Of common-kissing Titan: and forget. Your laboursome and dainty trims, wherein Imo. Nay, be brief: I see into thy end, and am almost A man already. Pis. First, make yourself but like one. Fore-thinking this, I have already fit, ('Tis in my cloak-bag,) doublet, hat, hose, all That answer to them: Would you, in their serving, From youth of such a season, 'fore noble Lucius Present yourself, desire his service, tell him Wherein you are happy, (which you'll make him know, If that his head have ear in musick,) doubtless With joy he will embrace you; for he's honourable, And, doubling that, most holy. Your means abroad' 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: 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 from the court. My noble mistress, 6 Wherein you are happy,] i. e. wherein you are accomplished. 7 Your means abroad, &c.] As for your subsistence abroad, you may rely on me. 8 This attempt I'm soldier to,] i. e. I am equal to this attempt; I have enough of ardour to undertake it. Will drive away distemper.-To some shade, 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; Cym. Our subjects, sir, Will not endure his yoke; and for ourself To show less sovereignty than they, must needs 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: Is yet to name the winner: Fare you well. Cym. Leave not the worthy Lucius, good my lords, Till he have cross'd the Severn.-Happiness! [Exeunt LUCIUS, and Lords. Queen. He goes hence frowning: but it honours us, That we have given him cause. Clo. "Tis all the better; Your valiant Britons have their wishes in it. Cym. Lucius hath wrote already to the emperor Will soon be drawn to head, from whence he moves Queen. 'Tis not sleepy business; But must be look'd to speedily, and strongly. Where is our daughter? But, my gentle queen, She hath not appear'd Before the Roman, nor to us hath tender'd Queen. [Exit an Attendant. Royal sir, Since the exíle of Posthumus, most retir'd Her chambers are all lock'd; and there's no answer Queen. My lord, when last I went to visit her, She pray'd me to excuse her keeping close; Which daily she was bound to proffer: this She wish'd me to make known; but our great court Cym. Her doors lock'd? Not seen of late? Grant, heavens, that, which I fear, Prove false! 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. [Exit CLOTEN. Pisanio, thou that stand'st so for Posthúmus!- Where is she gone? Haply, despair hath seiz'd her ; To her desir'd Posthúmus: Gone she is To death, or to dishonour; and my end Can make good use of either: She being down, How now, my son? Clo. Re-enter CLOTEN. "Tis certain she is fled: Go in, and cheer the king; he rages; none Queen. All the better: May This night forestall him of the coming day'! [Exit Queen. Clo. I love, and hate her: for she's fair and royal; And that she hath all courtly parts more exquisite This night forestall him of the coming day!] i. e. may his grief this night prevent him from ever seeing another day, by an anticipated and premature destruction! Than lady, ladies, woman'; from every one The low Posthúmus, slanders so her judgment, To be reveng'd upon her. For, when fools Enter PISANIO. Shall-Who is here? What! are you packing, sirrah? Come hither: Ah, you precious pander! 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 heart to find it. Is she with Posthúmus? Pis. Alas, my lord, How can she be with him? When was she miss'd? Clo. Where is she, sir? Come nearer ; No further halting: satisfy me home, 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,- Thy condemnation and thy death. 1 And that she hath all courtly parts more exquisite Than lady, ladies, woman ;] She has all courtly parts, says he, more exquisite than any lady, than all ladies, than all woman-kind. |