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Bringing me here to kill me.

Not so, neither :
But if I were as wise as honest, then
My purpose would prove well. It cannot be,
But that my master is abus'd :
Some villain, ay, and singular in his art,
Hath done you both this cursed injury.

Imogen. Some Roman courtezan.

No, on my life.
I'll give but notice you are dead, and send him
Some bloody sign of it; for 'tis commanded
I should do so : You shall be miss'd at court,
And that will well confirm it.

Why, good fellow,
What shall I do the while ? Where bide? How live ?
Or in my life what comfort, when I am
Dead to my husband?

If you'll back to the court,
Imogen. No court, no father ; nor no more ado
With that harsh, noble, simple, nothing :
That Cloten, whose love-suit hath been to me
As fearful as a seige.

If not at court,
Then not in Britain must you bide.

Where then ?
Hath Britain all the sun that shines ? Day, night,
Are they not but in Britain ? I'the world's volume
Our Britain seems as of it, but not in it;
In a great pool, a swan's nest; Prythee, think
There's livers out of Britain.

I am most glad
You think of other place. The embassador
Lucius the Roman, comes to Milford Haven

To-morrow: Now, if you could wear a mind
Dark as your fortune is; and but disguise
That, which, to appear itself, must not yet be,
But by self-danger; you should tread a course
Pretty, and full of view : yea, haply, near
The residence of Posthumus : so nigh, at least,
That though his actions were not visible, yet
Report should render him hourly to your ear,
As truly as he moves.

O, for such means !
Though peril to my modesty, not death on 't,
I would adventure.

Well then, here's the point :
You must forget to be a woman; change
Command into obedience ; fear and niceness
(The handmaids of all women, or, more truly,
Woman its pretty self) to a waggish courage ;
Ready in gibes, quick-answer'd, saucy, and
As quarrellous as the weasel : nay, you must
Forget that rarest treasure of your cheek,
Exposing it (but, O, the harder heart !
Alack no remedy !) to the greedy touch
Of common-kissing Titan; and forget
Your laboursome and dainty trims, wherein
You made great Juno angry.

Nay, be brief:
I see into thy end, and am almost
A man already

Pisanio. 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,
And with what imitation you can borrow

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.

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

Pisanio. Well, madam, we must take a short farewell ;
Lest, being miss'd, I be suspected of
Your carriage from 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 !

Amen: I thank thee. [Exeunt.


Imogen. I see, a man's life is a tedious one :
I have tir'd myself; and for two nights together
Have made the ground my bed. I should be sick,
But that my resolution helps me.- Milford,
When from the mountain-top Pisanio show'd thee,

Thou wast within a ken : 0 Jove! I think,
Foundations fly the wretched : such, I mean,
Where they should be reliev'd. Two beggars told me,
I could not miss my way: Will poor folks lie,
That have afflictions on them; knowing 'tis
A punishment, or trial? Yes; no wonder,
When rich ones scarce tell true : To lapse in fulness
Is sorer, than to lie for need ; and falsehood
Is worse in kings, than beggars.--My dear lord !
Thou art one o' the false ones: Now I think on thee,
My hunger's gone; but even before, I was
At point to sink for food.—But what is this?
Here is a path to it: 'Tis some savage hold :
I were best not call; I dare not call : yet famine,
Ere clean it o’erthrow nature, makes it valiant.
Plenty, and peace, breeds cowards; hardness ever
Of hardiness is mother.—Ho! Who's here?
If any thing that's civil, speak; if savage,
Take, or lend.—Ho !—No answer? then I'll enter.
Best draw my sword; and if mine enemy
But fear the sword like me, he'll scarcely look on't.
Such a foe, good heavens ! [She goes into the cave.


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Belarius. You are not well [To I mogen]: remain here :

in the cave : We'll come to you after hunting. Arviragus.

Brother, stay here: Are we not brothers ?

[To Imogen. Imogen.

So man and man should be ;
But clay and clay differs in dignity,
Whose dust is both alike. I am very sick.

Guiderius. Go you to hunting. I'll abide with him.

Imogen. So sick I am not ;-yet I am not well :
But not so citizen a wanton, as
To seem to die, ere sick : So please you leave me ;
Stick to your journal course : the breach of custom
Is breach of all. I am ill; but your being by me
Cannot amend me: Society is no comfort
To one not sociable: I'm not very sick,
Since I can reason of it. Pray you, trust me here :
I'll rob none but myself; and let me die,
Stealing so poorly.

Guiderius. I love thee; I have spoke it :
How much the quantity, the weight as much,
As I do love

my father. Belarius.

What? how? how ?
Arviragus. If it be sin to say so, sir, I yoke me
In my good brother's fault : I know not why
I love this youth; and I have heard you say,
Love's reason 's without reason; the bier at door,
And a demand who is 't shall die, I'd say,
My father, not this youth.

O noble strain !
O worthiness of nature ! breed of greatness ! [Aside.
Cowards father cowards, and base things sire base :
Nature hath meal, and bran ; contempt, and grace.
I am not their father; yet who this should be,
Doth miracle itself, lov'd before me.-
"Tis the ninth hour o' the morn.

Brother, farewell.
Imogen. 'I wish ye sport.

Your health.—So please you, sir. Imogen (aside). These are kind creatures : Gods, what

lies I have heard !

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