And cry myself awake? That's false to his bed, Pisanio. Alas, good lady! Imog. I false? Thy conscience witness :-Iachimo, Thou didst accuse him of incontinency; Thou then look'dst like a villain; now, methinks, I must be ripp'd:-to pieces with me !—Oh, Pisanio. Good madam, hear me. Imog. Come, fellow, be thou honest; Do thou thy master's bidding: when thou seest him, I draw the sword myself: take it; and hit Pisanio. Hence, vile instrument! Imog. Why, I must die; And if I do not by thy hand, thou art No servant of thy master's: Against self-slaughter There is a prohibition so divine, That cravens my weak hand. Come, here's my heart ; Something's afore't:-Soft, soft; we'll no defenceWhat is here? [Taking out Letters. The scriptures of the loyal Leonatus, Be stomachers to my heart. 'Pr'ythee, dispatch: The lamb entreats the butcher: Where's thy knife? Pisanio. Oh, gracious lady, Since I received command to do this business, Imog. Do't, and to bed then. Pisanio. I'll wake mine eye-balls blind first. Didst undertake it? Why hast thou gone so far, To be unbent, when thou hast ta'en thy stand, Pisanio. But to win time To lose so bad employment: in the which, Imog. Talk thy tongue weary; speak: Pisanio. It cannot be, But that my master is abused: Some villain, ay, and singular in his art, I'll give but notice you are dead, and send him I should do so: You shall be miss'd at court, Imog. Why, good fellow, What shall I do the while? Where bide? How live? Or in my life what comfort, when I am Dead to my husband? Pisanio. If you'll back to the court, Imog. No court, no father. Pisanio. If not at court, Then not in Britain must you bide.-Where then? There's livers out of Britain. You think of other place. The ambassador, You should tread a course Pretty, and full of view: yea, haply near Imog. O, for such means! Though peril to my modesty, not death on't, Pisanio. Well, then here's the point; Forethinking this, I have already fit ('Tis in my cloakbag,) doublet, hat, hose, all From youth of such a season, 'fore noble Lucius Wherein you are happy, (which you'll make him know, Imog. Thou art all the comfort I am soldier to, and will abide it with A prince's courage. Pisanio. Well, madam, we must take a short farewell, Lest, being miss'd, I be suspected of Your carriage from the court-My noble mistress, Imog. Amen! I thank thee. [Exeunt. ACT THE FOURTH. SCENE I. CYMBELINE's Palace. Enter CLOTEN. Cloten. I love, and hate her: for she's fair and royal, I love her; but, Disdaining me, and throwing favours on The low Posthumus, slanders so her judgment, Who is here? Enter PISANIO. Ah, you precious pander! Villain, Cloten. Where is thy lady? or, by Jupiter, How can she be with him? When was she miss'd? Cloten. Where is she, sir? Satisfy me home,— What is become of her? Pisanio. O, my all-worthy lord! Cloten. All-worthy villain! Speak, or thy silence on the instant is Pisanio. Then, sir, This paper is the history of my knowledge Touching her flight. [Presents a Letter. Cloten. Let's see't: I will pursue her Even to Augustus' throne. Pisanio. [Aside.] Or this, or perish. She's far enough; and what he learns by this, I'll write to my lord she's dead. O, Imogen, Cloten. It is Posthumus' hand; I know't.-Sirrah, if thou would'st not be a villain, but do me true service,—that is, what villainy soever I bid thee do, to perform it, directly and truly,-I would think thee an honest man: thou should'st neither want my means for thy relief, nor my voice for thy preferment. |