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.Some Villaine,I, and singular in his Art, hath done you bothThis cursed iniurieImo.Some Roman Curtezan?Pisa.No, on my life:Ile giue but notice you are dead, and send himSome bloody signe of it.For 'tis commandedI should do so: you shall be mist at Court,And that will well confirme itImo.Why good Fellow,What shall I do the while? Where bide? How liue?Or in my life, what comfort, when I amDead to my Husband?Pis.If you'l backe to'th' CourtImo.No Court, no Father, nor no more adoeWith that harsh, noble, simple nothing:That Clotten, whose Loue-suite hath bene to meAs fearefull as a SiegePis.If not at Court,Then not in Britaine must you bideImo.Where then?Hath Britaine all the Sunne that shines? Day? Night?Are they not but in Britaine? I'th' worlds VolumeOur Britaine seemes as of it, but not in't:In a great Poole, a Swannes-nest, prythee thinkeThere's liuers out of BritainePis.I am most gladYou thinke of other place: Th' Ambassador,Lucius the Romane comes to Milford-HauenTo morrow.Now, if you could weare a mindeDarke, as your Fortune is, and but disguiseThat which t' appeare it selfe, must not yet be,But by selfe-danger, you should tread a coursePretty, and full of view: yea, happily, neereThe residence of Posthumus; so nie (at least)That though his Actions were not visible, yutReport should render him hourely to your eare,As truely as he moouesImo.Oh for such meanes,Though perill to my modestie, not death on'tI would aduenturePis.Well then, heere's the point:You must forget to be a Woman: changeCommand, into obedience.Feare, and Nicenesse(The Handmaides of all Women, or more truelyWoman it pretty selfe) into a waggish courage,Ready in gybes, quicke-answer'd, sawcie, andAs quarrellous as the Weazell: Nay, you mustForget that rarest Treasure of your Cheeke,Exposing it (but oh the harder heart,Alacke no remedy) to the greedy touchOf common-kissing Titan: and forgetYour laboursome and dainty Trimmes, whereinYou made great Iuno angryImo.Nay be breefe?I see into thy end, and am almostA man alreadyPis.First, make your selfe but like one,Fore-thinking this.I haue already fit('Tis in my Cloake-bagge) Doublet, Hat, Hose, allThat answer to them: Would you in their seruing,(And with what imitation you can borrowFrom youth of such a season) 'fore Noble LuciusPresent your selfe, desire his seruice: tell himWherein you're happy; which will make him know,If that his head haue eare in Musicke, doubtlesseWith ioy he will imbrace you: for hee's Honourable,And doubling that, most holy.Your meanes abroad:You haue me rich, and I will neuer faileBeginning, nor supplymentImo.Thou art all the comfortThe Gods will diet me with.Prythee away,There's more to be consider'd: but wee'l euenAll that good time will giue vs.This attempt,I am Souldier too, and will abide it withA Princes Courage.Away, I prytheePis.Well Madam, we must take a short farewell,Least being mist, I be suspected ofYour carriage from the Court.My Noble Mistris,Heere is a boxe, I had it from the Queene,What's in't is precious: If you are sicke at Sea,Or Stomacke-qualm'd at Land, a Dramme of thisWill driue away distemper.To some shade,And fit you to your Manhood: may the GodsDirect you to the bestImo.Amen: I thanke thee.Exeunt.Scena Quinta.Enter Cymbeline, Queene, Cloten, Lucius, and Lords.Cym.Thus farre, and so farewellLuc.Thankes, Royall Sir:My Emperor hath wrote, I must from hence,And am right sorry, that I must report yeMy Masters EnemyCym.Our Subiects (Sir)Will not endure his yoake; and for our selfeTo shew lesse Soueraignty then they, must needsAppeare vn-KinglikeLuc.So Sir: I desire of youA Conduct ouer Land, to Milford-Hauen.Madam, all ioy befall your Grace, and youCym.My Lords, you are appointed for that Office:The due of Honor, in no point omit:So farewell Noble LuciusLuc.Your hand, my LordClot.Receiue it friendly: but from this time forthI weare it as your EnemyLuc.Sir, the EuentIs yet to name the winner.Fare you wellCym.Leaue not the worthy Lucius, good my LordsTill he haue crost the Seuern.Happines.Exit Lucius, &cQu.He goes hence frowning: but it honours vsThat we haue giuen him causeClot.'Tis all the better,Your valiant Britaines haue their wishes in itCym.Lucius hath wrote already to the EmperorHow it goes heere.It fits vs therefore ripelyOur Chariots, and our Horsemen be in readinesse:The Powres that he already hath in GalliaWill soone be drawne to head, from whence he mouesHis warre for BritaineQu.'Tis not sleepy businesse,But must be look'd too speedily, and stronglyCym.Our expectation that it would be thusHath made vs forward.But my gentle Queene,Where is our Daughter? She hath not appear'dBefore the Roman, nor to vs hath tender'dThe duty of the day.She looke vs likeA thing more made of malice, then of duty,We haue noted it.Call her before vs, forWe haue beene too slight in sufferanceQu.Royall Sir,Since the exile of Posthumus, most retyr'dHath her life bin: the Cure whereof, my Lord,'Tis time must do.Beseech your Maiesty,Forbeare sharpe speeches to her.Shee's a LadySo tender of rebukes, that words are stroke;And strokes death to her.Enter a Messenger.Cym.Where is she Sir? HowCan her contempt be answer'd?Mes.Please you Sir,Her Chambers are all lock'd, and there's no answerThat will be giuen to'th' lowd of noise, we makeQu.My Lord, when last I went to visit her,She pray'd me to excuse her keeping close,Whereto constrain'd by her infirmitie,She should that dutie leaue vnpaide to youWhich dayly she was bound to proffer: thisShe wish'd me to make knowne: but our great CourtMade me too blame in memoryCym.Her doores lock'd?Not seene of late? Grant Heauens, that which IFeare, proue false.Enter.Qu.Sonne, I say, follow the KingClot.That man of hers, Pisanio, her old SeruantI haue not seene these two dayes.Enter.Qu.Go, looke after:Pisanio, thou that stand'st so for Posthumus,He hath a Drugge of mine: I pray, his absenceProceed by swallowing that.For he beleeuesIt is a thing most precious.But for her,Where is she gone? Haply dispaire hath seiz'd her:Or wing'd with feruour of her loue, she's flowneTo her desir'd Posthumus: gone she is,To death, or to dishonor, and my endCan make good vse of either.Shee being downe,I haue the placing of the Brittish Crowne.Enter Cloten.How now, my Sonne?Clot
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