Thou waft their nurfe; they take thee for their mother,
And every day do honour to thy Grave;
Myfelf Belarius, that am Morgan call'd,
They take for natural father. The game's up.

Enter Pifanio, and Imogen.

[Exit.

Imo. the place
THO

'HOU told'ft me, when we came from horse,

Was near at hand. Ne'er long'd my mother fo
To see me firft, as I have now -Pifanio,

Where is Pofthumus? What is in thy mind,

That makes thee ftare thus ? wherefore breaks that figh

From th' inward of thee? one, but painted thus,
Would be interpreted a thing perplex'd
Beyond felf-explication. Put thyfelf

Into a 'haviour of lefs fear, ere wildness
Vanquish my ftaider fenfes-what's the matter?
Why tender ft thou that paper to me, with
A look untender? if't be fummer news,
Smile to't before; if winterly, thou need'ft
But keep that count'nance ftill. My husband's hand?
That drug-damn'd Italy hath out-craftied him,
And he's at fome hard point. Speak man; thy tongue
May take off fome extremity, which to read
Would be e'en mortal to me.

Pif. Please you, read;

And you fhall find me, wretched man, a thing

The moft difdain'd of fortune.

Imogen reads.

I

TH HY miftrefs, Pifanio, hath play'd the ftrumpet in my bed the teftimonies whereof lie bleeding in me. Speak not out of weak furmifes, but from proof as ftrong as my grief,ant as certain as I exped my revenge. That

part

part thou, Pifanio, must act for me. If thy faith be not tainted with the breath of hers, let thine hands take away her life: Ifhall give thee opportunity at Milford-Haven. She hath my letter for the purpofe; where, if thou fear to firike, and to make me certain it is done, thou art the Pander to her difhonour, and equally to me difloyal.

Pif. What shall I need to draw my fword? the

paper

Hath cut her throat already:-No, 'tis flander;
Whose edge is fharper than the fword, whofe tongue
Out-venoms all the worms of Nile; whose breath
Rides on the posting winds, and doth belie

All corners of the world. Kings, Queens, and ftates,
Maids, matrons, nay, the fecrets of the Grave
This viperous flander enters. What cheer, Madam ?
Imo. Falfe to his bed! what is it to be falfe?

To lie in watch there, and to think on him?
To weep 'twixt clock and clock? if fleep charge

nature,

To break it with a fearful dream of him,

And cry myself awake? that falfe to's bed!
Pif. Alas, good lady!

Imo. I falfe? thy confcience witnefs, Iachimo,-
Thou didft accufe him of incontinency,

Thou then look'ft like a villain: now, methinks, Thy favour's good enough. Some Jay of Italy (*Whofe meether was her painting) hath betray'd

him:

Poor I am ftale, a garment out of fashion ;
And, for I'm richer than to hang by th' walls,
I must be ript: to pieces with me: oh,

Men's vows are women's traitors.--All good
Seeming

By thy revolt, oh husband, shall be thought
Put on for villany: not born, where't grows;
But worn, a bait for ladies.

-] the true Word is Meether, a

Whofe mother was her painting-
North Country Word, fignifying Beauty.

Warb.

Pif. Madam, here me

Imo. True honeft men being heard, like falfe
Eneas,

Were in his time thought falfe: and Sinon's Weeping
Did fcandal many a holy tear; took pity
From most true wretchednefs.

So thou, Pofthumus,

Wilt lay the leven to all proper men ;

Goodly, and gallant, fhall be false and perjur'd,
From thy great fail. Come, fellow, be thou honeft,
Do thou thy mafter's bidding: when thou feeft him,
A little witness my obedience. Look!

I draw the fword myself, take it, and hit
The innocent manfion of my love, my heart;
Fear not, 'tis empty of all things, but grief;
Thy mafter is not there; who was, indeed,
The riches of it. Do his Bidding, ftrike;
Thou may'st be valiant in a better caufe,
But now thou feem'ft a coward.

