Imo.

O, no, no.

Iach. Yes, I beseech; or I shall short my word
By lengthening my return.

Imo.

Iach.

Imo.

From Gallia

I cross'd the seas on purpose and on promise
To see your Grace.

200

I thank you for your pains:

But not away to-morrow!

O, I must, madam ;
Therefore I shall beseech you, if you please
To greet your lord with writing; do't to-night.
I have outstood my time; which is material
To the tender of our present.

I will write.

205

Send your trunk to me; it shall safe be kept,
And truly yielded you. You're very welcome. 210

Exeunt.

ACT SECOND

SCENE I

[Britain. Before Cymbeline's palace.]

Enter Cloten and two Lords.

Clo. Was there ever man had such luck! When
I kiss'd the jack, upon an up-cast to be hit
away! I had a hundred pound on't; and
then a whoreson jackanapes must take me up
for swearing, as if I borrowed mine oaths of 5
him and might not spend them at my pleasure.
1. Lord. What got he by that? You have broke
his pate with your bowl.

2. Lord. [Aside.] If his wit had been like him that
broke it, it would have run all out.
Clo. When a gentleman is dispos'd to swear, it is
not for any standers-by to curtail his oaths,
ha?

2. Lord. No, my lord; [aside] nor crop the ears of
them.

Clo. Whoreson dog! I give him satisfaction?
Would he had been one of my rank!

2. Lord. [Aside.] To have smelt like a fool.

Clo. I am not vex'd more at anything in the earth;

10

15

a pox on't! I had rather not be so noble as I 20

am.

They dare not fight with me, because of the Queen my mother. Every Jack-slave hath his bellyful of fighting, and I must go up and down like a cock that nobody can match.

2. Lord. [Aside.] You are cock and capon too; and you crow, cock, with your comb on.

Clo. Sayest thou?

2. Lord. It is not fit your lordship should undertake every companion that you give offence to.

Clo. No, I know that; but it is fit I should commit offence to my inferiors.

2. Lord. Ay, it is fit for your lordship only.

Clo. Why, so I say.

25

30

1. Lord. Did you hear of a stranger that's come to 35 court to-night ?

Clo. A stranger, and I not know on't!

2. Lord. [Aside.] He's a strange fellow himself, and

knows it not.

1. Lord. There's an Italian come; and, 'tis

thought, one of Leonatus' friends.

Clo. Leonatus! a banish'd

rascal; and he's

another, whatsoever he be. Who told you of
this stranger?

1. Lord. One of your lordship's pages.

Clo. Is it fit I went to look upon him? Is there

no derogation in't?

2. Lord. You cannot derogate, my lord.

40

45

Clo. Not easily, I think.

2. Lord. [Aside.] You are a fool granted; there- 50 fore your issues, being foolish, do not dero

gate.

Clo. Come, I'll go see this Italian. What I have

lost to-day at bowls I'll win to-night of him.
Come, go.

2. Lord. I'll attend your lordship.

55

Exeunt [Cloten and First Lord].

That such a crafty devil as is his mother

Should yield the world this ass! A woman

that

Bears all down with her brain; and this her

son

Cannot take two from twenty, for his heart, 60
And leave eighteen. Alas, poor princess,

Thou divine Imogen, what thou endur'st,
Betwixt a father by thy step-dame govern'd,
A mother hourly coining plots, a wooer
More hateful than the foul expulsion is

65

Of thy dear husband! Then that horrid act

Of the divorce he'd make! The heavens hold

firm

The walls of thy dear honour, keep unshak'd
That temple, thy fair mind, that thou mayst

stand

To enjoy thy banish'd lord and this great land! 70

SCENE II

[Imogen's bedchamber in Cymbeline's palace: a trunk in one corner of it.]

Imogen in bed [reading]; a Lady [attending].

Imo. Who's there? My woman Helen?

Lady.

Imo. What hour is it?

Lady.

Please you, madam.

Almost midnight, madam.

5

Imo. I have read three hours then. Mine eyes are weak.
Fold down the leaf where I have left. To bed.
Take not away the taper, leave it burning;
And if thou canst awake by four o' the clock,
I prithee, call me. Sleep hath seiz'd me wholly.
[Exit Lady.]

To your protection I commend me, gods.
From fairies and the tempters of the night
Guard me, beseech ye.

10

Sleeps. Iachimo comes from the trunk.
Iach. The crickets sing, and man's o'erlabour'd sense
Repairs itself by rest. Our Tarquin thus
Did softly press the rushes, ere he waken'd
The chastity he wounded. Cytherea !

How bravely thou becom'st thy bed, fresh lily, 15
And whiter than the sheets! That I might touch!
But kiss one kiss! Rubies unparagon'd,

How dearly they do't! 'Tis her breathing that