The Bodleian First Folio

A digital facsimile of the First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Bodleian Arch. G c.7.



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Reference: aaa3v - Tragedies, p. 382

Left Column


The Tragedy of Cymbeline. The freezing houres away? We haue seene nothing: We are beastly; subtle as the Fox for prey, Like warlike as the Wolfe, for what we eate:
[1545]
Our Valour is to chace what flyes: Our Cage We make a Quire, as doth the prison'd Bird, And sing our Bondage freely. Bel. How you speake. Did you but know the Citties Vsuries,
[1550]
And felt them knowingly: the Art o'th'Court, As hard to leaue, as keepe: whose top to climbe Is certaine falling: or so slipp'ry, that The feare's as bad as falling. The toyle o'th'Warre, A paine that onely seemes to seeke out danger
[1555]
I'th'name of Fame, and Honor, which dyes i'th'search, And hath as oft a sland'rous Epitaph, As Record of faire Act. Nay, many times Doth ill deserue, by doing well: what's worse Must curt'sie at the Censure. Oh Boyes, this Storie
[1560]
The World may reade in me: My bodie's mark'd With Roman Swords; and my report, was once First, with the best of Note. Cymbeline lou'd me, And when a Souldier was the Theame, my name Was not farre off: then was I as a Tree
[1565]
Whose boughes did bend with fruit. But in one night, A Storme, or Robbery (call it what you will) Shooke downe my mellow hangings: nay my Leaues, And left me bare to weather. Gui. Vncertaine fauour. Bel.
[1570]
My fault being nothing (as I haue told you oft) But that two Villaines, whose false Oathes preuayl'd Before my perfect Honor, swore to Cymbeline, I was Confederate with the Romanes: so Followed my Banishment, and this twenty yeeres,
[1575]
This Rocke, and these Demesnes, haue bene my World, Where I haue liu'd at honest freedome, payed More pious debts to Heauen, then in all The fore‑end of my time. But, vp to'th'Mountaines, This is not Hunters Language; he that strikes
[1580]
The Venison first, shall be the Lord o'th'Feast, To him the other two shall minister, And we will feare no poyson, which attends In place of greater State: Ile meete you in the Valleyes. Exeunt.
[1585]
How hard it is to hide the sparkes of Nature? These Boyes know little they are Sonnes to'th'King, Nor Cymbeline dreames that they are aliue. They thinke they are mine, And though train'd vp thus meanely
[1590]
I'th'Caue, whereon the Bowe their thoughts do hit, The Roofes of Palaces, and Nature prompts them In simple and lowe things, to Prince it, much Beyond the tricke of others. This Paladour, The heyre of Cymbeline and Britaine, who
[1595]
The King his Father call'd Guiderius. Ioue, When on my three‑foot stoole I sit, and tell The warlike feats I haue done, his spirits flye out Into my Story: say thus mine Enemy fell, And thus I set my foote on's necke, euen then
[1600]
The Princely blood flowes in his Cheeke, he sweats, Straines his yong Nerues, and puts himselfe in posture That acts my words. The yonger Brother Cadwall, Once Aruiragus, in as like a figure Strikes life into my speech, and shewes much more
[1605]
His owne conceyuing. Hearke, the Game is rows'd, Oh Cymbeline, Heauen and my Conscience knowes Thou didd'st vniustly banish me: whereon

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Right Column


At three, and two yeeres old, I stole these Babes, Thinking to barre thee of Succession, as
[1610]
Thou refts me of my Lands. Euriphile, Thou was't their Nurse, they took thee for their mother, And euery day do honor to her graue: My selfe Belarius, that am Mergan call'd They take for Naturall Father. The Game is vp. Exit.
Scena Quarta. [Act 3, Scene 4] Enter Pisanio and Imogen. Imo.
[1615]
Thou told'st me when we came frō from horse, yͤ place Was neere at hand: Ne're long'd my Mother so To see me first, as I haue now: Pisanio, Man: Where is Posthumus? What is in thy mind That makes thee stare thus? Wherefore breaks that sigh
[1620]
From th'inward of thee? One, but painted thus Would be interpreted a thing perplex'd Beyond selfe‑explication. Put thy selfe Into a hauiour of lesse feare, ere wildnesse Vanquish my stayder Senses. What's the matter?
[1625]
Why render'st thou that Paper to me, with A looke vntender? If't be Summer Newes Smile too't before: if Winterly, thou need'st But keepe that count'nance stil. My Husbands hand? That Drug‑damn'd Italy, hath out‑craftied him,
[1630]
And hee's at some hard point. Speake man, thy Tongue May take off some extreamitie, which to reade Would be euen mortall to me. Pis. Please you reade, And you shall finde me (wretched man) a thing
[1635]
The most disdain'd of Fortune. Imogen reades.

