Unlike all others, chaffless. 'Pray, your pardon. Imog. All's well, sir: Take my pow'r i'the court for yours. Iach. My humble thanks.—I had almost forgot, Your lord; myself, and other noble friends, Imog. Pray, what is't? Iach. Some dozen Romans of us, and your lord, The best feather of our wing, have mingled sums, To buy a present for the emperor: Which I, the factor for the rest, have done To have them in safe stowage; May it please you Imog. Willingly: And pawn mine honour for their safety: since Iach. They are in a trunk, Attended by my men: I will make bold Imog. O no, no. Iach. Yes, I beseech, or I shall short my word, By length'ning my return. From Gallia I cross'd the seas on purpose, and on promise To see your grace. Imog. I thank you for your pains; But not away to-morrow? Iach. O, I must, madam: Therefore I shall beseech you, if you please Imog. I will write. Send your trunk to me; it shall be safe kept, [Exeu t. CENE II. Cymbeline's Palace. Enter Cloten and Two Lords. Cloten. Was there ever man had such luck! when I kiss'd the jack upon an up-cast, to be hit away! I had an hundred pound on't: and then a whoreson jackanapes must take me up for swearing; as if I borrowed my oaths of him, and might not spend them at my pleasure. 1 Lord. What got he by that? You have broke his pate with your bowl. 2 Lord. [Aside.] If his wit had been like him that broke it, it would have run all out. Cloten. When a gentleman is disposed to swear, it is not for any standers-by to curtail his oaths: Ha? 2 Lord. No, my lord :—nor crop the ears of them. [Aside. Cloten. Whoreson dog!—I give him satisfaction? 'Would he had been one of my rank! A plague 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. 1 Lord. It is not fit, your lordship should undertake every companion that you give offence to. Cloten. No, I know that: but it is fit, I should commit offence to my inferiors. 2 Lord. Ay, it is fit for your lordship only. 2 Lord. Here comes the king. Enter Cymbeline and Queen. Cloten. Good-night to your majesty, and gracious mother. Cym. Attend you here the door of our stern daughter? Will she not forth? Cloten. She vouchsafes no notice; but I will assail her before morning with mask and music. Cym. The exile of her minion is too new, She hath not yet forgot him; some more time Enter Messenger, and whispers the First Lord. Prefer you to his daughter. 1 Lord. So like you, sir, ambassadors from Rome; The one is Caius Lucius. Cym. A worthy fellow, Albeit he comes on angry purpose now; When you have given good morning to your mistress, Betimes to-morrow we'll hear th' embassy. Come, madam. [Exeunt Cymbeline and Queen. 1 Lord. Did you hear of another stranger, that's come to court to-night? Cloten. Another stranger, and I not know on't? 2 Lord. He's a strange fellow himself, and knows it not. [Aside. 1 Lord. There's an Italian come, and 'tis thought, one of Leonatus' friends. Cloten. Leonatus! A banished rascal; and he's another, whatsoever he be. Who told you of this stranger? 1 Lord. One of your lordship's pages. Cloten. Is it fit, I went to look upon him? Is there no derogation in it? 2 Lord. You cannot derogate, my lord. Come, I'll go see this Italian; and if he'll play, Father, we'll hear the ambassador—Come, let's go. 1 Lord. I attend your lordship. [Exeunt. SCENE III. A Bed-chamber.—In one part of it a Trunk. Imogen reading in her Bed.—Helen attending. Imog. Who's there? my woman Helen? Helen. Please you, madam,— Imog. What hour is it? Helen. Almost midnight, madam. Imog. I have read three hours then: mine eyes are weak :— Fold down the leaf where I have left: To bed: [Exit Helen. [Sleeps. IACHIMO comes out of the Trunk. Iach. The crickets sing, and man's o'erlabour'd sense Repairs itself by rest: Our Tarquin thus How bravely thou becom'st thy bed! fresh lily! 'Tis her breathing that Perfumes the chamber thus: The flame o' the taper Under these windows: White and azure, lac'd The adornment of her bed ;—The arras, figures, Ah, but some natural notes about her body, To what end? Why should I write this down, that's riveted, 5 |