SCENE V.

An Antechamber to IMOGEN's Apartment.

Enter CLOTEN, the Two LORDS, MUSICIANS, as
MASKERS.

Cloten. Come on, tune first a very excellent good conceited thing, after a wonderful sweet air, with admirable rich words to it, and then let her consider.

SONG.

Hark! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,
And Phabus 'gins arise,

His steeds to water at those springs
On chalic'd flowers that lies;

And winking Mary-buds begin

To ope their golden eyes;

With every thing that pretty bin;
My lady sweet arise;
Arise, arise.

Cloten. So, get you gone :-if this penetrate, I will consider your music the better; if it do not, it is a vice in her ears, which horse-hairs, and cats'-guts, nor the voice of eunuch to boot, can never amend. Come, now to our dancing.

Enter DANCERS.

And if she is immoveable with this, she is an immoveable princess, and not worth my notice.

A Dance of MASKERS.

Cloten. Leave us to ourselves. [Exeunt LORDS, &c. If she be up, I'll speak with her; if not,

Let her lie still, and dream.-By your leave, ho!

[Knocks.

I know her women are about her; What,
If I do line one of their hands? 'Tis gold
Which buys admittance; oft it doth; yea, and makes
Diana's rangers false themselves, yield up

Their deer to the stand of the stealer: and 'tis gold
Which makes the true man kill'd, and saves the thief;
Nay, sometime, 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 case myself.
By your leave.

Enter HELen.

Helen. Who's there, that knocks?

Cloten. A gentleman.

Helen. No more?

Cloten. Yes, and a gentlewoman's son.

Helen. That's more

[Knocks.

Than some, whose tailors are as dear as yours,
Can justly boast of: what's your lordship's pleasure?
Cloten. Your lady's person: Is she ready?

Helen. Ay, to keep her chamber.

Cloten. There's gold for you; sell me your good report.

Helen. How? my good name? or to report of you What I shall think is good? The princess

Enter IMOGEN.

Cloten. Good morrow, fairest sister: Your sweet

hand.

[Exit HELEN.

Imog. Good-morrow, sir: You lay out too much pains

For purchasing but trouble.

Cloten. Still, I swear, I love you.

Imog. If you but said so, 'twere as deep with me: If you swear still, your recompense is still

That I regard it not.

Cloten. This is no answer.

Imog. But that you shall not say I yield, being silent,

I would not speak. I pray you, spare me: 'faith,
I shall unfold equal discourtesy

To your best kindness: one of your great knowing
Should learn, being taught, forbearance.

Cloten. To leave you in your madness, 'twere my

I will not.

Imog. Fools cure not mad folks.
Cloten. Do you call me fool?

Imog. As I am mad, I do :

If you'll be patient, I'll no more be mad;
That cures us both. I am much sorry, sir,'
You put me to forget a lady's manners;

But I, which know my heart, do here pronounce,
By the very truth of it, I care not for you.

sin

Cloten. The contract you pretend with that base wretch

(One, bred of alms, and foster'd with cold dishes,
With scraps
o' the court), it is no contract, none.

Imog. Profane fellow!

Wert thou the son of Jupiter, and no more,

But what thou art, besides, thou wert too base

To be his groom.

Cloten. The south fog rot him!

Imog. 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.

Cloten. How now?

Imog. Pisanio!

[Misses her Bracelet.

Cloten. His garment? Now, the devil

Enter PISANIO.

Imog. To Helena, my woman, hie thee presently

Cloten. His garment?

Imog. I am sprited with a fool;

-Go, bid my woman

Frighted, and anger'd worse :

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 then.

Pisanio. "Twill not be lost.

Imog. I hope so: go, and search.

Cloten. You have abus'd me:-

His meanest garment?

I will inform your father.

Imog. 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.

Cloten. I'll be reveng❜d :—

His meanest garment ?

-Well.

[Exit.

[Exit.

[Exit.

ACT THE THIRD.

SCENE I.

Rome.

An Apartment in PHILARIO's House.

Enter POSTHUMUS and PHILARIO.

Post. Fear it not, si: I would, I were so sure
To win the king, as I am bold, her honour
Will remain hers.

Phil. 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.

Phil. 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; or your countrymen
Will 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

E