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Imo. Good-morrow, sir: You lay out too much
Still, I swear, I love you.
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 shall unfold equal discourtesy To best kindness; one of your great knowing Should learn, being taught, forbearance.
Clo. To leave you in your madness, 'twere my
I will not
Imo. Fools are not mad folks.
Do you call me'fool ?
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
Profane fellow !
The south-fog rot him !
I am sprighted with a fool;
3 In knots of their own tying. 4 A low fellow only fit to wear a livery.
Last night 'twas on mine arm ; I kiss'd it:
'Twill not be lost. Imo. I hope so; go, and search. [Exit Pis. Clo.
You have abus'd me :
Ay; I said so, sir.
Your mother too ; She's my good lady; and will conceive, I hope, But the worst of me. So I leave you, sir, To the worst of discontent.
I'll be reveng'd: His meanest garment? Well.
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
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
I do believe,
See! Iachimo ? Post. The swiftest harts have posted you by land : And winds of all the corners kiss'd
your sails, To make your vessel nimble. Phi.
Welcome, sir. Post. I hope, the briefness of
your answer made The speediness of your return. Iach.
Here are letters for you.
'Tis very like. Phi. Was Caius Lucius in the Britain court, When you were there? lach.
He was expected then, But not approach'd.
7 To those who try them.
All is well yet.
If I have lost it,
Post. The stone's too hard to come by.
Make not, sir,
Good sir, we must,
If you can make't apparent,
Sir, my circumstances,
First, her bed-chamber,