Imog. I will write. Send your trunk to me; it shall be safe kept, SCENE II. [Exeunt. CYMBELINE's Palace. Enter CLOTEN and Two Lords. Cloten. Was there ever man had such luck! when I kiss'd the jack upon an up-cast, to be hit away! I had an hundred pound on't: and then a whoreson jackanapes must take me up for swearing; as if I borrowed my oaths of him, and might not spend them at my pleasure. 1 Lord. What got he by that? You have broke his pate with your bowl. 2 Lord. [Aside.] If his wit had been like him that broke it, it would have run all out. Cloten. When a gentleman is disposed to swear, it is not for any standers-by to curtail his oaths: Ha? 2 Lord. No, my lord :-nor crop the ears of them. [Aside. Cloten. Whoreson dog!—I give him satisfaction? 'Would he had been one of my rank! A plague on't! I had rather not be so noble as I am; they dare not fight with me, because of the queen, my mother: every jack-slave hath his belly full of fighting, and I must go up and down, like a cock that no body can match. 1 Lord. It is not fit, your lordship should under◄ take every companion that you give offence to. Cloten. No, I know that: but it is fit, I should commit offence to my inferiors. 2 Lord. Ay, it is fit for your lordship only. Cloten. Why, so I say. 2 Lord. Here comes the king. Enter CYMBELINE and QUEEN. Cloten. Good-night to your majesty, and gracious mother. Cym. Attend you here the door of our stern daugh ter? Will she not forth? Cloten. She vouchsafes no notice; but I will assail her before morning with mask and music. Cym. The exile of her minion is too new, She hath not yet forgot him; some more time Enter MESSENGER, and whispers the First LORD. Prefer you to his daughter. 1 Lord. So like you, sir, ambassadors 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 :-Our dear son, When you have given good morning to your mistress, Attend the Queen and us, we shall have need T'employ you towards this Roman. Betimes to-morrow we'll hear th' embassy. Come, madam. [Exeunt CYMBELINE and QUEEN. 1 Lord. Did you hear of another stranger, that's come to court to-night? Cloten. Another stranger, and I not know on't? 2 Lord. He's a strange fellow himself, and knows it not. [Aside 1 Lord. There's an Italian come, and 'tis thought, one of Leonatus' friends. Cloten. Leonatus! A banished rascal; and he's another, whatsoever he be. Who told you of this stranger ? 1 Lord. One of your lordship's pages. Cloten. Is it fit, I went to look upon him? Is there no derogation in it? 2 Lord. You cannot derogate, my lord. Cloten. Not easily, I think. Come, I'll go see this Italian; and if he'll play, I'll game with him; and to-morrow, with our Father, we'll hear the ambassador-Come, let's go. 1 Lord. I attend your lordship. [Exeunt. SCENE III. 4 Bed-chamber.-In one part of it a Trunk. IMOGEN reading in her Bed.-HELEN attending. Imog. Who's there? my woman Helen? Helen. Please you, madam,— Imog. What hour is it? Helen, Almost midnight, madam. Imog. I have read three hours then: mine eyes are weak: Fold down the leaf where I have left: To bed: Take not away the taper, leave it burning; [Exit HELEN. [Sleeps. IACHIMO comes out of the Trunk. Iach. The crickets sing, and man's o'erlabour'd sense Repairs itself by rest: Our Tarquin thus How bravely thou becom'st thy bed! fresh lily! "Tis her breathing that Perfumes the chamber thus: The flame o' the taper Under these windows: White and azure, lac'd The adornment of her bed ;-The arras, figures, Ah, but some natural notes about her body, As slippery, as the Gordion knot was hard!- To what end? Why should I write this down, that's riveted, Screw'd to my memory? She hath been reading late Though this a heavenly angel, hell is here. One, two, three:-Time, time! [Clock strikes. [Goes into the Trunk.-The Scene closes. SCENE IV. CYMBELINE's Palace. Enter CLOTEN and the Two LORDS. 1 Lord. Your lordship is the most patient man in loss, the coldest that ever turned up ace. Cloten. It would make any man cold to lose. 1 Lord. But not every man patient, after the noble temper of your lordship: You are most hot, and furious, when you win. Cloten. Winning will put any man into courage. If I could get this foolish Imogen, I should have gold enough: It's almost morning, is't not? 2 Lord. Day, my lord. Cloten. I would the maskers and musicians were come; I am advised to give her music o' mornings; they say, it will penetrate. [A Flourish of Music within. 1 Lord. Here they are, my lord. Cloten. Come, let's join them. [Exeunt. |