, I am no further your enemy;
she is not worth our debate: if she remain unseduced,
you not making it appear otherwise,
for your ill opinion and the assault you have
made to her chastity you shall answer me with
your sword.

Your hand; a covenant: we will
have these things set down by lawful counsel,
and straight away for Britain, lest the bargain
should catch cold and starve: I will fetch my
gold and have our two wagers recorded.

Agreed. [Exeunt Posthumus and Iachimo.

Will this hold, think you?

Signior Iachimo will not from it.
Pray, let us follow 'em. [Exeunt.


Britain. A room in Cymbeline's palace.
Enter QUEEN, Ladies, and CORNELIUS.

Whiles yet the dew's on ground, gather those flowers;

Make haste: who has the note of them?

First Lady.
I, madam.

Dispatch. Exeunt Ladies.

Now, master doctor, have you brought those drugs?

Pleaseth your highness, ay: here they are, madam: [Presenting a small box.

But I beseech your grace, without offence,--

My conscience bids me ask--wherefore you have

Commanded of me these most poisonous compounds,

Which are the movers of a languishing death;

But though slow, deadly? (10)

I wonder, doctor,

Thou ask'st me such a question. Have I not been

Thy pupil long? Hast thou not learn'd me how

To make perfumes? distil? preserve? yea, so

That our great king himself doth woo me oft

For my confections? Having thus far proceeded,--

Unless thou think'st me devilish--is't not meet

That I did amplify my judgement in

Other conclusions? I will try the forces

Of these thy compounds on such creatures as (20)

We count not worth the hanging, but none human,

To try the vigour of them and apply

Allayments to their act, and by them gather

Their several virtues and effects.

Your highness

Shall from this practice but make hard your heart:

Besides, the seeing these effects will be

Both noisome and infectious.

O, content thee. Enter PISANIO.

Here comes a flattering rascal; upon him

Will I first work: he's for his master,

And enemy to my son. How now, Pisanio!

Doctor, your service for this time is ended;

Take your own way.

I do suspect you, madam;

But you shall do no harm.

[To Pisanio]
Hark thee, a word.

I do not like her. She doth think she has

Strange lingering poisons: I do not know her spirit,

And will not trust one of her malice with

A drug of such damn'd nature. Those she has

Will stupefy and dull the sense awhile;

Which first, perchance, she'll prove on cats and dogs,

Then afterward up higher: but there is (40)

No danger in what show of death it makes,

More than the locking-up the spirits a time,

To be more fresh, reviving. She is fool'd

With a most false effect; and I the truer,

So to be false with her.

No further service, doctor,

Until I send for thee.

I humbly take my leave. [Exit.

Weeps she still, say'st thou? Dost thou think in time

She will not quench and let instructions enter

Where folly now possesses? Do thou work:

When thou shalt bring me word she loves my son, (50)

I'll tell thee on the instant thou art then

As great as is thy master, greater, for

His fortunes all lie speechless and his name

Is at last gasp: return he cannot, nor

Continue where he is: to shift his being

Is to exchange one misery with another,

And every day that comes comes to decay

A day's work in him. What shalt thou expect,

To be depender on a thing that leans,

Who cannot be new built, nor has no friends,

So much as but to prop him? [The Queen drops the box: Pisanio takes it up.]
Thou takest up

Thou know'st not what; but take it for thy labor:

It is a thing I made, which hath the king

Five times redeem'd from death: I do not know

What is more cordial. Nay, I prithee, take it;

It is an earnest of a further good

That I mean to thee. Tell thy mistress how

The case stands with her; do't as from thyself.

Think what a chance thou changest on, but think

Thou hast thy mistress still, to boot, my son, (70)

Who shall take notice of thee: I'll move the king

To any shape of thy preferment such

As thou'lt desire; and then myself, I chiefly,

That set thee on to this desert, am bound

To load thy merit richly. Call my women:

Think on my words. [Exit Pisanio.

A sly and constant knave,

Not to be shaked; the agent for his master

And the remembrancer of her to hold

The hand-fast to her lord. I have given him that

Which, if he take, shall quite unpeople her

Of liegers for her sweet, and which she after,

Except she bend her humour, shall be assured

To taste of too.
Re-enter PISANIO and Ladies.

So, so: well done, well done:

The violets, cowslips, and the primroses,

Bear to my closet. Fare thee well, Pisanio;

Think on my words. Exeunt Queen and Ladies.

