I am soldier too, and will abide it with A prince's courage. Pisanio. Well, madam, we must take a short farewell, Lest, being miss'd, I be suspected of Your carriage from the court.—My noble mistress, Imog. Amen! I thank thee. [Exeunt. ACT THE FOURTH. SCENE I. Cymbeline's Palace. Enter Cloten. Cloten. I love, and hate her: for she's fair and royal, I love her; but, Disdaining me, and throwing favours on The low Posthumus, slanders so her judgment, 58 Who is here? Enter PISANIO. Ah, you precious pander! Villain, Cloten. Where is thy lady? or, by Jupiter, How can she be with him? When was she miss'd ? Cloten. Where is she, sir? Satisfy me home,— What is become of her? Pisanio. O, my all-worthy lord! Speak, or thy silence on the instant is Pisanio. Then, sir, This paper is the history of my knowledge Touching her flight. Cloten. Let's see't:—I will Even to Augustus' throne. [Presents a Letter. pursue her Pisanio. [Aside.] Or this, or perish. She's far enough; and what he learns by this, I'll write to my lord she's dead. O, Imogen, Cloten. It is Posthumus' hand; I know't.—Sirrah, if thou wouldst not be a villain, but do me true service, that is, what villany soe'er I bid thee do, to perform it, directly and truly, I would think thee an honest man: thou shouldst neither want my means for thy relief, nor my voice for thy preferment. Pisanio. Well, my good lord. Pisanio. Sir, I will. Cloten. Give me thy hand, here's my purse. Hast any of thy late master's garments in thy possession? Pisanio. I have, my lord, at my lodging, the same suit he wore when he took leave of my lady and mis tress. Cloten. The first service thou dost me, fetch that suit hither: let it be thy first service; go. Pisanio. I shall, my lord. [Exit PISANIO. -Even Haven : Cloten. Meet thee at Milford there, thou villain Posthumus, will I kill thee.—I would, these garments were come. She said upon a time, that she held the very garment of Posthumus in more respect than my noble and natural person. With that suit upon my back, will I first kill him, and in her eyes: He on the ground, my speech of insultment ended on his dead body, when my appetite hath din'd, to the court I'll foot her home again.— My revenge is now at Milford :—'Would I had wings to follow it! [Exit. SCENE II. Wales. The Forest and Cave. Enter Imogen, in Boy's Clothes Imog. I see, a man's life is a tedious one : I have tir'd myself; and for two nights together Have made the ground my bed. I should be sick, But that my resolution helps me.—Milford, When from the mountain top Pisanio show'd thee, Two beggars told me, I could not miss my way: Will poor folks lie, My dear lord! Thou art one o' the false ones: Now I think on thee, At point to sink for food.—But what is this? I were best not call: I dare not call: yet famine, Ho! No answer? then I'll enter.` Best draw my sword; and if mine enemy But fear the sword like me, he'll scarcely look on't. Such a foe, good Heavens! [She goes into the Cave Enter Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus. Bel. You, Polydore, have prov'd best woodman, and Are master of the feast: Cadwal, and I, Come, our stomachs Will make what's homely, savoury: Weariness Finds the down pillow hard.—Now, peace be here, Poor house, that keep'st thyself! [Goes towards the Cave. Guid. I am throughly weary. in Arv. I am weak with toil, yet strong in appetite. Guid. There's cold meat i'the cave; we'll browse on that, Whilst what we have kill'd be cook'd. Bel. Stay come not in :— But that it eats our victuals, I should think Guid. What's the matter, sir? Bel. By Jupiter, an angel! or, if not, An earthly paragon!—Behold divineness No elder than a boy! di Enter Imogen. Imog. Good masters, harm me not: Before I enter'd here, I call'd; and thought To have begg'd, or bought, what I have took: Good I have stolen nought; nor would not, though I had Gold strew'd o' the floor. Here's money for thy meat: I would have left it on the board, so soon As I had made my meal; and parted With prayers for the provider. Arv. Money, youth? Guid. All gold and silver rather turn to dirt! As 'tis no better reckon'd, but of those Who worship dirty gods. Imog. I see, you are angry; Know, if you kill me for my fault, I should Have died, had I not made it. Bel. Whither bound? Imog, To Milford Haven, sir. Imog. Fidele, sir: I have a kinsman, who Bel. 'Prithee, fair youth, Think us no churls; nor measure our good minds Well encounter'd! "Tis almost night: you shall have better cheer G |