THy Mistris (Pisanio) hath plaide the Strumpet in my

Bed: the Testimonies whereof, lyes bleeding in me. I speak

not out of weake Surmises, but from proofe as strong as my

greefe, and as certaine as I expect my Reuenge. That part, thou

[1640]

(Pisanio) must acte for me, if thy Faith be not tainted with the

breach of hers; let thine owne hands take away her life: I shall

giue thee opportunity at Milford Hauen. She hath my Letter

for the purpose; where, if thou feare to strike, and to make mee

certaine it is done, thou art the Pander to her dishonour, and

[1645]

equally to me disloyall.

 Pis. What shall I need to draw my Sword, the Paper Hath cut her throat alreadie? No, 'tis Slander, Whose edge is sharper then the Sword, whose tongue Out‑venomes all the Wormes of Nyle, whose breath
[1650]
Rides on the posting windes, and doth belye All corners of the World. Kings, Queenes, and States, Maides, Matrons, nay the Secrets of the Graue This viperous slander enters. What cheere, Madam? Imo. False to his Bed? What is it to be false ?
[1655]
To lye in watch there, and to thinke on him? To weepe 'twixt clock and clock? If sleep charge Na ure, To breake it with a fearfull dreame of him, And cry my selfe awake ? That's false to's bed? Is it? Pisa. Alas good Lady. Imo.
[1660]
I false? Thy Conscience witnesse: Iachimo, Thou didd'st accuse him of Incontinencie, Thou then look'dst like a Villaine: now, me thinkes Thy

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Scena Quarta. [Act 3, Scene 4] Enter Pisanio and Imogen. Imo.
[1615]
Thou told'st me when we came frō from horse, yͤ place Was neere at hand: Ne're long'd my Mother so To see me first, as I haue now: Pisanio, Man: Where is Posthumus? What is in thy mind That makes thee stare thus? Wherefore breaks that sigh
[1620]
From th'inward of thee? One, but painted thus Would be interpreted a thing perplex'd Beyond selfe‑explication. Put thy selfe Into a hauiour of lesse feare, ere wildnesse Vanquish my stayder Senses. What's the matter?
[1625]
Why render'st thou that Paper to me, with A looke vntender? If't be Summer Newes Smile too't before: if Winterly, thou need'st But keepe that count'nance stil. My Husbands hand? That Drug‑damn'd Italy, hath out‑craftied him,
[1630]
And hee's at some hard point. Speake man, thy Tongue May take off some extreamitie, which to reade Would be euen mortall to me. Pis. Please you reade, And you shall finde me (wretched man) a thing
[1635]
The most disdain'd of Fortune. Imogen reades.

THy Mistris (Pisanio) hath plaide the Strumpet in my

Bed: the Testimonies whereof, lyes bleeding in me. I speak

not out of weake Surmises, but from proofe as strong as my

greefe, and as certaine as I expect my Reuenge. That part, thou

[1640]

(Pisanio) must acte for me, if thy Faith be not tainted with the

breach of hers; let thine owne hands take away her life: I shall

giue thee opportunity at Milford Hauen. She hath my Letter

for the purpose; where, if thou feare to strike, and to make mee

certaine it is done, thou art the Pander to her dishonour, and

[1645]

equally to me disloyall.

