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 defence;
Obedient as the scabbard.-What is here?

The scriptures of the loyal Leonatus,
All turn'd to heresy? Away, away,

Corrupters of my faith! you shall no more
Be stomachers to my heart! Thus may poor fools
Believe false teachers: Though those that are betray'd
Do feel the treason sharply, yet the traitor
Stands in worse case of woe.

And thou, Posthúmus, thou that did'st set up
My disobedience 'gainst the king my father,
And make me put into contempt the suits
Of princely fellows, shalt hereafter find
It is no act of common passage, but
A strain of rareness: and I grieve myself,
To think, when thou shalt be disedg'd by her
That now thou tir'st on, how thy memory

Will then be pang'd by me.-Pr'ythee, despatch:
The lamb entreats the butcher: Where's thy knife?
Thou art too slow to do thy master's bidding,

When I desire it too.

Pis.

O gracious lady,

Since I receiv'd command to do this business,
I have not slept one wink.

Imo.

Do 't, and to bed then.

Pis. I'll wake mine eye-balls blind first.
Imo.

Wherefore then

Didst undertake it? Why hast thou abus'd
So many miles, with a pretence? this place?
Mine action, and thine own? our horses' labour?
The time inviting thee? the perturb'd court,
For my being absent; whereunto I never
Purpose return? Why hast thou gone so far,
To be unbent, when thou hast ta'en thy stand,
The elected deer before thee?

Pis.
But to win time
To lose so bad employment: in the which
I have consider'd of a course; Good lady,

Hear me with patience.

Imo.

Talk thy tongue weary; speak:

I have heard, I am a strumpet; and mine ear,
Therein false struck, can take no greater wound,
Nor tent to bottom that. But speak.

Pis.

I thought you would not back again.
Imo.

Bringing me here to kill me.

Pis.

Then, madam,

Most like;

Not so, neither:

But if I were as wise as honest, then

My purpose would prove well. It cannot be,
But that my master is abus'd:

Some villain, ay, and singular in his art,

Hath done you both this cursed injury.

Imo. Some Roman courtezan.

Pis.

No, on my life.

I'll give but notice you are dead, and send him.
Some bloody sign of it; for 'tis commanded

I should do so: You shall be miss'd at court,
And that will well confirm it.

Imo.

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?

Pis.

If you'll back to the court,

Imo. No court, no father; nor no more ado
With that harsh, noble, simple, nothing:
That Cloten, whose love-suit hath been to me
As fearful as a siege.

Pis.

If not at court,

Where then?

Then not in Britain must you bide.

Imo.

Hath Britain all the sun that shines? Day, night,
Are they not but in Britain? I' the world's volume-
Qur Britain seems as of it, but not in it;

In a great pool, a swan's nest; Pr'ythee, think
There's livers out of Britain.

Pis.

I am most glad.

You think of other place. The embassador,

Lucius the Roman, comes to Milford-Haven
To-morrow: Now, if you could wear a mind
Dark as your fortune is; and but disguise
That, which, to appear itself, must not yet be,
But by self-danger; you should tread a course
Pretty, and full of view: yea, haply, near
The residence of Posthumus; so nigh, at least,
That though his actions were not visible, yet
Report should render him hourly to your ear,
As truly as he moves.

Imo.

O, for such means!

Though peril to my modesty, not death on 't,
I would adventure.

Pis.

Well then, here's the point:

You must forget to be a woman; change
Command into obedience; fear, and niceness,
(The handmaids of all women, or, more truly,
Woman its pretty self,) to a waggish courage;
Ready in gibes, quick-answer'd, saucy, and
As quarrellous as the weasel: nay, you must
Forget that rarest treasure of your cheek,.
Exposing it (but, O, the harder heart
Alack, no remedy!) to the greedy touch
Of common-kissing Titan; and forget
Your laboursome and dainty trims, wherein
You made great Juno angry.

Imo.

Nay, be brief: I see into thy end, and am almost

A man already.

-Pis.

First, make yourself but like one..

Fore-thinking this, I have already fit,

('Tis in my cloak-bag) doublet, hat, hose, all

That answer to them: Would you, in their serving,

And with what imitation you can borrow

From youth of such a season, 'fore noble Lucius
Present yourself, desire his service, tell him

Wherein you are happy, (which you'll make him know,
If that his head have ear in musick,) doubtless,
With joy he will embrace you; for he 's honourable,
And, doubling that, mest holy. Your means abroad-

You have me, rich; and I will never fail
Beginning, nor supplyment.

Imo.
The gods will diet me with. Pr'ythee, away:
There's more to be consider'd; but we 'll even
All that good time will give us: This attempt
I'm soldier to, and will abide it with

Thou art all the comfort

A prince's courage. Away, I pr'ythee.

Pis. Well, madam, we must take a short farewel; Lest, being miss'd, I be suspected of

Your carriage from the court. My noble mistress,
Here is a box: I had it from the queen;
What's in 't is precious; if you are sick at sea,
Or stomach-qualm'd at land, a dram of this
Will drive away distemper-To some shade,
And fit you to your manhood:-May the gods
Direct you to the best!

Imo.

Amen: I thank thee. [Exeunt.

SCENE V.

A Room in Cymbeline's Palace.

Enter CYMBELINE, Queen, CLOTEN, LUCIUS, and

Lords.

Cym. Thus far; and so farewel.

Luc.

Thanks, royal sir.

My emperor hath wrote; I must from hence;
And am right sorry, that I must report ye

My master's enemy.

Cym.

Our subjects, sir,

Will not endure his yoke; and for ourself
To show less sovereignty than they, must needs

Appear unkinglike.

Luc.

So, sir, I desire of

you

A conduct over land, to Milford-Haven.—

Madam, all joy befal your grace, and you!

Cym. My lords, you are appointed for that office; The due of honour in no point omit:

So, farewel, noble Lucius.

Luc.

Your hand, my lord.

Clo. Receive it friendly: but from this time forth

I wear it as your enemy.

Luc.

Sir, the event

Is yet to name the winner: Fare you well.

Cym. Leave not the worthy Lucius, good my lords, Till he have cross'd the Severn.-Happiness!

[Exeunt Luc. and Lords. Queen. He goes hence frowning: but it honours us, That we have given him cause. Clo. 'Tis all the better Your valiant Britons have their wishes in it.

Cym. Lucius hath wrote already to the emperor
How it goes here. It fits us therefore, ripely,
Our chariots and our horsemen be in readiness:
The powers that he already hath in Gallia

Will soon be drawn to head, from whence he moves
His war for Britain.

Queen.
'Tis not sleepy business;
But must be look'd to speedily, and strongly.
Cym. Our expectation that it would be thus,
Hath made us forward. But, my gentle queen,
Where is our daughter? She hath not appear'd
Before the Roman, nor to us hath tender'd
The duty of the day: She looks us like
A thing more made of malice, than of duty;
We have noted it.-Call her before us; for

We have been too slight in sufferance. [Exit an Attend.
Queen.

Royal sir,
Since the exíle of Posthumus, most retir'd
Hath her life been; the cure whereof, my lord,
'Tis time must do. 'Beseech your majesty,
Forbear sharp speeches to her: She's a lady
So tender of rebukes, that words are strokes,
And strokes death to her.

Her chambers are all lock'd; and there's no answer That will be given to the loud'st of noise we make.