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 vexed more at any thing in the earth. A pox on't! I had rather not be so noble as I am: they dare not fight with me, because of the queen my mother. Every jack-slave hath his belly full of fighting, and I must go up and down like a cock that no body can match.

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

Clo. Sayest thou?

Clo. Is it fit, I went to look upon him? Is there no derogation in't?

1 Lord. You cannot derogate, my lord. Clo. Not easily, I think.

2 Lord. [Aside.] You are a fool granted; therefore, your issues being foolish do not derogate.

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.

[Exeunt CLOTEN and 1 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,
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
Of thy dear husband, than 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 may'st stand,
T' enjoy thy banish'd lord, and this great land !

[Exit.

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,
1 pr'ythee, 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!

[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,
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
Perfumes the chamber thus: the flame o' the taper
Bows toward her, and would under-peep her lids,
To see the enclosed lights, now canopied
Under these windows; white and azure, lac'd
With blue of heaven's own tinct. But my design,
To note the chamber: I will write all down:-
Such, and such, pictures:-there the window;-

such

Th' adornment of her bed :-the arras, figures, Why, such, and such; and the contents o' the

As strongly as the conscience does within,
To the madding of her lord. On her left breast
A mole cinque-spotted, like the crimson drops
I' the bottom of a cowslip: here's a voucher,
Stronger than ever law could make: this secret
Will force him think I have 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 riveted,
Screw'd to my memory? She hath been reading late
The tale of Tereus; here the leaf's turn'd down,
Where Philomel gave up. I have enough:
To the trunk again, and shut the spring of it.
Swift, swift, you dragons of the night, that dawning
May bare the raven's eye: I lodge in fear;
Though this a heavenly angel, hell is here.

One, two, three,-time, time!

[Clock strikes.

[Goes into the trunk. The scene closes.

SCENE III.-An Ante-chamber adjoining IMOGEN'S Apartment.

Enter CLOTEN and Lords.

1 Lord. Your lordship is the most patient man in loss, the most coldest that ever turned up ace. Clo. It would make any man cold to lose. 1 Lord. But not every man patient, after the noble temper of your lordship. You are most hot, and furious, when you win.

Clo. Winning will put any man into courage. If I could get this foolish Imogen, I should have gold enough. It's almost morning, is't not?

[Exeunt CYM., QUEEN, Lords, and Mess. Clo. If she be up, I'll speak with her; if not, Let her lie still, and dream. By your leave, ho![Knocks.

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 o' the stealer; and 'tis gold Which makes the true man kill'd, and saves the thief;

Nay, sometime, 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 case myself. By your leave.

Enter a Lady.

Lady. Who's there, that knocks?

Clo.

Lady.

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 verbal: 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, (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 foil The precious note of it with a base slave, A hilding for a livery, a squire's cloth, A pantler, not so eminent.

Imo.

A gentleman.

Clo. Yes, and a gentlewoman's son. Lady.

No more?

That's more

Than some, whose tailors are as dear as yours,
Can justly boast of. What's your lordship's pleasure?

Clo. Your lady's person: is she ready?
Lady.

To keep her chamber.

Ay,

Clo. There's gold for you: sell me your good

The under-hangman of his kingdom, and hated
For being preferr'd so well.
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,
That ever hath but clipp'd his body, is dearer
In my respect than all the hairs above thee,

Were they all made such men.-How now, Pisanio!

Enter PISANIO.

Clo. His garment? Now, the devil

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

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 's commission throughly; and, I think,
He'll grant the tribute, send the arrearages,

Is yet fresh in their grief. Post.

I do believe, (Statist though I am none, nor like to be,) That this will prove a war; and you shall hear The legion, now in Gallia, sooner landed In our not-fearing Britain, than have tidings Of any penny tribute paid. Our countrymen Are men more order'd, than when Julius Cæsar Smil'd at their lack of skill, but found their courage Worthy his frowning at: their discipline (Now mingled with their courages) will make known To their approvers, they are people, such That mend upon the world.