Will force him think I have pick'd the lock, and

ta'en

The treasure of her honour. No more.-To what end?

Why should I write this down, that's rivetted,
Screw'd to my memory? She hath been reading late
The tale of Tereus; here the leaf's turn'd down,
Where Philomel gave up;-I have enough:
To the trunk again, and shut the spring of it.
Swift, swift, you dragons of the night!'-that
dawning

May bare the raven's eye: I lodge in fear;
Though this a heavenly angel, hell is here.

One, two, three,-Time, time!

[Clock strikes.

[Goes into the Trunk. The Scene closes.

SCENE III.

An Ante-Chamber adjoining Imogen's Apartment.

Enter CLOTEN and Lords.

1 Lord. Your lordship is the most patient man in loss, the most coldest that ever turned up ace. Clo. It would make any man cold to lose.

1 Lord. But not every man patient, after the noble temper of your lordship; You are most hot, and furious, when you win.

Clo. Winning would put any man into courage: If I could get this foolish Imogen, I should have gold enough: It's almost morning, is't not?

1 Lord. Day, my lord.

Clo. I would this musick would come: I am ad

you dragons of the night!] The task of drawing the chariot of night was assigned to dragons, on account of their sup posed watchfulness.

vised to give her musick o' mornings; they say, it will penetrate.

Enter Musicians.

Come on; tune: If you can penetrate her with your fingering, so; we'll try with tongue too: if none will do, let her remain; but i'll never give o'er. First, a very excellent good-conceited thing; after, a wonderful sweet air, with admirable rich words to it, and then let her consider,

SONG.

Hark! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,
And Phoebus 'gins arise,

His steeds to water at those springs
On chalic'd flowers that lies;'

And winking Mary-buds begin
To ope their golden eyes;

6

With every thing that pretty bin;
My lady sweet, arise;
Arise, arise.

So, get you gone: If this penetrate, I will consider
your musick the better: if it do not, it is a vice
in her ears, which horse-hairs, and cats-guts, nor
the voice of unpaved eunuch to boot, can never
amend.
[Exeunt Musicians.

"His steeds to water at those springs

On chalic'd flowers that lies;] i. e. the morning sun dries up the dew which lies in the cups of flowers: The cup of a flower is called calia, whence chalice.

And winking Mary-buds begin

To ope their golden eyes;] The marigold is supposed to shut itself up at sun-set.

7 I will consider your musick the better:] i. e. I will pay you more amply for it,

Enter CYMBELINE and Queen.

2 Lord. Here comes the king.

Clo. I am glad, I was up so late; for that's the reason I was up so early: He cannot choose but take this service I have done, fatherly.-Good morrow to your majesty, and to my gracious mother. Cym. Attend you here the door of our stern daughter?

Will she not forth?

Clo. I have assailed her with musick, but she vouchsafes no notice.

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 solicits; and be friended

8

With aptness of the season: make denials
Increase your services: so seem, as if
You were inspir'd 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..
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;

To orderly solicits;] i. e. regular courtship, courtship after the established fashion.

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

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
queen.

Exeunt CYM. Queen, Lords, and Mess.
Clo. If she be up, I'll speak with her; if not,
Let her lie still, and dream.-By your leave ho!-
[Knocks.

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 of 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.

Enter a Lady.

Lady. Who's there, that knocks?

[Knocks.

Clo.

Lady.

A gentleman.

No more?

9 And towards himself his goodness forespent on us

Our

We must extend our notice.] That is, we must extend towards himself our notice of his goodness heretofore shown to us. author has many similar ellipses.

1 false themselves,] Perhaps, in this instance false is not an

adjective, but a verb.

Clo. Yes, and a gentlewoman's son.

That's more

Lady.
Than some, whose tailors are as dear as yours,

Can justly boast of: What's your lordship's pleasure?
Clo. Your lady's person; Is she ready?

Lady,

To keep her chamber.

Ay,

Clo. There's 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.

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,
Is telling you that I am poor of thanks,

And scarce can spare them.

Clo.

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: i'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:

Do

you call me fool?