Takes prisoner the wild motion of mine eye,
Fixing it only here: should I (damn'd then)
Slaver with lips as common as the stairs

That mount the Capitol; join gripes with hands
Made hard with hourly falsehood, as with labour?
It were fit,

That all the plagues of hell should at one time
Encounter such revolt.

Imog. My lord, I fear,
Has forgot Britain.

Iach. And himself.

Not I,

Inclin'd to this intelligence, pronounce

The beggary of his change; but 'tis your graces
That, from my mutest conscience, to my tongue,
Charms this report out.

Imog. Let me hear no more.

Iach. A lady

So fair, and fasten'd to an empery,

Would make the greatest king double! to be part

ner'd

With tomboys, hir'd with that self-exhibition,
Which your own coffers yield!

Be reveng'd;

Or she, that bore you, was no queen, and you
Recoil from your great stock.

Imog. Reveng'd!

How should I be reveng'd? If this be true,-
As I have such a heart, that both mine ears
Must not in haste abuse,—if it be true,
How should I be reveng'd?

Iach. Should he make me

Live like Diana's priest, betwixt cold sheets;
Whiles he is vaulting variable ramps,
In your despite? Revenge it.

I dedicate myself to your sweet pleasure;
More noble than that runagate to your bed,
And will continue fast to your affection,
Still close, as sure.

D

Imog. What ho, Pisanio!

Iach. Let me my service tender on your lips.
Imog. Away! I do condemn mine ears, that have
So long attended thee. If thou wert honourable,
Thou wouldst have told this tale for virtue, not
For such an end thou seek'st; as base as strange.
Thou wrong'st a gentleman, who is as far
From thy report, as thou from honour; and
Solicit'st here a lady, that disdains

Thee and the Devil alike:-What ho, Pisanio !-
The king my father shall be made acquainted
Of thy assault: if he shall think it fit,
A saucy stranger, in his court, to mart
As in a Romish stew,

He hath a court

He little cares for, and a daughter whom
He not respects at all.--What ho, Pisanio!
Iach. O happy Leonatus! I may say;
The credit that thy lady hath of thee,
Deserves thy trust; and thy most perfect goodness
Her assur'd credit!-Blessed live you long!
A lady to the worthiest sir, that ever

Country call'd his! and you, his mistress, only
For the most worthiest fit! Give me your pardon.
I have spoke this, to know if your affiance
Were deeply rooted; and shall make your lord,
That which he is, new o'er; And he is one

The truest manner'd, such a holy witch,

That he enchants societies unto him;
Half all men's hearts are his.

Imog. You make amends.

Jach. He sits 'mongst men, like a descended god : He hath a kind of honour, sets him off,

More than a mortal seeming, Be not angry,
Most mighty princess, that I have adventur'd
To try your taking of a false report;
The love I bear him

Made me to fan you thus; but the gods made you,

2

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,
To entreat your grace but in a small request,
And yet of moment too, for it concerns

Your lord; myself, and other noble friends,
Are partners in the business.

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

In France: "Tis plate, of rare device; and jewels,
Of rich and exquisite form; their values great;
And I am something curious, being strange,
To have them in safe stowage; May it please you
To take them in protection?

Imog. Willingly:

And pawn mine honour for their safety: since
My lord hath interest in them, I will keep them
In my bed-chamber.

Iach. They are in a trunk,

Attended by my men: I will make bold
To send them to you, only for this night;
I must aboard to-morrow.

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
To greet your lord with writing, do't to-night:
I have out-stood my time; which is material
To the tender of our present.

Imog. I will write.

Send your trunk to me; it shall be safe kept,
And truly yielded you; You are very welcome.

SCENE II.

CYMBELINE'S Palace.

[Exeunt.

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. Cloten. Why, so I say.

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 daugh

ter?

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
Must wear the print of his remembrance out.
And then she's yours. ·

Enter MESSENGER, and whispers the First LORD.
Queen. You are most bound to the king,
Who lets go by no 'vantages, that may

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;
But that's no fault of his :-Our dear son,

When you have given good morning to your mistress,
Attend the Queen and us, we shall have need
T'employ you towards this Roman.

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.