And shall do:

But when to my good lord I prove untrue,

I'll choke myself: there's all I'll do for you. [Exit.


The same. Another room in the palace.

A father cruel, and a step-dame false;

A foolish suitor to a wedded lady,

That hath her husband banish'd;--O, that husband!

My supreme crown of grief! and those repeated

Vexations of it! Had I been thief-stol'n,

As my two brothers, happy! but most miserable

Is the desire that's glorious: blest be those,

How mean soe'er, that have their honest wills,

Which seasons comfort. Who may this be? Fie! Enter PISANIO and IACHIMO.

Madam, a noble gentleman of Rome,

Comes from my lord with letters. (11)

Change you, madam?

The worthy Leonatus is in safety

And greets your highness dearly. [Presents a letter.

Thanks, good sir:

You're kindly welcome.

All of her that is out of door most rich!

If she be furnish'd with a mind so rare,

She is alone the Arabian bird, and I

Have lost the wager. Boldness be my friend!

Arm me, audacity, from head to foot! (20)

Or, like the Parthian, I shall flying fight;

Rather, directly fly.

'He is one of the noblest
note, to whose kindnesses I am most infinitely
tied. Reflect upon him accordingly, as you
value your trust-- LEONATUS.'

So far I read aloud:

But even the very middle of my heart

Is warm'd by the rest, and takes it thankfully.

You are as welcome, worthy sir, as I (30)

Have words to bid you, and shall find it so

In all that I can do.

Thanks, fairest lady.

What, are men mad? Hath nature given them eyes

To see this vaulted arch, and the rich crop

Of sea and land, which can distinguish 'twixt

The fiery orbs above and the twinn'd stones

Upon the number'd beach? and can we not

Partition make with spectacles so precious

'Twixt fair and foul?

What makes your admiration?

It cannot be i' the eye, for apes and monkeys (40)

'Twixt two such shes would chatter this way and

Contemn with mows the other; nor i' the judgement,

For idiots in this case of favor would

Be wisely definite; nor i' the appetite;

Sluttery to such neat excellence opposed

Should make desire vomit emptiness,

Not so allured to feed.

What is the matter, trow?

The cloyed will,

That satiate yet unsatisfied desire, that tub

Both fill'd and running, ravening first the lamb,

Longs after for the garbage. (50)

What, dear sir,

Thus raps you? Are you well?

Thanks, madam; well. [To Pisanio]

Beseech you, sir, desire

My man's abode where I did leave him: he

Is strange and peevish.

I was going, sir,

To give him welcome. [Exit.

Continues well my lord? His health, beseech you?

Well, madam.

Is he disposed to mirth? I hope he, is.

Exceeding pleasant; none a stranger there (60)

So merry and so gamesome: he is call'd

The Briton reveller.

When he was here,

He did incline to sadness, and oft-times

Not knowing why.

I never saw him sad.

There is a Frenchman his companion, one

An eminent monsieur, that, it seems, much loves

A Gallian girl at home; he furnaces

The thick sighs from him, whiles the jolly Briton--

Your lord, I mean--laughs from's free lungs, cries 'O,

Can my sides hold, to think that man, who knows (70)

By history, report, or his own proof,

What woman is, yea, what she cannot choose

But must be, will his free hours languish for

Assured bondage?'

Will my lord say so?

Ay, madam, with his eyes in flood with laughter:

It is a recreation to be by

And hear him mock the Frenchman. But, heavens know,

Some men are much to blame.

Not he, I hope,

Not he: but yet heaven's bounty towards him might

Be used more thankfully. In himself, 'tismuch;

In you, which I account his beyond all talents, (81)

Whilst I am bound to wonder, I am bound

To pity too.

What do you pity, sir?

Two creatures heartily.

Am I one, sir?

You look on me: what wreck discern you in me

Deserves your pity?

Lamentable! What,

To hide me from the radiant sun and solace

I' the dungeon by a snuff?

I pray you, sir,

Deliver with more openness your answers

To my demands. Why do you pity me? (90)

That others do--

I was about to say--enjoy your--But

It is an office of the gods to venge it,

Not mine to speak on 't.

