By your leave ho! 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: Can it not do, and undo? I will make [Knocks. Enter a Lady. Lady. Who's there, that knocks? Clo. Lady. That's more Clo. Yes, and a gentlewoman's son. Lady. Than some, whose tailors are as dear as yours, Can justly boast of: What's your lordship's plea sure? 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, 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, To your best kindness; one of your great knowing Clo. To leave you in your madness, 'twere my I will not. sin: Imo. Fools are not mad folks. Clo. Do you call me fool? Imo. As I am mad, I do : If you'll be patient, I'll no more be mad; That cures us both. I am much sorry, sir, You put me to forget a lady's manners, By being so verbal2: and learn now, for all, That I, which know my heart, do here pronounce, By the very truth of it, I care not for you; And am so near the lack of charity, (To accuse myself,) I hate you: which I had rather You felt, than make't my boast. Clo. You sin against Obedience, which you owe your father. For The contract you pretend with that base wretch, (One, bred of alms, and foster'd with cold dishes, With scraps o'the court,) it is no contract, none: And though it be allow'd in meaner parties, 2 So verbose, so full of talk. (Yet who, than he, more mean?) to knit their souls (On whom there is no more dependency But brats and beggary) in self-figur'd knot '; Yet you are curb'd from that enlargement by The consequence o'the crown; and must not soil. The precious note of it with a base slave, 4 A hilding for a livery, a squire's cloth, Profane fellow ! Imo. Clo. The south-fog rot him! Imo. He never can meet more mischance, than come To be but nam'd of thee. His meanest garment, Enter PISANIO. Clo. His garment? Now, the devil now, Pisanio? Imo. To Dorothy my woman hie thee presently :Clo. His garment? Imo. I am sprighted' with a fool; Frighted, and anger'd worse: Go, bid my woman Search for a jewel, that too casually Hath left mine arm; it was thy master's: 'shrew me, If I would lose it for a revenue Of any king's in Europe. I do think, I saw't this morning: confident I am, > In knots of their own tying. 4 A low fellow only fit to wear a livery. 5 Haunted. Last night 'twas on mine arm; I kiss'd it: If you will make't an action, call witness to't. Imo. To the worst of discontent. Clo. His meanest garment? Your mother too; [Exit. I'll be reveng'd: Well. [Exit. SCENE 1V. Rome. An Apartment in Philario's House. Enter POSTHUMUS and PHILARIO. Post. Fear it not, sir: I would, I were so sure To win the king, as I am bold, her honour Will remain hers. Phi. What means do you make to him? Post. Not any; but abide the change of time; Quake in the present winter's state, and wish That warmer days would come: In these fear'd hopes, I barely gratify your love; they failing, I must die much your debtor. Phi. Your very goodness, and your company, O'erpays all I can do. By this, your king Hath heard of great Augustus: Caius Lucius Will do his commission thoroughly: And, I think, He'll grant the tribute, send the arrearages, Or look upon our Romans, whose remembrance Post. (Statist though I am none, I do believe, nor like to be,) That this will prove a war (Now mingled with their courages) will make known Phi. Enter IACHIMO. See! Iachimo? Post. The swiftest harts have posted you by land: And winds of all the corners kiss'd To make your vessel nimble. Phi. your sails, Welcome, sir. Post. I hope, the briefness of your answer made The speediness of your return. Iach. Your lady Is one the fairest that I have look'd upon. Post. And, therewithal, the best; or let her beauty Look through a casement to allure false hearts, Iach. Here are letters for you. 'Tis very like. Post. Their tenour good, I trust. Iach. Phi. Was Caius Lucius in the Britain court, |