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.

[Knocks.

A gentleman.

No more?

That's more

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

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 re

port.

Lady. How! my good name? or to report of you What I shall think is good? The Princess

Enter IMOGEN.

Clo. Good morrow, fairest: sister, your sweet hand. Imo. Good morrow, sir. You lay out too much

pains

For purchasing but trouble: the thanks I give,
Is telling you that I am poor of thanks,

And scarce can spare them.

Clo.

Still, I swear, I love you.

Imo. If you but said so, 'twere as deep with me: If you swear still, your recompense is still

That I regard it not.

Clo.

This is no answer.

Imo. But that you shall not say I yield, being

silent,

I would not speak. I pray you, spare me: faith,
I shall unfold equal discourtesy

To your best kindness. One of your great knowing
Should learn, being taught, forbearance.

Clo. To leave you in your madness, 'twere my sin: I will not.

Imo. Fools cure not mad folks.

Clo.

Imo. As I am mad, I do :

Do you call me fool?

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 th' very truth of it, I care not for you;

And am so near the lack of charity,

To accuse myself,

ཀ

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' th' 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' th' crown, and must not soil The precious note of it with a base slave, A hilding for a livery, a squire's cloth, A pantler, not so eminent.

Imo.

Profane fellow !

Wert thou the son of Jupiter, and no more
But what thou art besides, thou wert too base
To be his groom: thou wert dignifi'd enough,
Even to the point of envy, if 'twere made
Comparative for your virtues, to be styl'd
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.

Enter PISANIO.

How now, 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

Search for a jewel that too casually

Hath left mine arm: it was thy master's; 'shrew me If I would lose it for a revenue

Of any king's in Europe. I do think,

I saw 't this morning: confident I am,

Last night 'twas on mine arm; I kiss'd it.

I hope it be not gone to tell my lord

That I kiss aught but he.

Pis.

"Twill not be lost.

[Exit PIs.

You have abus'd me.

Imo. I hope so: go, and search.
Clo.

His meanest garment?

Imo.

Ay; I said so, sir.

If you will make 't an action, call witness to 't.

Clo. I will inform your father.
Imo.

Your mother too:

She's my good lady; and will conceive, I hope,

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 th' arrearages,
Or look upon our Romans, whose remembrance
Is yet fresh in their grief.

Post.
(Statist though I am none,
That this will prove a war;

I do believe, nor like to be,)

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.

Phi.

Enter IACHIMO.

See! Iachimo?

Post. The swiftest harts have posted you by land, And winds of all the corners kiss'd your sails,

To make your vessel nimble.

Phi.

Welcome, sir.

Post. I hope the briefness of your answer made The speediness of your return.

Iach.

Your lady

Is one of the fairest that I have look'd upon.

Post. And therewithal the best; or let her beauty Look through a casement to allure false hearts, And be false with them.

Iach.

Here are letters for you.

'Tis very like.

Post. Their tenor good, I trust.

Iach.

Phi. Was Caius Lucius in the Britain Court,

Sparkles this stone as it was wont? or is 't not

Too dull for your good wearing?

Iach.

If I have lost it,

I should have lost the worth of it in gold.