 Pis. What shall I need to draw my Sword, the Paper Hath cut her throat alreadie? No, 'tis Slander, Whose edge is sharper then the Sword, whose tongue Out‑venomes all the Wormes of Nyle, whose breath
[1650]
Rides on the posting windes, and doth belye All corners of the World. Kings, Queenes, and States, Maides, Matrons, nay the Secrets of the Graue This viperous slander enters. What cheere, Madam? Imo. False to his Bed? What is it to be false ?
[1655]
To lye in watch there, and to thinke on him? To weepe 'twixt clock and clock? If sleep charge Na ure, To breake it with a fearfull dreame of him, And cry my selfe awake ? That's false to's bed? Is it? Pisa. Alas good Lady. Imo.
[1660]
I false? Thy Conscience witnesse: Iachimo, Thou didd'st accuse him of Incontinencie, Thou then look'dst like a Villaine: now, me thinkes Thy fauours good enough. Some Iay of Italy (Whose mother was her painting) hath betraid him:
[1665]
Poore I am stale, a Garment out of fashion, And for I am richer then to hang by th'walles, I must be ript: To peeces with me: Oh! Mens Vowes are womens Traitors. All good seeming By thy reuolt (oh Husband) shall be thought
[1670]
Put on for Villainy; not borne where't growes, But worne a Baite for Ladies. Pisa. Good Madam, heare me. Imo. True honest men being heard, like false Æneas, Were in his time thought false: and Synons weeping
[1675]
Did scandall many a holy teare: tooke pitty From most true wretchednesse. So thou, Posthumus Wilt lay the Leauen on all proper men; Goodly, and gallant, shall be false and periur'd From thy great faile: Come Fellow, be thou honest,
[1680]
Do thou thy Masters bidding. When thou seest him, A little witnesse my obedience. Looke I draw the Sword my selfe, take it, and hit The innocent Mansion of my Loue (my Heart:) Feare not, 'tis empty of all things, but Greefe:
[1685]
Thy Master is not there, who was indeede The riches of it. Do his bidding, strike, Thou mayst be valiant in a better cause; But now thou seem'st a Coward. Pis. Hence vile Instrument,
[1690]
Thou shalt not damne my hand. Imo. Why, I must dye: And if I do not by thy hand, thou art No Seruant of thy Masters. Against Selfe‑slaughter, There is a prohibition so Diuine,
[1695]
That crauens my weake hand: Come, heere's my heart: Something's a‑foot: Soft, soft, wee'l no defence, Obedient as the Scabbard. What is heere, The Scriptures of the Loyall Leonatus, All turn'd to Heresie? Away, away
[1700]
Corrupters of my Faith, you shall no more Be Stomachers to my heart: thus may poore Fooles Beleeue false Teachers: Though those that are betraid Do feele the Treason sharpely, yet the Traitor Stands in worse case of woe. And thou Posthumus,
[1705]
That didd'st set vp my disobedience 'gainst the King My Father, and makes me put into contempt the suites Of Princely Fellowes, shalt heereafter finde It is no acte of common passage, but A straine of Rarenesse: and I greeue my selfe,
[1710]
To thinke, when thou shalt be disedg'd by her, That now thou tyrest on, how thy memory Will then be pang'd by me. Prythee dispatch, The Lambe entreats the Butcher. Wher's thy knife? Thou art too slow to do thy Masters bidding
[1715]
When I desire it too. Pis. Oh gracious Lady: Since I receiu'd command to do this businesse, I haue not slept one winke. Imo. Doo't, and to bed then. Pis.
[1720]
Ile wake mine eye‑balles first. Imo. Wherefore then Didd'st vndertake it? Why hast thou abus'd So many Miles, with a pretence? This place? Mine Action? and thine owne ? Our Horses labour?
[1725]
The Time inuiting thee? The perturb'd Court For my being absent? whereunto I neuer Purpose returne. Why hast thou gone so farre To be vn‑bent? when thou hast 'tane thy stand, Th'elected Deere before thee? Pis.
[1730]
But to win time To loose so bad employment, in the which I haue consider'd of a course: good Ladie Heare me with patience. Imo. Talke thy tongue weary, speake:
