SCENE V. An Antechamber to IMOGEN's Apartment. Enter CLOTEN, the Two LORDS, MUSICIANS, as Cloten. Come on, tune first a very excellent good conceited thing, after a wonderful sweet air, with admirable rich words to it, and then let her consider. SONG. Hark! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings, His steeds to water at those springs And winking Mary-buds begin To ope their golden eyes; With every thing that pretty bin; Cloten. So, get you gone :-if this penetrate, I will consider your music the better; if it do not, it is a vice in her ears, which horse-hairs, and cats'-guts, nor the voice of eunuch to boot, can never amend. Come, now to our dancing. Enter DANCERS. And if she is immoveable with this, she is an immoveable princess, and not worth my notice. A Dance of MASKERS. Cloten. Leave us to ourselves. [Exeunt LORDS, &c. If she be up, I'll speak with her; if not, Let her lie still, and dream.-By your leave, ho! [Knocks. I know her women are about her; What, Their deer to the stand of the stealer: and 'tis gold What Can it not do and undo? I will make One of her women lawyer to me; for Enter HELen. Helen. Who's there, that knocks? Cloten. A gentleman. Helen. No more? Cloten. Yes, and a gentlewoman's son. Helen. That's more [Knocks. Than some, whose tailors are as dear as yours, Helen. Ay, to keep her chamber. Cloten. There's gold for you; sell me your good report. Helen. How? my good name? or to report of you What I shall think is good? The princess Enter IMOGEN. Cloten. Good morrow, fairest sister: Your sweet hand. [Exit HELEN. Imog. Good-morrow, sir: You lay out too much pains For purchasing but trouble. Cloten. Still, I swear, I love you. Imog. If you but said so, 'twere as deep with me: If you swear still, your recompense is still That I regard it not. Cloten. This is no answer. Imog. But that you shall not say I yield, being silent, I would not speak. I pray you, spare me: 'faith, To your best kindness: one of your great knowing Cloten. To leave you in your madness, 'twere my I will not. Imog. Fools cure not mad folks. Imog. As I am mad, I do : If you'll be patient, I'll no more be mad; But I, which know my heart, do here pronounce, sin Cloten. The contract you pretend with that base wretch (One, bred of alms, and foster'd with cold dishes, Imog. Profane fellow! Wert thou the son of Jupiter, and no more, But what thou art, besides, thou wert too base To be his groom. Cloten. The south fog rot him! Imog. He never can meet more mischance, than come To be but nam'd of thee. His meanest garment, In my respect, than all the hairs above thee, Cloten. How now? Imog. Pisanio! [Misses her Bracelet. Cloten. His garment? Now, the devil Enter PISANIO. Imog. To Helena, my woman, hie thee presently Cloten. His garment? Imog. I am sprited with a fool; -Go, bid my woman Frighted, and anger'd worse : 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, Last night 'twas on mine arm; I kiss'd it then. Pisanio. "Twill not be lost. Imog. I hope so: go, and search. Cloten. You have abus'd me:- His meanest garment? I will inform your father. Imog. Your mother too: She's my good lady: and will conceive, I hope, But the worst of me. So I leave you, sir, To the worst of discontent. Cloten. I'll be reveng❜d :— His meanest garment ? -Well. [Exit. [Exit. [Exit. ACT THE THIRD. SCENE I. Rome. An Apartment in PHILARIO's House. Enter POSTHUMUS and PHILARIO. Post. Fear it not, si: I would, I were so sure Phil. 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. Phil. Your very goodness, and your company, Post. I do believe (Statist though I am none, nor like to be,) E |