You do seem to know

Something of me, or what concerns me: pray you,--

Since doubting things go ill often hurts more

Than to be sure they do; for certainties

Either are past remedies, or, timely knowing,

The remedy then born--discover to me

What both you spur and stop. (99)

Had I this cheek

To bathe my lips upon; this hand, whose touch,

Whose every touch, would force the feeler's soul

To the oath of loyalty; this object, which

Takes prisoner the wild motion of mine eye,

Fixing it only here; should I, damn'd then,

Slaver with lips as common as the stairs

That mount the Capitol; join gripes with hands

Made hard with hourly falsehood--falsehood, as

With labor; then by-peeping in an eye

Base and unlustrous as the smoky light (110)

That's fed with stinking tallow; it were fit

That all the plagues of hell should at one time

Encounter such revolt.

My lord, I fear,

Has forgot Britain.

And himself. Not I,

Inclined to this intelligence, pronounce

The beggary of his change; but 'tis your graces

That from my mutest conscience to my tongue

Charms this report out.

Let me hear no more.

O dearest soul! your cause doth strike my heart

With pity, that doth make me sick. A lady (120)

So fair, and fasten'd to an empery,

Would make the great'st king double,--to be partner'd

With tomboys hired with that self exhibition

Which your own coffers yield! with diseased ventures

That play with all infirmities for gold

Which rottenness can lend nature! such boil'd stuff

As well might poison poison! Be revenged;

Or she that bore you was no queen, and you

Recoil from your great stock.


How should I be revenged? If this be true,-- (130)

As I have such a heart that both mine ears

Must not in haste abuse--if it be true,

How should I be revenged?

Should he make me

Live, like Diana's priest, betwixt cold sheets,

While he is vaulting variable ramps,

In your despite, upon your purse? Revenge it.

I dedicate myself to your sweet pleasure,

More noble than that runagate to your bed,

And will continue fast to your affection,

Still close as sure.

What, ho, Pisanio!

Let me my service tender on your lips. (141)

Away! I do condemn mine ears that have

So long attended thee. If thou wert honorable,

Thou wouldst have told this tale for virtue, not

For such an end thou seek'st,--as base as strange

Thou wrong'st a gentleman, who is as far

From thy report as thou from honor, and

Solicit'st here a lady that disdains

Thee and the devil alike. What ho, Pisanio!

The king my father shall be made acquainted (150)

Of thy assault: if he shall think it fit,

A saucy stranger in his court to mart

As in a Romish stew and to expound

His beastly mind to us, he hath a court

He little cares for and a daughter who

He not respects at all. What, ho, Pisanio!

O happy Leonatus! I may say:

The credit that thy lady hath of thee

Deserves thy trust, and thy most perfect goodness

Her assured credit. Blessed live you long! (160)

A lady to the worthiest sir that ever

Country call'd his! and you his mistress, only

For the most worthiest fit! Give me your pardon.

I have spoke this, to know if your affiance

Were deeply rooted; and shall make your lord,

That which he is, new o'er: and he is one

The truest manner'd; such a holy witch

That he enchants societies into him;

Half all men's hearts are his.

You make amends.

He sits 'mongst men like a descended god: (170)

He hath a kind of honor sets him off,

More than a mortal seeming. Be not angry,

Most mighty princess, that I have adventured

To try your taking of a false report; which hath

Honor'd with confirmation your great judgement

In the election of a sir so rare,

Which you know cannot err: the love I bear him

Made me to fan you thus, but the gods made you,

Unlike all others, chaffless. Pray, your pardon.

All's well, sir: take my power i' the court for yours. (780)

My humble thanks. I had almost forgot

To entreat your grace but in a small request,

And yet of moment too, for it concerns

Your lord; myself and other noble friends

Are partners in the business.

Pray, what is't?

Some dozen Romans of us and your lord--

The best feather of our wing--have mingled sums

To buy a present for the emperor;

Which I, the factor for the rest, have done

In France: 'tis plate of rare device, and jewels

Of rich and exquisite form; their values great;

And I am something curious, being strange,

To have them in safe stowage: may it please you

To take them in protection?


And pawn mine honor for their safety: since

My lord hath interest in them, I will keep them

In my bedchamber.

They are in a trunk,

Attended by my men: I will make bold

To send them to you, only for this night;

I must aboard to-morrow.

O, no, no. (200)

Yes, I beseech; or I shall short my word

By lengthening my return. From Gallia

I cross'd the seas on purpose and on promise

To see your grace.

I thank you for your pains:

But not away to-morrow!

O, I must, madam:

Therefore I shall beseech you, if you please

To greet your lord with writing, do't tonight:

I have outstood my time; which is material

To the tender of our present.

I will write.

Send your trunk to me; it shall safe be kept,

And truly yielded you. You're very welcome. Exeunt.

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