[1735]
I haue heard I am a Strumpet, and mine eare Therein false strooke, can take no greater wound, Nor tent, to bottome that. But speake. Pis. Then Madam, I thought you would not backe againe. Imo.
[1740]
Most like, Bringing me heere to kill me. Pis. Not so neither: But if I were as wise, as honest, then My purpose would proue well: it cannot be,
[1745]
But that my Master is abus'd. Some Villaine, I, and singular in his Art, hath done you both This cursed iniurie. Imo. Some Roman Curtezan ? Pisa. No, on my life:
[1750]
Ile giue but notice you are dead, and send him Some bloody signe of it. For 'tis commanded I should do so: you shall be mist at Court, And that will well confirme it. Imo. Why good Fellow,
[1755]
What shall I do the while? Where bide? How liue ? Or in my life, what comfort, when I am Dead to my Husband? Pis. If you'l backe to'th'Court. Imo. No Court, no Father, nor no more adoe
[1760]
With that harsh, noble, simple nothing: That Clotten, whose Loue‑suite hath bene to me As fearefull as a Siege. Pis. If not at Court, Then not in Britaine must you bide. Imo.
[1765]
Where then ? Hath Britaine all the Sunne that shines? Day? Night? Are they not but in Britaine ? I'th'worlds Volume Our Britaine seemes as of it, but not in't: In a great Poole, a Swannes‑nest, prythee thinke
[1770]
There's liuers out of Britaine. Pis. I am most glad You thinke of other place: Th'Ambassador, Lucius the Romane comes to Milford‑Hauen To morrow. Now, if you could weare a minde
[1775]
Darke, as your Fortune is, and but disguise That which t'appeare it selfe, must not yet be, But by selfe‑danger, you should tread a course Pretty, and full of view: yea, happily, neere The residence of Posthumus; so nie (at least)
[1780]
That though his Actions were not visible, yet Report should render him hourely to your eare, As truely as he mooues. Imo. Oh for such meanes, Though perill to my modestie, not death on't
[1785]
I would aduenture. Pis. Well then, heere's the point: You must forget to be a Woman: change Command, into obedience. Feare, and Nicenesse (The Handmaides of all Women, or more truly
[1790]
Woman it pretty selfe) into a waggish courage, Ready in gybes, quicke‑answer'd, sawcie, and As quarrellous as the Weazell: Nay, you must Forget that rarest Treasure of your Cheeke, Exposing it (but oh the harder heart,
[1795]
Alacke no remedy) to the greedy touch Of common‑kissing Titan: and forget Your laboursome and dainty Trimmes, wherein You made great Iuno angry. Imo. Nay be breefe?
[1800]
I see into thy end, and am almost A man already. Pis. First, make your selfe but like one, Fore‑thinking this. I haue already fit ('Tis in my Cloake‑bagge) Doublet, Hat, Hose, all
[1805]
That answer to them: Would you in their seruing, (And with what imitation you can borrow From youth of such a season) 'fore Noble Lucius Present your selfe, desire his seruice: tell him Wherein you're happy; which will make him know,
[1810]
If that his head haue eare in Musicke, doubtlesse With ioy he will imbrace you: for hee's Honourable, And doubling that, most holy. Your meanes abroad: You haue me rich, and I will neuer faile Beginning, nor supplyment. Imo.
[1815]
Thou art all the comfort The Gods will diet me with. Prythee away, There's more to be consider'd: but wee'l euen All th at good time will giue vs. This attempt, I am Souldier too, and will abide it with
[1820]
A Princes Courage. Away, I prythee. Pis. Well Madam, we must take a short farewell, Least being mist, I be suspected of Your carriage from the Court. My Noble Mistris, Heere is a boxe, I had it from the Queene,
[1825]
What's in't is precious: If you are sicke at Sea, Or Stomacke‑qualm'd at Land, a Dramme of this Will driue away distemper. To some shade, And fit you to your Manhood: may the Gods Direct you to the best. Imo.
[1830]
Amen: I thanke thee. Exeunt.
 

