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The gods will diet me with. Pr'ythee, away:
There's more to be consider'd; but we'll even
All that good time will give us: This attempt
I'm soldier to 3, and will abide it with

A prince's courage. Away, I pr'ythee.

Pis. 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!


Amen: I thank thee.



A Room in Cymbeline's Palace.

Enter CYMBELINE, Queen, CLOTEN, Lucius, and


Cym, Thus far; and so farewell.


Thanks, royal sir. My emperor hath wrote; I must from hence; And am right sorry, that I must report ye

My master's enemy.


Our subjects, sir,

Will not endure his yoke: and for ourself
To show less sovereignty than they, must needs
Appear unkinglike.


So, sir, I desire of you

8 Equal to.

A conduct over land, to Milford-Haven.-
Madam, all joy befal your grace, and you!
Cym. My lords, you are appointed for that office;
The due of honour in no point omit:-

So, farewell, noble Lucius.


Your hand, my lord. Clo. Receive it friendly: but from this time forth I wear it as your enemy.


Sir, the event
Is yet to name the winner; Fare you well.

Cym. Leave not the worthy Lucius, good my


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.

Clo. 'Tis all the better; Your valiant Britons have their wishes in it.

Cym. 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


His war for Britain.

Queen. 'Tis not sleepy business; But must be look'd to speedily, and strongly. Cym. 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.

Royal sir,

Since the exile of Posthumus, most retir'd
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 an Attendant.

Can her contempt be answer'd?

Where is she, sir? How Atten. Please you, sir, Her chambers are all lock'd; and there's no answer That will be given to the loud'st of 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.


Her doors lock'd? Not seen of late? Grant, heavens, that, which I


Prove false !

Queen. Son, I say, follow the king.


Clo. That man of her's, Pisanio, her old servant,

I have not seen these two days.


Go, look after.


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 fervour of her love, she's flown

To her desir'd 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 ?


'Tis certain she is fled:

Go in, and cheer the king; he rages; none
Dare come about him.


All the better; May

[Exit Queen.

This night forestall him of the coming day!

Clo. I love, and hate her: for she's fair and


And that she hath all courtly parts more exquisite
Than lady, ladies, woman9; from every one
The best she hath, and she, of all compounded,
Outsells them all: I love her therefore; But,
Disdaining me, and throwing favours on
The low Posthúmus, slanders so her judgment,
That what's else rare, is chok'd; and, in that point,
I will conclude to hate her, nay, indeed,
To be reveng'd upon her. For, when fools


Shall-Who is here? What are you packing, sirrah?

Come hither: Ah, you precious pander! Villain,
Where is thy lady! In a word; or else
Thou art straightway with the fiends


O, good my lord! Clo. Where is thy lady? or, by Jupiter I will not ask again. Close villain,

9 Than any lady, than all ladies, than all womankind. !

I'll have this secret from thy heart, or rip
Thy heart to find it. Is she with Posthumus ?
From whose so many weights of baseness cannot
A dram of worth be drawn.

Alas, my lord,

Pis. How can she be with him? When was she miss'd? He is in Rome.


No further halting: satisfy me home,
What is become of her?

Where is she, sir? Come nearer;

All-worthy villain!

Pis. O, my all-worthy lord!


Discover where thy mistress is, at once,

At the next word,-No more of worthy lord,—
Speak, or thy silence on the instant is
Thy condemnation and thy death.


Then, sir,

This paper is the history of my knowledge
Touching her flight.

[Presenting a Letter. Let's see't:-I will pursue her

Even to Augustus' throne.


Or this, or perish.]

She's far enough; and what he learns by


May prove his travel, not her danger.



Pis. I'll write to my lord she's dead. O Imogen,
Safe may'st thou wander, safe return again!

Clo. Sirrah, is this letter true?


Sir, as I think. Clo. It is Posthumus' hand; I know't.—Sirrah, if thou would'st not be a villain, but do me true service; undergo those employments, wherein I should have cause to use thee, with a serious in

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