Screw'd to my memory? She hath been reading late To the trunk again, and shut the spring of it. One, two, three:—Time, time! [Clock strikes. [Goes into the Trunk.—The Scene closes. SCENE IV. Cymbeline's Palace. Enter Cloten and the Two Lords. I Lord. Your lordship is the most patient man in loss, the coldest that ever turned up ace. Cloten. 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. Cloten. Winning will put any man into courage. If I could get this foolish Imogen, I should have gold enough: It's almost morning, is't not? 2 Lord. Day, my lord. Cloten. I would the maskers and musicians were come; I am advised to give her music o' mornings; they say, it will penetrate. [A Flourish of Music within. 1 Lord. Here they are, my lord. Cloten. Come, let's join them. [Exeunt. SCENE V. An Antechamber to Imogen's Apartment. Enter Cloten, the Two Lords, Musicians, as Maskers. Cloten. Come on, tune 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, His steeds to water at those springs And winking Mary-buds begin To ope their golden eyes; With every thing that pretty bin; Cloten. So, get you gone :—if this penetrate, I will consider your music the better; if it do not, it is a vice in her ears, which horse-hairs, and cats'-guts, nor the voice of eunuch to boot, can never amend. Come, now to our dancing. Enter Dancers. And if she is immoveable with this, she is an immoveable princess, and not worth my notice. A Dance of Maskers. Cloten. Leave us to ourselves. [Exeunt Lords, &c. If she be up, I'll speak with her; if not, Let her lie still, and dream.—By your leave, ho! I know her women are about her; What, [Knocks. 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 Enter Helen. Helen: Who's there, that knocks? Cloten. A gentleman. Helen. No more? Cloten, Yes, and a gentlewoman's son. Helen, That's more [Knocks. Than some, whose tailors are as dear as yours, Can justly boast of: what's your lordship's pleasure? Cloten. Your lady's person: Is she ready? Helen. Ay, to keep her chamber. Cloten. There's gold for you; sell me your good report. Helen. How? my good name? or to report of you What I shall think is good? The princess Enter Imogen. Cloten. Good morrow, fairest sister: Your sweet hand. [Exit HELEN. Imog. Good-morrow, sir: You lay out too much pains For purchasing but trouble. Cloten. Still, I swear, I love you. Imog. If you but said so, 'twere as deep with me: If you swear still, your recompense is still That I regard it not. Cloten. This is no answer. Imog. But that you shall not say I yield, being si- I would not speak. I pray you, spare me : 'faith, To your best kindness: one of your great knowing Cloten. To leave you in your madness, 'twere my I will not. Imog. Fools cure not mad folks. If you'll be patient, I'll no more be mad; sin: But I, which know my heart, do here pronounce, By the truth of it, I care not for you. very Cloten. The contract you pretend with that base wretch (One, bred of alms, and foster'd with cold dishes, Wert thou the son of Jupiter, and no more, To be his groom. Cloten. The south fog rot him! Imog. He never can meet more mischance, than come To be but named of thee. His meanest garment, In my respect, than all the hairs above thee, Cloten. How now? Imog. Pisanio! [Misses her Bracelet. Cloten. His garment? Now, the devil—— Enter Pisanio. Imog. To Helena, my woman, hie thee presently— Cloten. His garment? Imog. I am sprited with a fool; Frighted, and anger'd worse:Go, bid my woman Hath left mine arm; it was thy master's: 'shrew me, 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 then. Pisanio. 'Twill not be lost. Imog. I hope so: go, and search. Cloten. You have abused me :- His meanest garment? ་་་་ [Exit. I will inform your father. Imog. Your mother too: She's my good lady: and will conceive, I hope, But the worst of me. So I leave you, sir,q To the worst of discontent. [Exit. I / [Exit. |