do, let her remain: but I'll never give o'er. Firft, a very excellent good conceited thing; after, a wonderful fweet air with admirable rich words to it, and then let her confider.

SON G.

Hark, hark! the lark at heav'n's gate fings,
And Phoebus 'gins arife,
His feeds to water at thofe fprings

On challic'd flowers that lies:
And winking Mary-buds begin
To ope their golden eyes;
With every thing that pretty bin,
My lady fweet, arife:
Arife, arife.

So, get you gone if this penetrate, I will confider your mufic the better: if it do not, it is a vice in her ears, which horfe-hairs, and cats'-guts, nor the voice of unpav'd eunuch to boot, can

amend.

never

[Exeunt Muficians.

Enter Queen and Cymbeline.

2 Lord. Here comes the King.

Clot. I am glad I was up fo late, for that's the reafon I was up fo early: he cannot chufe but take this fervice I have done, fatherly. Good-morrow to your Majefly, and to my gracious mother.

Cym. Attend you here the door of our ftern daughter?

Will he not forth?

Clot. I have affail'd her with mufics, but she vouchfafes no notice.

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

Queen,

Queen. You are most bound to th' King,
Who lets go by no vantages, that may
Prefer you to his daughter. Frame yourself
To orderly folicits; and be friended'
With aptness of the season; make denials
Encrease your fervices; fo feem, as if
You were infpir'd to do those duties, which
You tender to her: that you in all obey her,
Save when command to your
difmiffion tends,

And therein you are fenfeless.

Clot. Senfeless? not fo.

Enter a Meffenger.

Mef. So like you. Sir, Ambaffadors from Rome; The one is Caius Lucius.

Cym. 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 fender;

And towards himfelf, his goodness fore-fpent on us,
We must extend our notice :- -Our dear fon,

When you have giv'n good morning to your mistress,
Attend the Queen and us; we fhall have need
T employ you towards this Roman. Come, our
Queen.
[Exeunt.

Clot.

F fhe be up, I'll speak with her; if not,
Let her lie ftill, and dream. By your leave,

oh!

I know, her women are about her

[Knocks.

what

-'tis gold,

If I do line one of their hands ?-
Which buys admittance, (oft it doth.) yea, makes
Diana's rangers falfe themfelves, yield up

Their deer to th' ftand o' th' ftealer: and 'tis gold,
Which makes the true man kill'd, and faves the thief;
Nay, fometimes, 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 cafe myself.
By your leave

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, whofe taylors are as dear as yours,
Can juftly boaft of: what's your lordship's pleasure ?
Clot. Your lady's perfon; is she ready?

Lady. Ay, to keep her chamber.
[report.
Clot. There is gold for you, fell me your good
Lady. How, my good name? or to report of you
What I fall 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 scarce can spare 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 That I regard it not,

Clot. This is no answer.

Imo. But that you shall not fay I yield, being filent, I would not speak. I pray you, fpare me-faith, I fhall unfold equal difcourtesy

To your best kindnefs: * one of your great knowing Should

-one of your great knowing

Should learn (being Taught) forbearance.] But fure, whoever is Taught, neceffarily Learns. Learning is not the fit and reasonable Confequence of being Taught, but is the Thing itself. Shakespear withut doubt wrote,

Should learn (being tort) forbearance.

Clot. To leave you in your madness, '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;
That cures us both. I am much forry, Sir,
You put me to forget a lady's manners
By being fo verbal and learn now for all,
That I, who know my heart, do here pronounce
By th' very truth of it, I care not for you:
And am fo near the lack of charity

Táccuse myself, I hate you: which I had rather
You felt, than make my boaft.

Clot. You fin against

Obedience, which you owe your father; for
The contract you pretend with that base wretch,
(One, bred of alms, and fofter'd with cold difhes,
With fcraps o'th' court,) it is no contract, none:
And though it be allow'd in meaner parties,
(Yet who than he, more mean?) to knit their fouls
On whom there is no more dependency
But brats and beggary,) in felf-finger'd knot;
Yet you are curb'd from that enlargement by
The confequence o'th' crown; and must not foil
The precious note of it with a base flave,
A hilding for a livery, a squire's cloth;
A pantler; not fo eminent.

Imo. Prophane fellow !

Wert thou the fon of Jupiter, and no more
But what thou art befides, thou wert too base
To be his groom: thou wert dignify'd enough,
Ev'n to the point of Envy, if 'twere made
Comparative for your virtues, to be ftil'd

-one of your great knowing

Should learn (being Tort) forbearance.

Tort, an old French Word, fignifying the being in the Wrong.

The under-hangman of his realm; and hated
For being preferr'd fo well.

Clot. The fouth-fog rot him!

Imo. He never can meet more mifchance, than

come

To be but nam'd of thee. His meaneft garment,
That ever had but clipt his body, 's dearer
In my refpect, than all the hairs above thee,
Were they all made such men.

Enter Pifanio.

How now, Pifanio?

Clot. His garment? now, the devil

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
Search for a jewel, that too casually

Hath left mine arm-it was thymatter's. 'Shrew me,
If I would lofe it for a revenue

Of any King in Europe. I do think,
I faw't this morning; confident I am,
Laft night 'twas on my arm; I kissed it.
I hope, it be not gone, to tell my lord
That I kifs aught but him.

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;

If you will make't an action, call witnefs to't.

Clot. I will inform your father.

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' worft of difcontent.

Clot. I'll be reveng'd,-
His meaneft garment?-well.

[Exit.

[Exit.

SCENE