Pif. Hence, vile inftrument!
Thou shalt not damn

my

Imo. Why, I must die;

hand.

And, if I do not by thy hand, thou art

No fervant of thy mafter's. 'Gainft felf-flaughter There is a prohibition fo divine,

That cravens my weak hand: come, here's my

heart

(Something's afore't)—soft, soft, we'll no defence;

[Opening her breast.

Obedient as the fcabbard ! What is here?

The Scriptures of the loyal Leonatus

All turn'd to Herefy? away, away,

[Pulling his letters out of her bofom.

Corrupters of my faith! you fhall no more

Be ftomachers to my heart: thus may poor fools Believe falfe teachers: tho' thofe, that are betray'd, Do feel the treafon fharply, yet the traitor

Stands in worfe cafe of woe. And thou, Pofthumus, That fet my difobedience 'gainst the King,

And

And mad'ft me put into contempt the suits
Of princely fellows, fhalt hereafter find,
It is no act of common paffage, but
A ftrain of rareness: and I grieve myself,
To think, when thou shalt be dif-edg'd by her
Whom now thou tir'ft on, how thy memory
Will then be pang'd by me.-Pr'ythee, difpatch;
The lamb entreats the butcher. Where's thy knife?
Thou art too flow to do thy mafter's bidding,
When I defire it too.

Pif. O gracious lady!

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

Imo. Do't, and to bed then.

Pif. I'll break mine eye-balls firft.

Imo. Ah, wherefore then

Didst undertake it? why haft thou abus'd

So many miles, with a pretence? this place?
Mine action? and thine own? our horfes' labour?
The time inviting thee? the perturb'd Court,
For my being absent? whereunto I never
Purpose Return. Why haft thou gone fo far,
To be unbent, when thou haft ta'en thy stand,
Th' elected deer before thee?

Pif. But to win time

To lofe fo bad employment, in the which
I have confider'd of a course; good lady,
Hear me with patience.

Imo. Talk thy tongue weary, speak,
I've heard, I am a ftrumpet; and mine ear
(Therein falfe ftruck) can take no greater wound,
Nor tent to bottom That. But, speak.

Pif. Then, Madam,

I thought, you would not back again.
Imo. Moft like,

Bringing me here to kill me.

Pif. Not fo neither;

But if I were as wife as honeft, then

My purpofe would prove well; it cannot be,
But that my mafter is abus'd; fome villain,
And fingular in his art, hath done you both
This curfed injury."

Imo. Some Roman Courtezan

Pif. No, on my life.

I'll give him notice you are dead, 'and fend him
Some bloody fign of it: for 'tis commanded,
I should do fo. You fhall be miss'd at Court,
And that will well confirm it.

Imo. Why, good fellow,

What fhall I do the while? where 'bide? how live ? Or in my life what comfort, when I am

Dead to my

husband?

Pif. If you'll back to th' Court

Imo. No Court, no Father; nor no more ado
With that harfh, noble, fimple, Nothing, Cloten:
That Cloten, whofe love-fuit hath been to me
As fearful as a fiege.

Pif. If not at Court,

Then not in Britaine muft you 'bide.

Imo. Where then?

Hath Britaine all the Sun that fhines? Day, night, Are they not but in Britaine? I'th' world's volume Our Britaine feems as of it, but not in it;

In a great pool, a fwan's neft.

There's living out of Britaine.
Pif. I'm moft glad,

Pr'ythee, think,

You think of other place: th' Ambassador,
Lucius the Roman, comes to Milford-Haven
To-morrow. * Now, if you could wear a Mien
Dark as your fortune is, and but disguise

Now, if you could wear a mind

Dark as your fortune is,-] What had the Darkness of her Mind to do with the Concealment of Perfon, which is the only Thing here advised? On the Contrary, her Mind was to continue unchanged, in order to support her Change of Fortune. Shakespear wrote,-Now, if you could wear a mien.

Warb.

That