As thou'lt desire; and then myself, I chiefly,
That set thee on to this desert, am bound
To load thy merit richly. Call my women :
Think on my words. [Exit PISA.]—A sly and con-
stant knave,

Not to be shak'd; the agent for his master,
And the remembrancer of her, to hold

The hand-fast to her lord. I have given him that,
Which, if he take, shall quite unpeople her

Of liegers for her sweet; and which she after,
Except she bend her humour, shall be assur’d

Enter PISANIO and Ladies.

To taste of too. So, so; well done, well done. The violets, cowslips, and the primroses,

Bear to my closet.

Think on my words.

Pis.

Fare thee well, Pisanio;

[Exeunt Queen and Ladies.

And shall do ;

But when to my good lord I prove untrue,

I'll choke myself: there's all I'll do for you. [Exit.

SCENE VII.

Another Room in the Same.

Enter IMOGEN.

Imo. A father cruel, and a step-dame false;

A foolish suitor to a wedded lady,

That hath her husband banish'd:

band!

O, that hus

My supreme crown of grief! and those repeated
Vexations of it! Had I been thief-stolen,

As my two brothers, happy! but most miserable
Is the desire that's glorious blessed be those,

:

How mean soe'er, that have their honest wills, Which seasons comfort. Who may this be? Fie!

Enter PISANIO and IACHIMO.

Pis. Madam, a noble gentleman of Rome

Comes from my lord with letters.

Iach.

Change you, madam?

The worthy Leonatus is in safety,

And greets your Highness dearly. [Presents a letter.

Imo.

You are kindly welcome.

Thanks, good sir:

Iach. [Aside.] All of her, that is out of door,

most rich!

If she be furnish'd with a mind so rare,

She is alone th' Arabian bird, and I

Have lost the wager. Boldness, be my friend!
Arm me, audacity, from head to foot,

Or, like the Parthian, I shall flying fight;

Rather, directly by.

Imo. [Reads.]

"He is one of the noblest note,

to whose kindnesses I am most infinitely tied. Reflect upon him accordingly, as you value your truest

So far I read aloud;

LEONATUS,"

But even the very middle of my heart

Is warm'd by th' rest, and takes it thankfully.
You are as welcome, worthy sir, as I

Have words to bid you; and shall find it so

In all that I can do.

Iach.

Thanks, fairest lady.

What! are men mad? Hath nature given them eyes
To see this vaulted arch, and the rich crop
Of sea and land, which can distinguish 'twixt
The fiery orbs above and the twinn'd stones

Upon th' unnumber'd beach; and can we not
Partition make with spectacles so precious
"Twixt fair and foul?

Imo.

What makes your admiration? Iach. It cannot be i̇' th' eye; for apes and monkeys. 'Twixt two such shes, would chatter this way, and Contemn with mows the other: nor i' th' judgment; For idiots, in this case of favour, would Be wisely definite: nor i' th' appetite; Sluttery, to such neat excellence oppos'd, Should make desire vomit to emptiness, Not so allur'd to feed.

Imo.
Iach.

What is the matter, trow?

(That satiate yet unsatisfied desire,

The cloyed will,

That tub both fill'd and running,) ravening first
The lamb, longs after for the garbage.

Imo.

Thus wraps you? Are you well?

What, dear sir,

Iach. Thanks, madam, well. - Beseech you, sir,

desire

[TO PISANIO.

My man's abode where I did leave him; he

Is strange and peevish.

Pis.

To give him welcome.

I was going, sir,

[Exit PISANIO.

Imo. Continues well my lord? His health, 'be

Imo. Is he dispos'd to mirth? I hope he is.

Iach. Exceeding pleasant; none a stranger there

So merry and so gamesome: he is call'd

The Briton reveller.

Imo.

When he was here,

He did incline to sadness; and oft-times
Not knowing why.

Iach.

I never saw him sad.
There is a Frenchman his companion, one,

An eminent monsieur, that, it seems, much loves
A Gallian girl at home; he furnaces

The thick sighs from him, whiles the jolly Briton (Your lord, I mean) laughs from 's free lungs, cries,

"O!

who knows,

Can my sides hold, to think that man,
By history, report, or his own proof,
What woman is, yea, what she cannot choose
But must be,—will his free hours languish

For assur'd bondage?

Imo.

Will my lord say so?

Iach. Ay, madam, with his eyes in flood with

laughter:

It is a recreation to be by,

And hear him mock the Frenchman; but, Heavens

know,

Some men are much to blame.

Imo.

Not he, I hope.

Iach. Not he; but yet Heaven's bounty towards

him might

Be us'd more thankfully. In himself, 'tis much;
In you, which I account his beyond all talents,
Whilst I am bound to wonder, I am bound

You look on me what wrack discern you in me,

Deserves your pity?

Iach.

Lamentable! What!

To hide me from the radiant sun, and solace

I' th' dungeon by a snuff?

Imo.

I pray you, sir,

Deliver with more openness your answers
To my demands. Why do you pity me?
Iach. That others do,

I was about to say, enjoy your

But

It is an office of the gods to venge it,

Not mine to speak on 't.

Imo.

You do seem to know Something of me, or what concerns me: pray you, (Since doubting things go ill, often hurts more Than to be sure they do; for certainties Either are past remedies, or, timely knowing, The remedy then born,) discover to me What both you spur and stop.

Iach.
Had I this cheek
To bathe my lips upon; this hand, whose touch,
Whose every touch, would force the feeler's soul
To th' oath of loyalty; this object, which
Takes prisoner the wild motion of mine eye,
Fixing it only here; should I (damn'd then)
Slaver with lips as common as the stairs
That mount the Capitol, join gripes with hands
Made hard with hourly falsehood falsehood as
With labour; then by-peeping in an eye,
Base and illustrous as the smoky light

That's fed with stinking tallow; it were fit
That all the plagues of Hell should at one time
Encounter such revolt.

Imo.

Has forgot Britain.

Iach.

My lord, I fear,

And himself. Not I,

Inclin'd to this intelligence, pronounce

The beggary of his change; but 'tis your graces That, from my mutest conscience, to my tongue, Charms this report out.

Imo.

Let me hear no more.