thither write (my Queene)
And with mine eyes, Ile drinke the words you send,
Though Inke be made of Gall.
Enter Queene.
Qu. Be briefe, I pray you:
If the King come, I shall incurre, I know not
How much of his displeasure: yet Ile moue him
To walke this way: I neuer do him wrong,
But he do's buy my Iniuries, to be Friends:
Payes deere for my offences
Post. Should we be taking leaue
As long a terme as yet we haue to liue,
The loathnesse to depart, would grow: Adieu
Imo. Nay, stay a little:
Were you but riding forth to ayre your selfe,
Such parting were too petty. Looke heere (Loue)
This Diamond was my Mothers; take it (Heart)
But keepe it till you woo another Wife,
When Imogen is dead
Post. How, how? Another?
You gentle Gods, giue me but this I haue,
And seare vp my embracements from a next,
With bonds of death. Remaine, remaine thou heere,
While sense can keepe it on: And sweetest, fairest,
As I (my poore selfe) did exchange for you
To your so infinite losse; so in our trifles
I still winne of you. For my sake weare this,
It is a Manacle of Loue, Ile place it
Vpon this fayrest Prisoner
Imo. O the Gods!
When shall we see againe?
Enter Cymbeline, and Lords.
Post. Alacke, the King
Cym. Thou basest thing, auoyd hence, from my sight:
If after this command thou fraught the Court
With thy vnworthinesse, thou dyest. Away,
Thou'rt poyson to my blood
Post. The Gods protect you,
And blesse the good Remainders of the Court:
I am gone
Imo. There cannot be a pinch in death
More sharpe then this is
Cym. O disloyall thing,
That should'st repayre my youth, thou heap'st
A yeares age on mee
Imo. I beseech you Sir,
Harme not your selfe with your vexation,
I am senselesse of your Wrath; a Touch more rare
Subdues all pangs, all feares
Cym. Past Grace? Obedience?
Imo. Past hope, and in dispaire, that way past Grace
Cym. That might'st haue had
The sole Sonne of my Queene
Imo. O blessed, that I might not: I chose an Eagle,
And did auoyd a Puttocke
Cym. Thou took'st a Begger, would'st haue made my
Throne, a Seate for basenesse
Imo. No, I rather added a lustre to it
Cym. O thou vilde one!
Imo. Sir,
It is your fault that I haue lou'd Posthumus:
You bred him as my Play-fellow, and he is
A man, worth any woman: Ouer-buyes mee
Almost the summe he payes
Cym. What? art thou mad?
Imo. Almost Sir: Heauen restore me: would I were
A Neat-heards Daughter, and my Leonatus
Our Neighbour-Shepheards Sonne.
Enter Queene.
Cym. Thou foolish thing;
They were againe together: you haue done
Not after our command. Away with her,
And pen her vp
Qu. Beseech your patience: Peace
Deere Lady daughter, peace. Sweet Soueraigne,
Leaue vs to our selues, and make your self some comfort
Out of your best aduice
Cym. Nay, let her languish
A drop of blood a day, and being aged
Dye of this Folly.
Enter.
Enter Pisanio.
Qu. Fye, you must giue way:
Heere is your Seruant. How now Sir? What newes?
Pisa. My Lord your Sonne, drew on my Master
Qu. Hah?
No harme I trust is done?
Pisa. There might haue beene,
But that my Master rather plaid, then fought,
And had no helpe of Anger: they were parted
By Gentlemen, at hand
Qu. I am very glad on't
Imo. Your Son's my Fathers friend, he takes his part
To draw vpon an Exile. O braue Sir,
I would they were in Affricke both together,
My selfe by with a Needle, that I might pricke
The goer backe. Why came you from your Master?
Pisa. On his command: he would not suffer mee
To bring him to the Hauen: left these Notes
Of what commands I should be subiect too,
When't pleas'd you to employ me
Qu. This hath beene
Your faithfull Seruant: I dare lay mine Honour
He will remaine so
Pisa. I humbly thanke your Highnesse
Qu. Pray walke a-while
Imo. About some halfe houre hence,
Pray you speake with me;
You shall (at least) go see my Lord aboord.
For this time leaue me.
Exeunt.
Enter Clotten, and two Lords.
1. Sir, I would aduise you to shift a Shirt; the Violence of Action hath made you reek as a Sacrifice: where ayre comes out, ayre comes in: There's none abroad so wholesome as that you vent
Clot. If my Shirt were bloody, then to shift it.
Haue I hurt him?
2 No faith: not so much