For further satisfying, under her breast
(Worthy the pressing,) lies a mole, right proud
Of that most delicate lodging: By my life,

I kiss'd it.

You do remember

This stain upon her?

Post. Ay, and it doth confirm

Another stain, as big as hell can hold,
Were there no more but it?

Iach. Will you hear more?

Post. Spare your arithmetic; ne'er count the turns; Once, and a million!

Iach. I'll be sworn

Post. No swearing:—

If thou wilt swear thou hast not done't, thou liest; And I will kill thee, if thou dost deny

Thou hast made me cuckold.

Iach. I will deny nothing.

Post. O, that I had her here, to tear her limb

I will go there, and do't, i' the court, before
Her father:—I'H do something.

Phil. Quite besides

The government of patience!—You have won:
Let's follow him, and pervert the present wrath,
He hath against himself.

[Exit.

Iach. With all

my heart.

[Exeunt.

Cymbeline, Queen, Cloten, the Two Lords, Caius Lucius, and Attendants discovered.

Cym. Now say, what would Augustus Cæsar with

us?

Luc. When Julius Cæsar

Was in this Britain,

And conquer'd it, Cassibelan, thine uncle,
(Famous in Cæsar's praises, no whit less
Than in his feats deserving it,) for him,
And his succession, granted Rome a tribute,
Yearly three thousand pounds; which, by thee lately,
Is left untender'd.

Queen. And, to kill the marvel,

Shall be so ever.

Cloten. There be many Cæsars,

Ere such another Julius.

Britain is

A world by itself; and we will nothing pay
For wearing our own noses.

Tribute? why should we pay tribute? If Cæsar can hide the sun from us with a blanket, or put the moon in his pocket, we will pay him tribute for light; else, sir, no more tribute.

Cym. You must know,

Till the injurious Roman did extort

This tribute from us, we were free:

Say then to Cæsar,

Our ancestor was that Mulmutius, which

Ordain'd our laws; whose use the sword of Cæsar Hath too much mangled; whose repair, and fran chise,

Shall, by the power we hold, be our good deed,
Though Rome be therefore angry.

Luc. I am sorry, Cymbeline,

That I am to pronounce Augustus Cæsar

Thine enemy:

Receive it from me then :—War, and confusion,
In Cæsar's name, pronounce I 'gainst thee: look
For fury not to be resisted :—Thus defy'd,
I thank thee for myself.

Cym. Thou art welcome, Caius.

Cloten. His majesty bids you welcome. Make pastime with us a day, or two, or longer: If you seek us afterwards in other terms, you shall find us in our salt water girdle: if you beat us out of it, it yours; if you fall in the adventure, our crows shall fare the better for you; and there's an end.

is

Luc. So, sir.

Cym. I know your master's pleasure, and he mine: All the remain is, welcome.

[Drums and Trumpets—Exeunt:

SCENE III.

An Apartment in Cymbeline's Palace.

Enter Pisanio; a Letter in his Hand. Pisanio. How! of adultery? Wherefore write you

not

What monster's her accuser?—Leonatus!

Oh, master! what a strange infection
Is fallen into thine ear? What false Italian,
As poisonous tongu'd, as handed, hath prevail'd
On thy too ready hearing ?—Disloyal? No:
She's punish'd for her truth; and undergoes,
More goddess-like than wife-like, such assaults
As would take in some virtue.—Oh, my master!
Thy mind to her is now as low, as were

Thy fortunes. How! that I should murder her?
Upon the love, and truth, and vows, which I
Have made to thy command?—I, her ?—her blood?
If it be so to do good service, never

Let me be counted serviceable. How look I,
That I should seem to lack humanity,

So much as this fact comes to? [Reading the Letter.

Do't: The letter,

That I have sent her, by her own command

Shall give thee opportunity :—Oh, damn'd paper!
Black as the ink that's on thee!—

Lo, here she comes.

Enter Imogen.

I am ignorant in what I am commanded.

Imog. How now, Pisanio?

tus?

Pisanio. Madam, here is a letter from my lord.
Imog. Who? thy lord? that is my lord? Leona-
[IMOGEN takes the Letter.
Oh, learn'd indeed were that astronomer,
That knew the stars, as I his characters;
He'd lay the future open.—You good gods,
Let what is here contain'd relish of love,
Of my lord's health, of his content!
Good wax, thy leave:—Bless'd be,

You bees, that make these locks of counsel !
Good news, gods!

[Reading.] Justice, and your father's wrath, should he take me in his dominions, could not be so cruel to me,

even

as you, Oh, the dearest of creatures, would not renew me with your eyes. Take notice, that I am in Cambria, at Milford Haven: What your own love will, out of this, advise you, follow. So, he wishes you all happiness, that remains loyal to his vow, and your, increasing in love,

Leonatus Posthumus.

O, for a horse with wings!—Hear'st thou, Pisanio?
He is at Milford Haven: Read, and tell me
How far 'tis thither. If one of mean affairs
May plod it in a week, why may not I

Glide thither in a day?—Then, true Pisanio,
How far is it

To this same blessed Milford?

How may we steal from hence?

I pr'ythee, speak,

How many score of miles may we well ride 'Twixt hour and hour?

Pisanio. One score, 'twixt sun and sun,

Madam, is enough for you; and too much too. Imog. Why, one that rode to his execution, man, Could never go so slow :—

But this is foolery:—

Go, bid my woman feign a sickness; say

She'll home to her father: and provide me, presently, A riding suit; no costlier than would fit

A franklin's housewife.

Pisanio Madam, you're best consider,—

Imog. I see before me, man, nor here, nor here,
Nor what ensues; but have a fog in them,
That I cannot look through. Away, I pr'ythee;
Do as I bid thee: there's no more to say;
Accessible is none but Milford way.

[Exeunt.