I would not speak. I pray you, spare me: i'faith, I shall unfold equal discourtesy To your best kindness; one of your great knowing Should learn, being taught, forbearance, Clo. To leave you in your madness, 'twere my sin: I will not. Imo. Fools are not mad folks. Clo. Imo. As I am mad, I do : Do you call me fool? If you'll be patient, I'll no more be mad; you; (To accuse myself), 1 hate you: which I had rather You felt, than make't my boast. Clo. You sin against Obedience, which you owe your father. For The contract you pretend with that base wretch, (One, bred of alms, and foster'd with cold dishes, With scraps o'the court), it is no contract, none: And though it be allow'd in meaner parties, (Yet who, than he, more mean?) to knit their souls (On whom there is no more dependency But brats and beggary) in self-figur'd knott; A pantler, not so eminent. Imo. Profane fellow! Wert thou the son of Jupiter, and no more, * So verbose, so full of talk. + In knots of their own tying. A low fellow, only fit to wear a livery. Even to the point of envy, if 'twere made Clo. The south-fog rot him! Imo. He never can meet more mischance, than come To be but nam'd of thee. His meanest garment, Enter Pisanio. Clo. His garment? Now, the devil Imo. To Dorothy my woman hie thee presently:Clo. His garment? Imo. I am sprighted* with a fool; Frighted, and anger'd worse :-Go, bid my woman Search for a jewel, that too casually Hath left mine arm; it was thy master's: 'shrew me, If I would lose it for a revenue Of any king's in Europe. I do think, I saw't this morning: confident I am, Pis. Imo. I hope so: go, and search. Clo. His meanest garment? Imo. If you 'Twill not be lost. [Exit Pis. You have abus'd me: Ay; I said so, sir. will make't an action, call witness to't. Clo. I will inform your father. Imo. Your mother too: [Exit. She's my good lady; and will conceive, I hope, To the worst of discontent. • Haunted. Post. Fear it not, sir: I would, I were so sure To win the king, as I am bold, her honour Will remain hers. Phi. What means do you make to him? Post. Not any; but abide the change of time; Quake in the present winter's state, and wish That warmer days would come: In these fear'd hopes, I barely gratify your love; they failing, I must die much your debtor. Phi. Your very goodness, and your company, O'erpays all I can do. By this, your king Hath heard of great Augustus: Caius Lucius Will do his commission throughly: And, I think, He'll grant the tribute, send the arrearages, Or look upon our Romans, whose remembrance Is yet fresh in their grief. I do believe Post. (Statist though I am none, nor like to be), That this will prove a war; and you shall hear The legions, now in Gallia, sooner landed In our not-fearing Britain, than have tidings Of any penny tribute paid. Our countrymen Are men more order'd, than when Julius Cæsar Smil'd at their lack of skill, but found their courage Worthy his frowning at: Their discipline * Statesman. (Now mingled with their courages) will make known To their approvers*, they are people, such That mend upon the world. Phi. Enter Iachimo. See! Iachimo? Post. The swiftest harts have posted you by land: And winds of all the corners kiss'd your sails, To make your vessel nimble. Phi. Welcome, sir. Post. I hope, the briefness of your answer made The speediness of your return. Iach. Your lady Is one the fairest that I have look'd upon. Post. And, therewithal, the best; or let her beauty Look through a casement to allure false hearts, Iach. Post. Their tenour good, I trust. Iach. Phi. Was Caius Lucius in the Britain court, When you were there? Iach. But not approach'd. Post. Here are letters for you. 'Tis very like. He was expected then, All is well yet. Sparkles this stone as it was wout? or is't not If I have lost it, lach. Your loss your sport: I hope, you know that we Must not continue friends. Iach. Good sir, we must, grant If you keep covenant: Had I not brought By both your wills. Post. If you can make't apparent That you have tasted her in bed, my hand, And ring, is yours: If not, the foul opinion You had of her pure honour, gains, or loses, Your sword, or mine; or masterless leaves both To who shall find them. Iach. Sir, my circumstances, Being so near the truth, as I will make them, Post. lach. Proceed. First, her bed chamber (Where, I confess, I slept not; but, profess, Had that was well worth watching), It was hang'd With tapestry of silk and silver; the story, Proud Cleopatra, when she met her Roman, * And Cydnus swell'd above the banks, or for The press of boats, or pride: A piece of work So bravely done, so rich, that it did strive In workmanship, and value; which, I wonder'd, Could be so rarely and exactly wrought, Since the true life on't was Post. This is true; And this you might have heard of here, by me, Or by some other. lach. More particulars Must justify my knowledge. |