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You have me, rich; and I will never fail
Beginning, nor supplyment.

Imo. Thou art all the comfort
The gods will diet me with. Pr’ythee, away:
There's more to be considered; but we'll even
All that good time will give us : This attempt
I'm soldier to, and will abide it with
A prince's courage. Away, I pr’ythee.

Pis. Well, madam, we must take a short farewell;
Lest, being miss’d, I be suspected of
Your carriage froin the court. My noble mistress,
Here is a box: I had it from the queen;
What's in't is precious; if you are sick at sea,
Or stomach-qualm'd at land, a dram of this
Will drive away distemper.-To some shade,
And fit you to your manhood :-May the gods
Direct you to the best !
Imo. Amen: I thank thee.

[Exeunt.

SCENE V.-A room in Cymbeline's palace. Enter CYMBELINE, Queen, CLOTEN, LUCIUS,

and Lords. Cym. Thus far, and so farewell.

Luc. Thanks, royal sir.
My emperor hath wrote; I must from hence;
And am right sorry, that I must report ye
My master's enemy.

Cym. Our subjects, sir,
Will not endure his yoke; and for ourself
To show less sovereignty than they, must needs
Appear unkinglike.

Luc. So, sir, I desire of you
A conduct over land, to Milford-Haven.-
Madam, all joy befal your grace, and you !

Cym. My lords, you are appointed for that office; The due of honour in no point omit :So, farewell, noble Lucius.

Luc. Your hand, my lord.

Clo. Receive it friendly: but from this time forth I wear it as your enemy.

Luc. Sir, the event Is yet to name the winner: Fare you well. Cym. Leave not the worthy Lucius, good my

lords, Till be have cross'd the Severn.-Happiness!

[Exeunt Lucius, and Lords. Queen. He goes hence frowning: but it honours

us,
That we bave given him cause.

Clo. 'Tis all the better;
Your valiant Britons have their wishes in it.

Cym. Lucius hath wrote already to the emperor
How it goes here. It fits us therefore, ripely,
Our chariots and our horsemen be in readiness :
The powers, that he already bath in Gallia,
Will soon be drawn to head, from whence he moves
His war for Britain.

Queen. 'Tis not sleepy business ;
But must be look'd to speedily, and strongly.

Cym. Our expectation, that it would be thus,
Hath made us forward. But, my gentle queen,
Where is our daughter? She hath not appear'd
Before the Roman, nor to us hath tender'd
The duty of the day: She looks us like
A thing more made of malice, than of duty:
We have noted it.-Call her before us; for
We have been too slight in sufferance.

[Exit an Attendant,
Queen. Royal sir,
Since the exíle of Posthumus, most retir'd
Hath her life been; the cure whereof, iny lord,

'Tis time must do. 'Beseech your majesty,
Forbear sharp speeches to her : She's a lady
So tender of rebukes, that words are strokes,
And strokes death to her.

Re-enter an Attendant,
Cym. Where is she, sir? How
Can her contempt be answer’d?

Atten. Please you, sir,
Her chambers are all lock'd; and there's no answer,
That will be given to the loudest of noise we make..

Queen. My lord, when last I went to visit her, She pray'd me to excuse her keeping close ; Whereto constrain’d by her infirmity, She should that duty leave unpaid to you, Which daily she was bound to proffer: this She wish'd me to make known; but our great court Made me to blame in memory.

Cym. Her doors lock'd? Not seen of late? Grant, heavens, that, which I fear, Prove false!

[Exit. Queen. Son, I say, follow the king.

Clo. That man of hers, Pisanio, her old servant, I have not seen these two days. Queen. Go, look after.

(Exit Cloten, Pisanio, thou that stand'st so for Posthumus! He hath a drug of mine: I pray, his absence Proceed by swallowing that; for he believes It is a thing most precious. But for her, Where is she gone? Haply, despair bath seiz'd her; Or, wing'd with fervour of her love, she's flown To her desir'd Posthumus : Gone she is To death, or to dishonour; and my

end Can make good use of either: She being down, I have the placing of the British crown.

Re-enter CLOTEN.
How now, my son?

Clo. 'Tis certain, she is fled:
Go in, and cheer the king; he rages; none
Dare come about him.

Queen. All the better : May
This night forestall him of the coming day!

(Exit Queer.
Clo. I love, and hate her: for she's fair and royal ;
And that she bath all courtly parts more exquisite
Than lady, ladies, woman; from every one
The best she hath, and she, of all compounded,
Outsells them all : I love her therefore: But,
Disdaining me, and throwing favours on
The low Posthumus, slanders so her judgment,
That what's else rare, is chok'd; and, in that point,
I will conclude to bate her, nay, indeed,
To be reveng'd upon her. For, when fools

Enter PISANIO. Shall-Who is here? What! are you packing, sirrah? Come bither: Ah, you precious pandar! Villain, Where is thy lady? In a word; or else Thou art straightway with the fiends.

Pis. O, good my lord !

Clo. Where is thy lady? or, by Jupiter,
I will not ask again. Close villain,
I'll have this secret from thy heart, or rip
Thy beart to find it. Is she with Posthúmus.
From whose so many weights of baseness cannot
A dram of worth be drawn.

Pis. Alas, my lord,
How can she be with him? When was she miss'd :
He is in Rome.

Clo. Where is she, sir? Come nearer ;

by this

No further halting: satisfy me hoine,
What is become of her?

Pis. O, my all-worthy lord !

Clo. All-worthy villain !
Discover where thy mistress is, at once,
At the next word,—No more of worthy lord,
Speak, or thy silence on the instant is
Thy condemnation and thy death,

Pis. Then, sir,
This paper is the history of my knowledge
Touching her flight.

[Presenting a letter. Clo. Let's seet:-) will

pursue

her Even to Augustus' throne.

Pis. Or this, or perish.
She's far enough; and what he learns

Aside.
May prove his travel, not her danger.

Člo. Humph!

Pis. I'll write to my lord she's dead. O Imogen, Safe may’st thou wander, safe return again! [Aside.

Clo. Sirrah, is this letter true?
Pis. Sir, as I think.

Clo. It is Posthumus' hand; I know't.--Sirrah, if thou would'st not be a villain, but do me true service; undergo those employments, wherein I should have cause to use thee, with a serious industry,—that is, what villainy soe'er I bid thee do, to perform it, directly and truly,— I would think thee an honest man: thou should'st neither want my means for thy relief, nor my voice for thy preferment.

Pis. Well, my good lord.

Clo. Wilt thou serve me? For, since patiently and constantly thou hast stuck to the bare fortune of that beggar Posthumus, thou canst not, in the course of gratitude, but be a diligent follower of mine. thou serve me?

Pis. Sir, I will.

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