Comparative for your virtues, to be styl'd
The under-hangman of his kingdom; and hated
For being preferr'd so well.
Clo.

The south-fog rot him!
Imo. He never can meet more mischance, than come
To be but nam'd of thee. His meanest garment,
That ever hath but clipp'd his body, is dearer,
In my respect, than all the hairs above thee,
Were they all made such men.-How now, Pisanio?

Enter PISANIO. Clo. His garment? Now, the devil – Imo. To Dorothy my woman hie thee presently:Clo. His garment? Imo.

I am sprighted with a fool; Frighted, and anger'd worse :-Go, bid my woman Search for a jewel, that too casually Hath left mine, arm; it was thy master's: 'shrew me, If I would lose it for a revenue Of any king's in Europe. I do think, I saw't this morning: confident I am, Last night 'twas on mine arm; I kiss'd it: I hope, it be not gone, to tell my lord That I kiss aught but he. Pis.

'Twill not be lost. Imo. I hope so: go, and search.

[Exit Pis. Clo.

You have abus'd mei His meanest garment? Imo.

Ay; I said so, sir.
If

you will make 't an action, call witness to't.
Clo. 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 the worst of discontent.

[Exit. Clo.

I'll be reveng'dia His meanest garment ?-Well.

[Exit.

SCENE IV.
Rome. An Apartment in Philario's House.

Enter PostaUMUS and PHILARIO.
Post. Fear it not, sir: I would, I were so sure
To win the king, as I am bold, her honour
Will remain hers.
Phi.

What means do you make to him?
Post. 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 Augustus: Caius Lucius
Will do his commission throughly: And, I think,
He'll grant the tribute, send the arrearages,
Or look upon our Romans, whose remembrance
Is yet fresh in their grief.
Post.

I do believe,
(Statist though I am none, nor like to be,)
That this will prove a war; and you shall hear
The legions, now in Gallia, sooner landed
In our not-fearing Britain, than have tidings
Of any penny tribute paid. Our countrymen
Are men more order'd, than when Julius Cæsar
Smil'd at their lack of skill, but found their courage
Worthy his frowning at: Their discipline
(Now mingled with their courages) will make known
To their approvers, they are people, such
That mend upon the world.

Enter IACHIMO.
Phi.

See! Iachimo!
Post. The swiftest harts have posted you by land:
And winds of all the corners kiss'd your sails,
To make your vessel nimble.
Phi.

Welcome, sir.
Post. I hope, the briefness of your answer made

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you were there?

The speediness of your return.
Iach.

Your lady
Is one the fairest that I have look'd upon.

Post. And, therewithal, the best; or let her beauty
Look through a Casement to allure false hearts,
And be false with them.
lach.

Here are letters for you.
Post. Their tenour good, I trust.
Iach.

'Tis very like.
Phi. Was Caius Lucius in the Britain court,
When
Iach.

He was expected then,
But not approach’d.
Post.

All ; well yet.-
Sparkles this stone as it was wont? or is 't not
Too dull for your good wearing ?
lach.

If I have lost it,
I should have lost the worth of it in gold.
I'll make a journey twice as far, to enjoy
A second night of such sweet shortness, which
Was mine in Britain; for the ring is won.

Post. The stone's too hard to come by.
lach.

Not a whit,
Your lady being so easy.
Post.

Make not, sir,
Your loss your sport: I hope, you know that we
Must not continue friends.
Iach.

Good sir, we must,
If you keep covenant: Had I not brought
The knowledge of your mistress home, I grant
We were to question further: but I now
Profess myself the winner of her honour,
Together with your ring; and not the wronger
Of her, or you, having proceeded but
By both your wills.
Post.

If you can make 't apparent
That you have tasted her in bed, my hand,
And ring, is yours: If not, the foul opinion
You had of her pure honour, gains, or loses,
Your sword, or mine; or masterless leaves both

To who shall find them.
Iach.

Sir, my circumstances,
Being so near the truth, as I will make them,
Must first induce you to believe: whose strength
I will confirm with oath; which, I doubt not,
You ’ll give me leave to spare, when you shall find
You need it not.
Post.

Proceed.
Iach.

First, her bed-chamber,
(Where, I confess, I slept not; but, profess,
Had that was well worth watching;) It was hang'd
With tapestry of silk and silver; the story
Proud Cleopatra, when she met her Roman,
And Cydnus swell'd above the banks, or for
The press of boats, or pride: A piece of work
So bravely done, so rich, that it did strive
In workmanship, and value; which, I wonder'd,
Could be so rarely and exactly wrought,
Since the true life on't was
Post.

This is true;
And this you might have heard of here, by me,
Or by some other.
Iach.

More particulars
Must justify my knowledge.
Post.

So they must,
Or do your honour injury.
Iach.

The chimney
Is south the chamber; and the chimney-piece,
Chaste Dian, bathing: never saw I figures
So likely to report themselves: the cutter
Was as another nature, dumb; outwent her,
Motion and breath left out.
Post.

This is a thing,
Which you might from relation likewise reap;
Being, as it is, much spoke of.
Iach.

The roof o’the chamber
With golden cherubins is fretted: Her andirons
(I had forgot them) were two winking cupids
Of silver, each on one foot standing, nicely
Depending on their brands.

a

Post.

This is her honour!
Let it be granted, you have seen all this, (and praise
Be given to your remembrance) the description
Of what is in her chamber, nothing saves
The wager you have laid.
Iach.

Then, if you can,

[Pulling out the Bracelet.
Be pale; I beg but leave to air this jewel: See!
And now 'tis up again: It must be married
To that your diamond; I'll keep them.
Post.

Jove
Once more let me behold it: Is it that
Which I left with her?
Iach.

Sir, (I thank her) that:
She stripp'd it from her arm; I see her yet;
Her pretty action did outsell her gift,
And yet enrich'd it too: She gave it me, and said,
She priz'd it once.
Post.

May be, she pluck'd it off,
To send it me.
lach.

She writes so to you? doth she? Post. O, no, no, no; 'tis true. Here, take this too ;

[Gives the Ring
It is a basilisk unto mine eye,
Kills me to look on’t:-Let there be no honour,
Where there is beauty; truth, where semblance; love,
Where there's another man: The vows of women
Of no more bondage be, to where they are made,
Than they are to their virtues; which is nothing:
O, above measure false !
Phi.

Have patience, sir,
And take your ring again; 'tis not yet won:
It may be probable, she lost it; or,
Who knows if one of her women, being corrupted,
Hath stolen it from her.
Post.

Very true;
And so, I hope, he came by 't:-Back my ring ;-
Render to me some corporal sign about her,
More evident than this; for this was stolen.

Iach. By Jupiter, I had it from her arm.

a