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Guard me, beseech ye! [Sleeps. IACH. from the Trunk,

Iach. The crickets sing, and man's o'er-labour'd sense Repairs itself by rest: Our Tarquin thus Did softly press the rusheş, ère he waken’d The chastity he wounded.-Cytherea, How bravely thou becom'st thy bed! fresh lily! And whiter than the sheets! That I might touch! But kiss; one kiss !-Rubies unparagon'd, How dearly they do't?'Tis her breathing that Perfumes the chamber thus: The flame o' the taper Bows toward her; and would under-peep her lids, To see the enclosed lights, now canopied Under these windows: White and azure, lac'd With blue of heaven's own tinct.-But my design? To note the chamber:-I will write all down :Such, and such, pictures ;-There the window :-Such The adornment of her bed ;—The arras, figures, Why, such, and such:-And the contents o'the story Ah, but some natural notes about her body, Above ten thousand meaner moveables Would testify, to enrich mine inventory: O sleep, thou ape of death, lie dull upon her! And be her sense but as a monument, Thus in a chapel lying !Come off, come off ;

(Taking off her Bracelet, As slippery, as the Gordian knot was hard'Tis mine; and this will witness outwardly, As strongly as the conscience does within, To the madding of her lord. On her left breast A mole cinque-spotted, like the crimson drops l' the bottom of a cowslip: Here's a voucher, Stronger than ever law could make: this secret Will force him think I have pick'd the lock, and ta'en The treasure of her honour. No more. -To what end? Why should I write this down, that's rivetted, Screw'd to my memory? She hath been reading late The tale of Tereus; here the leaf's turn'd down, Where Philomel gave up ;-I have enough: To the trunk again, and shut the spring of it. Swift, swift, you dragons of the night.--that dawning


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May bare the raven's eye: I lodge in fear;
Though this a heavenly angel, hell is here. [Clock strikes.
One, two, three,-Time, time!

[Goes into the Trunk. The Scene closes.

An Ante-Chamber adjoining Imogen's Apartment.

Enter Cloten ani Lords. I Lord. Your Lordship is the most patient man in loss, the most coldest that ever turned up ace.

Clo. It would make any man cold to lose.

i Lord. But not every man patient, after the noble temper of your lordship; You are most hot, and furious, when you win.

Clo. Winning will put any man into courage: If I could get this foolish Imogen, I should have gold enough: It's almost morning, is 't not?

1 Lord. Day, my lord.

Clo. I would this musick would come: I am advised to give her musick o' mornings; they say, it will penetrate.

Enter Musicians. Come on; tune: If you can penetrate her with your fingering, so; we 'll try with tongue too: if none will do, let her remain; but I'll never give o'er. First, a very excellent good-conceited thing; after, a wonderful sweet air, with admirable rich words to it, and then let her consider.

Hark! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,

And Phæbus 'gins arise,
His steeds to water at those springs

On chalic'd flowers that lies ;
And winking Mary-buds begin

To ope their golden eyes ;
Ilith every thing that pretty bin,
My lady, sweet, arise ;

Arise, arise.


So, get you gone: If this penetrate, I will consider your musick the better: if it do not, it is a vice in her ears, which horse-hairs, and cats-guts, nor the voice of unpaved eunuch to boot, can never amend.

Exeunt Musicians. Enter CYMBELINE and Queen. 2 Lord. Here comes the king.

Clo. I am glad, I was up so late; for that 's the reason I was up so early: He cannot choose 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 stern daughter? Will she not forth?

Clo. I have assail'd her with musick, but she vouchsafes no notice.

Cym. The exile of her minion is too new;
She hath not yet forgot him: some more time
Must wear the print of his remembrance out,
And then she 's yours.

You are most bound to the king;
Who lets go by no vantages, that may
Prefer you to his daughter: Frame yourself
To orderly solicits; and be friended
With aptness of the season: make denials
Increase your services: so seem, as if
You were inspir’d to do those duties which
You tender to her; that you in all obey her,
Save when command to your dismission tends,
And therein you are senseless.

Senseless? not so.
Enter a Messenger.
Mess. So like you, sir, ambassadors from Rome;
The one is Caius Lucius.

A worthy fellow,
Albeit he comes on angry purpose now;
But that's no fault of his: We must receive him
According to the honour of his sender;
And towards himself his goodness forespent on us
We must extend our notice.-Our dear son,
When you have given good morning to your mistress,

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Attend the queen, and us; we shall have need
To employ you towards this Roman.—Come, our queen.

[Exeunt Cym. Queen, Lords, and Mess. Clo. 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 If I do line one of their hands? 'Tis gold Which buys admittance; oft it doth; yea, and makes Diana's rangers false themselves, yield up Their deer to the stand of the stealer: and 'tis gold Which makes the true man kill'd, and saves the thief; Nay, sometime, hangs both thief and true man: What Can it not do, and undo? I will make One of her women lawyer to me; for I yet not understand the case myself. By your leave.

[Knocks. Enter a Lady. Lady. Who's there, that knocks? Clo.

A gentleman. Lady.

No more? Clo. Yes, and a gentlewoman's son. Lady.

That's more 'Than some, whose tailors are as dear as yours, Can justly boast of: What's your lordship’s pleasure ?

Clo. Your lady's person: Is she ready?

To keep her chamber.

Clo. There's gold for you; sell me your good report, Lady. How! my good name? or to report of

you What I shall think is good ?- The princess

Enter IMOGEN. C'lo. Good-morrow, fairest sister: Your sweet hand.

Imo. Good-morrow, sir: You lay out too much pains For purchasing but trouble: the thanks I give, Is telling you that I am poor of thanks, And scarce can spare them. Clo.

Still, I swear, I you: Imo. If you but said so, 'twere as deep with me: If you swear still, your recompense is still

That I regard it not.

This is no answer.
Imo. But that you shall not say I yield, being silent,
I would not speak. I pray you, spare me: i' faith,
I shall unfold equal discourtesy
To your best kindness: one of your great knowing
Should learn, being taught, forbearance.

Clo. To leave you in your madness, 'twere my sin : I will not.

Imo. Fools are not mad folks.

Do you call me fool?
Imo. As I am mad, I do:

you 'll be patient, I'll no more be mad;
That cures us both. I am much sorry, sir,
You put me to forget a lady's manners,
By being so verbal: and learn now, for all,
That I, which know my heart, do here pronounce;
By the very truth of it, I care not for you;
And am so near the lack of charity,
(To accuse myself) I hate you: which I had rather
You felt, than make 't my boast.

You sin against
Obedience, which you owe your father. For
The contract you pretend with that base wretch,
(One, bred of alms, and foster'd with cold dishes,
With scraps o'the court,) it is no contract, none:
And though it be allow'd in meaner parties,
(Yet who, than he, more mean?) to knit their souls
On whom there is no more dependency
But brats and beggary) in self-figur'd knot;
Yet you are curb'd from that enlargement by
The consequence o'the crown; and must not soil
The precious note of it with a base slave,
A hilding for a livery, a squire's cloth,
A pantler, not so eminent.

Profane fellow!
Wert thou the son of Jupiter, and no more,
But what thou art, besides, thou wert too base
To be his groom: thou wert dignified enough,
Even to the point of envy, if 'twere made


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