It is no act of common passage, but
A strain of rareness: and I grieve myself
To think, when thou shalt be disedged by her
That now thou tirest on, how thy memory
Will then be pang’d by me. Prithee, dispatch:
The lamb entreats the butcher: where’s thy knife?
Thou art too slow to do thy master’s bidding,
When I desire it too.
PISANIO O gracious lady,
Since I received command to do this business
I have not slept one wink.
IMOGEN Do’t, and to bed then.
PISANIO I’ll wake mine eye-balls blind first.
IMOGEN Wherefore then
Didst undertake it? Why hast thou abused
So many miles with a pretence? this place?
Mine action and thine own? our horses’ labour?
The time inviting thee? the perturb’d court,
For my being absent? whereunto I never
Purpose return. Why hast thou gone so far,
To be unbent when thou hast ta’en thy stand,
The elected deer before thee?
PISANIO But to win time
To lose so bad employment; in the which
I have consider’d of a course. Good lady,
Hear me with patience.
IMOGEN Talk thy tongue weary; speak
I have heard I am a strumpet; and mine ear
Therein false struck, can take no greater wound,
Nor tent to bottom that. But speak.
PISANIO Then, madam,
I thought you would not back again.
IMOGEN Most like;
Bringing me here to kill me.
PISANIO 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 abused:
Some villain, ay, and singular in his art.
Hath done you both this cursed injury.
IMOGEN Some Roman courtezan.
PISANIO 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.
IMOGEN Why good fellow,
What shall I do the where? where bide? how live?
Or in my life what comfort, when I am
Dead to my husband?
PISANIO 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 siege.
PISANIO If not at court,
Then not in Britain must you bide.
IMOGEN 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 ‘t;
In a great pool a swan’s nest: prithee, think
There’s livers out of Britain.
PISANIO I am most glad
You think of other place. The ambassador,
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.
IMOGEN O, for such means!
Though peril to my modesty, not death on’t,
I would adventure.
PISANIO 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–into a waggish courage:
Ready in gibes, quick-answer’d, saucy and
As quarrelous 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.
IMOGEN 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’re happy,–which you’ll make him know,
If that his head have ear in music,–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.
IMOGEN Thou art all the comfort
The gods will diet me with. Prithee, 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 prithee.
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!
IMOGEN Amen: I thank thee.
Exeunt, severally
Scene 5
A room in Cymbeline’s palace.
Enter CYMBELINE, QUEEN, CLOTEN, LUCIUS, Lords, and Attendants
CYMBELINE Thus far; and so farewell.
CAIUS LUCIUS Thanks, royal sir.
My emperor hath wrote, I must from hence;
And am right sorry that I must report ye
My master’s enemy.
CYMBELINE Our subjects, sir,
Will not endure his yoke; and for ourself
To show less sovereignty than they, must needs
Appear unkinglike.
CAIUS LUCIUS So, sir: I desire of you
A conduct over-land to Milford-Haven.
Madam, all joy befal your grace!
QUEEN And you!
CYMBELINE My lords, you are appointed for that office;
The due of honour in no point omit.
So farewell, noble Lucius.
CAIUS LUCIUS Your hand, my lord.
CLOTEN Receive it friendly; but from this time forth
I wear it as your enemy.
CAIUS LUCIUS Sir, the event
Is yet to name the winner: fare you well.
CYMBELINE Leave not the worthy Lucius, good my lords,
Till he have cross’d the Severn. Happiness!
Exeunt LUCIUS and Lords
QUEEN He goes hence frowning: but it honours us
That we have given him cause.
CLOTEN ‘Tis all the better;
Your valiant Britons have their wishes in it.
CYMBELINE Lucius hath wrote already to the emperor
How it goes here. It fits us therefore ripely
Our chariots and our horsemen be in readiness:
The powers that he already hath in Gallia
Will soon be drawn to head, from whence he moves
His war for Britain.
QUEEN ‘Tis not sleepy business;
But must be look’d to speedily and strongly.
CYMBELINE Our expectation that it would be thus
Hath made us forward. But, my gentle queen,
Where is our daughter? She hath not appear’d
Before the Roman, nor to us hath tender’d
The duty of the day: she looks us like
A thing more made of malice than of duty:
We have noted it. Call her before us; for
We have been too slight in sufferance.
Exit an Attendant
QUEEN Royal sir,
Since the exile of Posthumus, most retired
Hath her life been; the cure whereof, my lord,
‘Tis time must do. Beseech your majesty,
Forbear sharp speeches to her: she’s a lady
So tender of rebukes that words are strokes
And strokes death to her.
Re-enter Attendant
CYMBELINE Where is she, sir? How
Can her contempt be answer’d?
Attendant Please you, sir,
Her chambers are all lock’d; and there’s no answer
That will be given to the loudest noise we make.
QUEEN My lord, when last I went to visit her,
She pray’d me to excuse her keeping close,
Whereto constrain’d by her infirmity,
She should that duty leave unpaid to you,
Which daily she was bound to proffer: this
She wish’d me to make known; but our great court
Made me to blame in memory.
CYMBELINE Her doors lock’d?
Not seen of late? Grant, heavens, that which I fear
Prove false!
Exit
QUEEN Son, I say, follow the king.
CLOTEN That man of hers, Pisanio, her old servant,
have not seen these two days.
QUEEN Go, look after.
Exit CLOTEN
Pisanio, thou that stand’st so for Posthumus!
He hath a drug of mine; I pray his absence
Proceed by swallowing that, for he believes
It is a thing most precious. But for her,
Where is she gone? Haply, despair hath seized her,
Or, wing’d with fervor of her love, she’s flown
To her desired Posthumus: gone she is
To death or to dishonour; and my end
Can make good use of either: she being down,
I have the placing of the British crown.
Re-enter CLOTEN
How now, my son!
CLOTEN ‘Tis certain she is fled.
Go in and cheer the king: he rages; none
Dare come about him.
QUEEN [Aside]
All the better: may
This night forestall him of the coming day!
Exit
CLOTEN I love and hate her: for she’s fair and royal,