Cym. The exile of her minion is too new;

She hath not yet forgot him: some more time
Must wear the print of his remembrance out,
And then she's yours.

Queen.

You are most bound to the king,
Who lets go by no vantages that may

Prefer you to his daughter. Frame yourself
To orderly soliciting, and be friended
With aptness of the season; make denials
Increase your services; so seem as if
You were inspired to do those duties which
You tender to her; that you in all obey her,
Save when command to your dismission tends,
And therein you are senseless.

50

Clo.

Senseless! not so.

Enter a Messenger.

Mess. So like you, sir, ambassadors from Rome;
The one is Caius Lucius.

Cym.

A worthy fellow,

Albeit he comes on angry purpose now;

But that's no fault of his: we must receive him
According to the honour of his sender;

60

And towards himself, his goodness forespent on us,
We must extend our notice. Our dear son,

When you have given good morning to your mistress,
Attend the queen and us; we shall have need
To employ you towards this Roman. Come, our
[Exeunt all but Cloten.
Clo. If she be up, I'll speak with her; if not,

queen.

Let her lie still and dream. By your leave, ho!

[Knocks.

70

I know her women are about her: what

If I do line one of their hands? 'Tis gold

Which buys admittance; oft it doth; yea, and makes
Diana's rangers false themselves, yield up

Their deer to the stand o' the stealer; and 'tis gold
Which makes the true man kill'd and saves the thief;
Nay, sometime hangs both thief and true man: what
Can it not do and undo? I will make

One of her women lawyer to me, for
I yet not understand the case myself.
By your leave.

[Knocks. 80

Than some whose tailors are as dear as yours
Can justly boast of. What's your lordship's pleas-

ure?

Clo. Your lady's person: is she ready?

That s more

Lady.

Ay,

To keep her chamber.

Clo.

There is gold for you;

Sell me your good report.

Lady. How! my good name? or to report of you
What I shall think is good? The princess!

Enter Imogen.

[Exit Lady.

Clo. Good morrow, fairest: sister, your sweet hand.
Imo. Good morrow, sir. You lay out too much pains
For purchasing but trouble: the thanks I give

90

Clo.

Is telling you that I am poor of thanks
And scarce can spare them.

Still I swear I love you.

Imo. If you but said so, 'twere as deep with me:
If you swear still, your recompense is still
That I regard it not.

Clo.

This is no answer.

Imo. But that you shall not say I yield being silent,
I would not speak. I pray you, spare me: faith,
I shall unfold equal discourtesy

To your best kindness: one of your great knowing
Should learn, being taught, forbearance.

Clo. To leave you in your madness, 'twere my sin:
I will not.

Imo. Fools are not mad folks.

Clo.

Imo. As I am mad, I do:

Clo.

Do you call me fool?

If you 'll be patient, I'll no more be mad;
That cures us both. I am much sorry, sir,
You put me to forget a lady's manners
By being so verbal: and learn now for all
That I, which know my heart, do here pronounce,
By the very truth of it, I care not for you,
And am so near the lack of charity—

ΙΟΟ

IIO

To accuse myself—I hate you; which I had rather
You felt than make 't my boast.

You sin against
Obedience, which you owe your father. For
The contract you pretend with that base wretch,
One bred of alms and foster'd with cold dishes,
With scraps o' the court, it is no contract, none:
And though it be allow'd in meaner parties-

120

Imo.

Clo.

Yet who than he more mean?—to knit their souls
On whom there is no more dependency

But brats and beggary, in self-figured knot;
Yet you are curb'd from that enlargement by
The consequence o' the crown, and must not soil
The precious note of it with a base slave,
A hilding for a livery, a squire's cloth,
A pantler, not so eminent.

Profane fellow!
Wert thou the son of Jupiter, and no more
But what thou art besides, thou wert too base
To be his groom: thou wert dignified enough,
Even to the point of envy, if 'twere made
Comparative for your virtues to be styled
The under-hangman of his kingdom, and hated
For being preferr'd so well.

Imo. He never can meet more

130

The south-fog rot him! mischance than come

To be but named of thee. His meanest garment,
That ever hath but clipp'd his body, is dearer

In my respect than all the hairs above thee,
Were they all made such men.

Enter Pisanio.

139

How now, Pisanio!

Clo. His garment!' Now, the devil

Imo. To Dorothy my woman hie thee presently,—

Frighted and anger'd worse: go bid my woman
Search for a jewel that too casually

Hath left mine arm: it was thy master's: 'shrew me,
If I would lose it for a revenue

Of any king's in Europe! I do think
I saw 't this morning: confident I am
Last night 'twas on mine arm; I kiss'd it:
I hope it be not gone to tell my lord
That I kiss aught but he.

'Twill not be lost.

Pis.
Imo. I hope so: go and search.

Clo.

Imo.

'His meanest garment!'

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[Exit Pisanio.

You have abused me:

Ay, I said so, sir:

If you will make 't an action, call witness to 't. Clo. I will inform your father.

Imo.

Clo.

Your mother too:

She's my good lady, and will conceive, I hope,
But the worst of me. So, I leave you, sir,

To the worst of discontent.

[Exit.

Post. Fear it not, sir: I would I were so sure
To win the king as I am bold her honour
Will remain hers.

Phi.

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.