« AnteriorContinuar »
Iach. The crickets sing, and man's o'er-labour'd
sepse 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'the taper Bows toward her; and would under-peep her lids, To see the enclosed lights, now canopied Under these windows: White and azure, lac'd With blue of heaven's own tinctt. But my design? To note the chamber:-I will write all down:Such, and such, pictures :-There the window :
[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 the madding of her lord. On her left breast A mole cinque-spotted, like the crimson drops l'the bottom of a cowslip: Here's a voucher, Stronger than ever law could make : this secret
* It was anciently the custom to strew chambers with rushes. tie. The white skin laced with blue veins,
Will force him think I have pick'd the lock, and talen The treasure of her honour. No more.-To what
end? Why should I write this down, that's rivetted, Screw'd to my memory? She hath been reading late The tale of Tereus; here the leaf's turn'd down, Where Philomel gave up;-I have enougb : To the trunk again, and shut the spring of it. Swift, swift, you dragons of the nigbt!- that dawning May bare the raven's eye: I lodge in fear; Though this a heavenly angel, hell is here
(Clock strikes. One, two, three, Time, time!
[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 poble temper of your lordship; You are most hot, and furious, when you win.
Clo. Winning would 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 musick would come: I am ad. vised to give her musick o' mornings; they say, it will penetrate.
Enter Musicians. Come on; tune: If you can penetrate her with your
fingering, $o; 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 won. derful sweet air, with admirable rich words to it, and then let her consider.
Hark! hark! the lark at headen's gate sings,
And Phæbus 'gins arise,
On chalic'd* flowers that lies ;
To ope their golden eyes ; With every thing that pretty bin: My lady sweet, arise ;
So, get you gone : If this penetrate, I will consider your musick the bettert: if it do not, it is a vice in her ears, which horse-hairs, and cats-guts, nor the voice of unpaved eunuch to boot, can never amend.
Enter Cymbeline and Queen.
2 Lord. 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 mor. row 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 assailed her with musick, but she vouchsafes no notice.
Cym. The exile of her minion is too new;
Will pay you more for it.
She hath not yet forgot him : some more time
Queen. You are most bound to the king;
Senseless ? not so. Enter a Messenger. Mess. So like you, sir, embassadors from Rome; Throne 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 To employ you towards this Roman.--Come, our
(Exeunt Cym. Queen, Lords, and Mess. Clo. If she be up, l'll speak with her; if not, Let her lie still, and dream.-By your leave ho!
(Knocks. I know her women are about her; What If I do line one of their hands? 'Tis gold Which buys admittance; oft it doth; yea, and makes Diana's rangers false themselves, yield up Their deer to the stand of the stealer; and 'tis gold Which makes the true man kill'd, and saves the thief;
* With solicitations not only proper but well-timed
Nay, sometime, bangs both thief and true man:
Enter u Lady. Lady. Who's there, that knocks ! clo.
A gentleman. Lady.
No more? Clo. Yes, and a gentlewoman's son. Lady.
That's more Than some, whose tailors are as dear as yours, Can justly boast of: What's your lordship's plea
sure ? Clo. Your lady's person: Is she ready? Lady.
Ay, To keep her chamber. 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
Still, I swear, I love you.
This is no answer. Imo. But that you shall not say I yield, being si.