ears, which horse-hair and cats'-guts, nor the voice of unpav'd eunuch to boot, can never amend. [Exeunt Musicians. Enter Queen and Cymbeline. 2 Lord. Here comes the King. Clot. I am glad I was up fo late, for that's the reason I was up so early; he cannot chuse but take this service I have done fatherly. Good morrow to your Majesty, and to my gracious mother. Cym. Attend you here the door of our ftern daughter? Will the not forth? Clot. I have affail'd her with mufic, but the vouch fafes no notice. Cym. The exile of her minion is too new.; Queen. You are most bound to the King, Clot. Senfelefs? not fo. Enter a Messenger. Me. So like you, Sir, Ambaffadors from Rome; The one is Caius Lucius. Cym. A worthy fellow, Albeit he comes on angry purpose now; B that's no fault of his: we must receive him And towards himself, his goodness fore-fpent on us, .e, the good offices done by him to us heretofore. Attend the Queen and us; we shall have need T'employ you towards this Roman. Come, our Queen. SCENE IV. [Exeunt. Clot. If the be up, I'll fpeak with her; if not, Let her lie ftill, and dream. By your leave, ho! —what, [Knocks. I know her women are about her. Their deer to th' ftand o' th' tealer: and 'tis gold One of her women lawyer to me, for I yet not understand the cafe myself. leave. By your Enter a Lady. Lady. Who's there that knocks? Clot. A Gentleman. Lady No more ? Clot Yes, and a gentlewoman's fon. Lady That's more [Knocks, Than fome, whose tailors are as dear as your's, Lady. Ay, to keep her chamber Clot. There is gold for you, fell me your good report, Lady. How, my good name? or to report of you What I fhall think is good? The Princess Enter Imogen. Clot. Good morrow, faireft: fifter, your sweet hand. Imo. Good morrow, Sir; you lay out too much pains For purchafing but trouble; the thanks I give, Is telling you that I am poor of thanks, And fcarce can fpare them. Clot. Still I fwear, I love you. Imo If you but faid fo, 'twere as deep with me: If you fwear ftill, your recompence is ftill Clot. This is no answer. Imo. But that you shall not fay I yield, being filent, To your belt kindness: one of your great knowing Glot. To leave you in your madnefs, 'twere my fin: I will not. Imo. Fools cure not mad folks. Clot. Do you call me fool? Imo. As I am mad, I do. If you'll be patient, I'll no more be mad; : And am fo near the lack of charity you: T'accuse myself, I hate you: which I had rather Clot. You fin against Obedience, which you owe your father. For The contract you pretend with that base wretch, Imo. Profane fellow ! Wert thou the fon of Jupiter, and no more The under-hangman of his realm; and hated Clot. The fouth-fog rot him? Imo He never can meet more mischance, than come In my refpect, than all the hairs above thee, Enter Pifanio. How now, Clot. His garment? now, the devil Pifanio? Imo. To Dorothy, my woman, hie thee presently. Clot. His garment? Imo. I am fprighted with a fool, Frighted, and angred worfe-Go, bid my woman Hath left mine arm-it was thy mafter's. 'Shrew me, Of any King in Europe. I do think, I faw't this morning; confident I am, Last night 'twas on my arm; I kissed it: I hope it be not gone, to tell my Lord Pif. 'Twill not be loft. Imo. I hope fo; go, and fearch. Clot. You have abus'd me His meanest garment? Imo. Ay, I faid fo, Sir; [Exit Pifanio. If you will make't an action, call witness to't. Imo Your mother too; She's my good lady; and will conceive, I hope, But the worst of me. So I leave you, Sir, To th' worst of difcontent. Clot. I'll be reveng'd. His meanest garment?-well. SCENE V. [Exit. [Exit. Changes to Rome. Enter Pofthumus, and Philario. Poft. Fear it not, Sir; I would I were so sure To win the King, as I am bold her honour Will remain her's. Phi What means do you make to him? Poft. 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 Auguftus; Caius Lucius Will do's commiffion throughly. And I think He'll grant the tribute; fend th' arrearages, Ere look upon our Romans, whose remembrance Poft. I do believe, (Statift though I am none, nor like to be), Now mingled with their courages, will make known SCENE VI. Enter Iachimo. Phil. See, Iachimo. Poft. Sure, the fwift harts have pofted you by land, And winds of all the corners kifs'd your fails, To make your veffel nimble. Phi. Welcome. Sir. Poft. I hope the briefnefs of your answer made The speediness of your return, lach. Your lady Is of the fairest I e'er look'd upon. Poft And, therewithal, the beft; or let her beauty Look through a cafement to allure falfe hearts, And be falle with them. Iach. Here are letters for ise, to those who try them. you |