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 Tenjoy thy banish'd lord and this great land! [Exit.

SCENE II.

IMOGEN'S Bed-chamber; in one Part of it a Trunk.

IMOGEN reading in her bed: a Lady attending. Imo. Who's there? my woman, Helen?

Lady.

Imo. What hour is it?

Lady.

Please you, madam.

Almost midnight, madam.

Mine eyes

Imo. I have read three hours, then.

are weak

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' th' clock,
I 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'er-labour'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' th' taper
Bows toward her, and would under-peep her lids,
To see t'enclosed lights, now canopi'd

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' th'
story.

Ah! but some natural notes about her body,

Above ten thousand meaner moveables

Would testify, t' enrich mine inventory:

O sleep, thou ape of death, lie dull upon her!
And be her sense but as a monument,

Thus in a chapel lying!

Come off, come off;
[Taking off her bracelet.

As slippery, as the Gordian knot was hard!
'Tis mine; and this will witness outwardly,
As strongly as the conscience does within,
To th' madding of her lord. - On her left breast
A mole cinque-spotted, like the crimson drops
I' th' 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,

-I

Where Philomel gave up. I have enough:

To th' 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 turn'd 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?

1 Lord. Day, my lord.

Clo. I would this music would come. I am advised to give her music o' mornings; they say it will penetrate.

Enter Musicians.

Come on; tune: if you can penetrate her with your fingering, so; 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 sweet air, with admirable rich words to it, — and then let her consider.

Song.

Hark! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,

And Phœbus 'gins arise,

His steeds to water at those springs

On chalic'd flowers that lies;

And winking Mary-buds begin to ope their golden

eyes,

With every thing that pretty is, my lady sweet,

arise;

Arise, arise!

So, get you gone. If this penetrate, I will consider your music the better: if it do not, it is a vice in her ears, which horse-hairs, and calves'-guts, nor the voice of unpaved eunuch to boot, can never amend.

2 Lord.

[Exeunt Musicians.

Enter CYMBELINE and Queen.

Here comes the King.

Clo. I am glad I was up so late, for that's the reason I was up so early: he cannot choose but take this service I have done, fatherly.

Good morrow to

your Majesty, and to my gracious mother.

Cym. Attend you here the door of our stern daughter?

Will she not forth?

Clo. I have assail'd her with music, but she vouchsafes no notice.

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

Queen. You are most bound to th' King; Who lets go by no vantages, that may Prefer you to his daughter. Frame yourself To orderly solicits, and be friended With aptness of the season: make denials Increase your services: so seem as if You were inspir'd to do those duties which You tender to her; that you in all obey her, Save when command to your dismission tends, And therein you are senseless.

Clo.

Messenger.

Rome:

Senseless? not so.

Enter a Messenger.

So like you, sir, ambassadors from

The one is Caius Lucius.

Cym.

A worthy fellow,

Albeit he comes on angry purpose now;

But that's no fault of his : we must receive him
According to the honour of his sender;

And towards himself, his goodness forespent on us,
We must extend our notice. Our dear son,

When you have given good morning to your mistress, Attend the Queen, and us; we shall have need

T' employ you towards this Roman. Come, our

Queen.

[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!

I know her women are about her: what

If I do line one of their hands? 'Tis gold

[Knocks.

Which buys admittance; oft it doth; yea, and makes Diana's rangers false themselves, yield up

Their deer to th' stand o' th' stealer; and 'tis gold