Imatges de pÓgina

"Twixt two such shes, would chatter this way, and Contemn with mows the other.

Imog. What is the matter, trow?

Iack. The cloyed will,
That satiate, yet unsatisfy'd, desire,
Ravening first
The lamb, longs after for the garbage.

Imog. What, dear sir,
raps you? Are


well? Iach. Thanks, madam ; well:-'Beseech you, sir, Desire


man's abode where I did leave him: He's strange, and peevish.

Pisanio. I was going, sir, To give him welcome.

[Exit. Imog. Continues well my lord? His health, 'beseech

Iach. Well, madam.
Imog. Is he dispos’d to mirth ? I hope, he is.

Iach. Exceeding pleasant; none a stranger there
So merry and so gamesome: he is callid
The Briton reveller.

Imog. When he was here,
He did incline to sadness; and oft times
Not knowing why.

Iach. I never saw him sad.
There is a Frenchman, his companion,
That, it seems, much loves
A Gallian girl at home: he furnaces
The thick sighs from him; whiles the jolly Briton
(Your lord, I mean) laughs from's free lungs,

cries, “ O! Can my sides hold, to think, that man,---who knows By history, report, or his own proof, What woman is, yea, what she cannot chuse But must be,—will his free hours languish for Assured bondage?”

Imog. Will my lord say so?

Iach. Ay, madam; with his eyes in flood with

laughter. It is a recreation to be by, And hear him mock the Frenchman : But, Heavens

Some men are much to blame.

Imog. Not he, I hope.
Iach. Not he: But yet Heaven's bounty towards

him might
Be us'd more thankfully. In himself, 'tis much;
In you,-which I account his, beyond all talents,
Whilst I am bound to wonder, I am bound
To pity too.

Imog. What do you pity, sir?
Iach. Two creatures, heartily.

Imog. Am I one, sir?
You look on me,—What wreck discern you in me
Deserves your pity?

Iach. Lamentable! What!
To hide me from the radiant sun, and solace
I'the dungeon by a snuff?

Imog. I pray you, sir,
Deliver with more openness your answers
To my demands. Why do you pity me!

Iach. That others do,
I was about to say, enjoy your- But
It is an office of the gods to venge it,
Not mine to speak on't.

Imog. You do seem to know
Something of me, or what concerns me; 'Pray you,
(Since doubting things go ill, often hurts more
Than to be sure they do,)-
Discover to me
What both you spur

Iach. Had I this cheek,
To bathe my lips upon; this hand, whose touch,
Whose every touch, would force the feeler's soul
To the oath of loyalty: this object, which

and stop.

Takes prisoner the wild motion of mine eye,
Fixing it only here: should I (damn’d then)
Slaver with lips as common as the stairs
That mount the Capitol ; join gripes with hands
Made hard with hourly falsehood, as with labour ?
It were fit,
That all the plagues of hell should at one time
Encounter such revolt.

Imog. My lord, I fear,
Has forgot Britain.

Iach. And himself. Not I,
Inclin'd to this intelligence, pronounce
The beggary of his change; but ’tis your graces
That, from my mutest conscience, to my tongue,
Charms this report out.

Imog. Let me hear no more.

Iach. A lady
So fair, and fasten'd to an empery,
Would make the greatest king double! to be part-

With tomboys, hir'd with that self-exhibition,
Which your own coffers yield !
Be reveng’d;
Or she, that bore you, was no queen,


you Recoil from your great stock.

Imog. Reveng’d!
How should I be reveng’d? If this be true,-
As I have such a heart, that both mine ears
Must not in haste abuse,-if it be true,
How should I be reveng'd?

Iach. Should he make me
Live like Diana's priest, betwixt cold sheets;
Whiles he is vaulting variable ramps,
In your despite ? Revenge it.
I dedicate niyself to your sweet pleasure;
More noble than that runagate to your bed,
And will continue fast to your affection,
Still close, as sure,


Imog. What ho, Pisanio!
Iach. Let me my service tender on your lips.

Imog. Away!—I do condemn mine ears, that have
So long attended thee.-If thou wert honourable,
Thou wouldst have told this tale for virtue, not
For such an end thou seek'st; as base as strange.
Thou wrong'st a gentleman, who is as far
From thy report, as thou from honour; and
Solicit'st here a lady, that disdains
Thee and the Devil alike:-What ho, Pisanio !
The king my father shall be made acquainted
Of thy assault: if he shall think it fit,
A saucy stranger, in his court, to mart
As in a Romish stew,
He hath a court
He little cares for, and a daughter whom
He not respects at all. ---What ho, Pisanio!

Tach. O happy Leonatus ! I may say ;
The credit that thy lady hath of thee,
Deserves thy trust; and thy most perfect goodness
Her assur'd credit!--Blessed live you long !
A lady to the worthiest sir, that ever
Country call'd his! and you, his mistress, only
For the most worthiest fit! Give me your pardon.
I have spoke this, to know if your a

Werc deeply rooted; and shall make your lord,
That which he is, new o'er; And he is one
The truest manner'd, such a holy witch,
That he enchants societies unto him;
Half all men's hearts are his.

Imog. You make amends.

Iach. He sits ’mongst men, like a descended god : He hath a kind of honour, sets him off, More than a mortal seeming. Be not angry, Most mighty princess, that I have adventur'd To try your taking of a false report; The love I bear him Made me to fan you thus; but the gods made you,


Unlike all others, chaffless. 'Pray, your pardon.

Imog. All's well, sir : Take my pow'r i'the court

for yours.

Iach. My humble thanks.- I had almost forgot,
To entreat your grace but in a small request,
And yet of moment too, for it concerns
Your lord; myself, and other noble friends,
Are partners in the business.

Imog. Pray, what is't?
Iach. Some dozen Romans of


The best feather of our wing, have mingled sums,
To buy a present for the emperor:
Which I, the factor for the rest, have done
In France: 'Tis plate, of rare device; and jewels,
Of rich and exquisite form; their values great ;
And I am something curious, being strange,
To have them in safe stowage; May it please you
To take them in protection?

Imog. Willingly :
And pawn mine honour for their safety: since
My lord hath interest in them, I will keep them
In my bed-chamber.

Iach. They are in a trunk,
Attended by my men : I will make bold
To send them to you, only for this night;
I must aboard to-morrow.

Imog. O no, no.

Iach. Yes, I beseech, or I shall short my word, By length’ning my return. From Gallia I cross'd the seas on purpose, and on promise To see your grace.

Imog. I thank you for your pains ; But not away to-morrow?

Iach. O, I must, madam: Therefore I shall beseech you,


you please
To greet your lord with writing, do't to-night:
I have out-stood my time; which is material
To the tender of our present.

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