Iach. The crickets fing, and man's o'er-labour'd fenfe
Repairs it felf by reft our Tarquin thus
Did foftly prefs the rufhes, ere he waken'd
The chastity he wounded. Cytherea,

How bravely thou becom'ft thy bed! fresh lilly,
And whiter than the fheets! that I might touch,
But kifs, one kifs - rubies unparagon'd

How dearly they do't! 'tis her breathing that
Perfumes the chamber thus: the flame o'th' taper
Bows tow'rd her, and would under-peep her lids,
To fee th' inclofed lights, (now canopy'd
Under the windows,) white and azure, lac'd
With blue of heav'n's own tinct. but my defign's
To note the chamber. I will write all down,

Such and fuch pictures

fuch

there the window, the arras, figures and the contents o'th' ftory

Th' adornment of her bed
Why fuch, and such

Ah, but fome nat'ral notes about her body,
Above ten thoufand meaner moveables
Would teftifie, t'enrich my inventory.

O fleep, thou ape of death, lye dull upon her,
And be her fenfe but as a monument,
Thus in a chappel lying. Coine off, come off.
[Taking off her bracelet.
As flipp'ry as the gordian knot was hard.
'Tis mine, and this will witnefs outwardly,
As ftrongly as the confcience do's within,
To th' madding of her lord.. On her left breaft
A mole cinque-fpotted, like the crimson drops
I'th' bottom of a cowflip. Here's a voucher,
Stronger than ever law could make: this fecret
Will force him think I've pick'd the lock, and ta'en
The treasure of her honour. No more to what end?
Why should I write this down that's rivetted,
Screw'd to my mem'ry. Sh' hath been reading late,
The tale of Tereus, here the leaf's turn'd down

Where Philomele gave up - I have enough
To th' trunk again, and fhut the fpring of it.
Swift, fwift, you dragons of the night! that dawning

B 4

May

May ope the raven's eye I lodge in fear,

Though this a heav'nly angel, hell is here. [Clock frikes. One, two, three: time, time!

1 Lord.

[Goes into the trunk, the Scene closes.

SCENE

The Palace again.

III.

Enter Cloten and Lords.

OUR lordship is the most patient man in

Clot. It would make any man cold to lose.

1 Lord. But not every man patient, after the noble temper of your lordfhip; you are most hot and furious when you win.

Clot. Winning will put any man into courage: If I' could get this foolish Imogen, I fhall have gold enough: It's almoft morning, is't not?

1 Lord. Day, my lord.

Clot. I would this musick would come: I am advised to give her mufick a-mornings, they fay it will penetrate, Enter Muficians.

Come on, tune; if you can penetrate here with your fingering, fo; we'll try with tongue too; if none will do, let her remain: but I'll never give o'er. First, a very excellent good conceited thing; after, a wonderful fweet air with admirable rich words to it; and then let her confider.

Hark, hark, the lark at heav'n's gate fings,
And Phoebus 'gins arife,

His fleeds to water at thofe fprings
On chalic'd flowers that lyes:

a bear.

And

And winking Mary-buds begin
To ope their golden eyes,
With every thing that pretty is,
My lady fweet arife:
Arife, arife.

So, get you gone

if this penetrate, I will confider your mufick the better: if it do not, it is a vice in her ears; which horfe-hairs, and cats-guts, nor the voice of unpav'd eunuch to boot, can never amend.

Enter Queen and Cymbeline.

2 Lord. Here comes the King.

Clot. I am glad I was up fo late, for that's the rea fon I was up fo early: he cannot chufe but take this fervice I have done, fatherly. Good-morrow to your majefty, and to my gracious mother.

Cym. Attend you here the door of our stern daughter? Will he not forth?

Clot. I have affail'd her with muficks, but fhe vouchfafes no notice.

Cym, The exile of her minion is too new.
She hath not yet forgot him: fome more time
Muft wear the print of his remembrance out,
And then fhe's yours.

Queen. You are most bound to th' King,
Who lets go by no vantages, that may
Prefer you to his daughter. Frame your
felf
To orderly folicits; and befriended
With aptnefs of the feafon, make denials
Encreafe your fervices; fo feem, as if
You are infpir'd to do thofe duties which
You tender to her: that you in all obey her,
Save when command to your
difimiffion tends,
And therein you are fenfelefs.

Clot. Senfelefs? not fo.

Enter a Meffenger.

Mef. So like you, Sir, ambaffadors from Rome;

The one is Gaius Lucius.

B

Cym.

Cym. A worthy fellow,

Albeit he comes on angry purpofe now;
But that's no fault of his: we must receive him
According to the honour of his fender;

And towards himself, his goodness fore-fpent on
We must extend our notice: our dear fon,

When you have giv'n good-morning to your mistress, Attend the Queen and us; we shall have need

T' employ you towards this Roman. Come, our Queen. [Exeunt,

Clot. If the be up, I'll fpeak with her; if not,
Let her lye ftill, and dream. By your leave ho!

I know her women are about her
If I do line one of their hands?

what

'tis gold Which buys admittance, oft it doth, yea makes Dana's rangers falfe themselves, and yield

Their deer to th' ftand o'th' ftealer and 'tis gold
Which makes the true man kill'd, and faves the thief;
Nay, fometimes hangs both thief and true-man: what
Can it not do, and undo? I will make
One of her women lawyer to me, for.
I yet not understand the cafe my felf.
By your leave.

Enter a Lady.

Lady. Who's there that knocks?

Clot. A gentleman.

Lady. No more?

Clot. Yes, and a gentlewoman's fon.

Lady. That's more

Than fome whofe tailors are as dear as yours,

[knocks.

Can justly boast of: what's your lordship's pleasure ? Clot. Your lady's perfon, is the ready?

Lady. Ay, to keep her chamber.

Clot. There is gold for you, fell me your good report.

Lady. How, my good name? or to report

What I fhall think is good? The princess

24

of you

Enter

Enter Imogen.

Clot. Good-morrow faireft, fifter your sweet hand. Imo. Good-morrow, Sir; you lay out too much pains" For purchafing but trouble: the thanks I give

Is telling you that I am poor of thanks,

And scarce can fpare them.

Clot. Still I fwear I love you.

Imo. If you but faid fo, 'twere as deep with me: If you fwear ftill, your recompence is still

That I regard it not.

Clot. This is no answer.

Ime. But that you fhall not fay I yield, being filent,
I would not fpeak. I pray you fpare me, faith
I fhall unfold equal difcourtefie

To your best kindness: one of your great knowing
Should learn, being taught, forbearance.

Clot. To leave you in your

I will not.

madness, 'twere my fin,

Imo. Fools are not mad folks.
Clot. Do you call me fool?
Ime. As I am mad I do :

If you'll be patient, I'll no more be mad,
That cures us both. I am much forry, Sir,
You put me to forget a lady's manners
By being fo verbal and learn now for all,
That I who know my heart, do here pronounce
By th' very truth of it, I care not for you:
And am fo near the lack of charity

T'accufe my felf, I hate you: which I had rather
You felt, than make my boast.

Clot. You fin against

Obedience, which you owe your father; for
The contract you pretend with that bafe wretch,
(One, bred of alms, and fofter'd with cold difhes,
With fcraps o'th' court,) it is no contract, none:
And though it be allow'd in meaner parties,
(Yet who than he more mean?) to knit their fouls
On whom there is no more dependency

But brats and beggary, in felf-figur'd knot;

,,,

Yet