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<div type="scene" n="4">
   <head rend="italic center">Scena Quarta.</head>
   <head type="supplied">[Act 3, Scene 4]</head>
   <stage rend="center" type="entrance">Enter Pisanio and Imogen.</stage>
   <sp who="#F-cym-imo">
      <speaker rend="italic">Imo.</speaker>
      <l n="1615">Thou told'st me when we came<choice>
            <abbr>frō</abbr>
            <expan>from</expan>
         </choice>horse, yͤ place</l>
      <l n="1616">Was neere at hand: Ne're long'd my Mother so</l>
      <l n="1617">To see me first, as I haue now:<hi rend="italic">Pisanio</hi>, Man:</l>
      <l n="1618">Where is<hi rend="italic">Posthumus?</hi>What is in thy mind</l>
      <l n="1619">That makes thee stare thus? Wherefore breaks that sigh</l>
      <l n="1620">From th'inward of thee? One, but painted thus</l>
      <l n="1621">Would be interpreted a thing perplex'd</l>
      <l n="1622">Beyond selfe‑explication. Put thy selfe</l>
      <l n="1623">Into a hauiour of lesse feare, ere wildnesse</l>
      <l n="1624">Vanquish my stayder Senses. What's the matter?</l>
      <l n="1625">Why render'st thou that Paper to me, with</l>
      <l n="1626">A looke vntender? If't be Summer Newes</l>
      <l n="1627">Smile too't before: if Winterly, thou need'st</l>
      <l n="1628">But keepe that count'nance stil. My Husbands hand?</l>
      <l n="1629">That Drug‑damn'd Italy, hath out‑craftied him,</l>
      <l n="1630">And hee's at some hard point. Speake man, thy Tongue</l>
      <l n="1631">May take off some extreamitie, which to reade</l>
      <l n="1632">Would be euen mortall to me.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-cym-pis">
      <speaker rend="italic">Pis.</speaker>
      <l n="1633">Please you reade,</l>
      <l n="1634">And you shall finde me (wretched man) a thing</l>
      <l n="1635">The most disdain'd of Fortune.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-cym-imo">
      <speaker rend="italic">Imogen</speaker>
      <stage rend="italic inline" type="business">reades.</stage>
      <p rend="italic" n="1636">
         <c rend="droppedCapital">T</c>Hy Mistris (Pisanio) hath plaide the Strumpet in my
      <lb n="1637"/>Bed: the Testimonies whereof, lyes bleeding in me. I speak
      <lb n="1638"/>not out of weake Surmises, but from proofe as strong as my
      <lb n="1639"/>greefe, and as certaine as I expect my Reuenge. That part, thou
      <lb n="1640"/>(Pisanio) must acte for me, if thy Faith be not tainted with the
      <lb n="1641"/>breach of hers; let thine owne hands take away her life: I shall
      <lb n="1642"/>giue thee opportunity at Milford Hauen. She hath my Letter
      <lb n="1643"/>for the purpose; where, if thou feare to strike, and to make mee
      <lb n="1644"/>certaine it is done, thou art the Pander to her dishonour, and
      <lb n="1645"/>equally to me disloyall.</p>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-cym-pis">
      <speaker rend="italic">Pis.</speaker>
      <l n="1646">What shall I need to draw my Sword, the Paper</l>
      <l n="1647">Hath cut her throat alreadie? No, 'tis Slander,</l>
      <l n="1648">Whose edge is sharper then the Sword, whose tongue</l>
      <l n="1649">Out‑venomes all the Wormes of Nyle, whose breath</l>
      <l n="1650">Rides on the posting windes, and doth belye</l>
      <l n="1651">All corners of the World. Kings, Queenes, and States,</l>
      <l n="1652">Maides, Matrons, nay the Secrets of the Graue</l>
      <l n="1653">This viperous slander enters. What cheere, Madam?</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-cym-imo">
      <speaker rend="italic">Imo.</speaker>
      <l n="1654">False to his Bed? What is it to be false<c rend="italic">?</c>
      </l>
      <l n="1655">To lye in watch there, and to thinke on him?</l>
      <l n="1656">To weepe 'twixt clock and clock? If sleep charge Na<gap extent="1"
              unit="chars"
              reason="illegible"
              agent="crease"
              resp="#ES"/>ure,</l>
      <l n="1657">To breake it with a fearfull dreame of him,</l>
      <l n="1658">And cry my selfe awake<c rend="italic">?</c>That's false to's bed? Is it?</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-cym-pis">
      <speaker rend="italic">Pisa.</speaker>
      <l n="1659">Alas good Lady.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-cym-imo">
      <speaker rend="italic">Imo.</speaker>
      <l n="1660">I false? Thy Conscience witnesse:<hi rend="italic">Iachimo</hi>,</l>
      <l n="1661">Thou didd'st accuse him of Incontinencie,</l>
      <l n="1662">Thou then look'dst like a Villaine: now, me thinkes</l>
      <pb facs="FFimg:axc0893-0.jpg" n="383"/>
      <cb n="1"/>
      <l n="1663">Thy fauours good enough. Some Iay of Italy</l>
      <l n="1664">(Whose mother was her painting) hath betraid him:</l>
      <l n="1665">Poore I am stale, a Garment out of fashion,</l>
      <l n="1666">And for I am richer then to hang by th'walles,</l>
      <l n="1667">I must be ript: To peeces with me: Oh!</l>
      <l n="1668">Mens Vowes are womens Traitors. All good seeming</l>
      <l n="1669">By thy reuolt (oh Husband) shall be thought</l>
      <l n="1670">Put on for Villainy; not borne where't growes,</l>
      <l n="1671">But worne a Baite for Ladies.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-cym-pis">
      <speaker rend="italic">Pisa.</speaker>
      <l n="1672">Good Madam, heare me.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-cym-imo">
      <speaker rend="italic">Imo.</speaker>
      <l n="1673">True honest men being heard, like false<hi rend="italic">Æneas</hi>,</l>
      <l n="1674">Were in his time thought false: and<hi rend="italic">Synons</hi>weeping</l>
      <l n="1675">Did scandall many a holy teare: tooke pitty</l>
      <l n="1676">From most true wretchednesse. So thou,<hi rend="italic">Posthumus</hi>
      </l>
      <l n="1677">Wilt lay the Leauen on all proper men;</l>
      <l n="1678">Goodly, and gallant, shall be false and periur'd</l>
      <l n="1679">From thy great faile: Come Fellow, be thou honest,</l>
      <l n="1680">Do thou thy Masters bidding. When thou seest him,</l>
      <l n="1681">A little witnesse my obedience. Looke</l>
      <l n="1682">I draw the Sword my selfe, take it, and hit</l>
      <l n="1683">The innocent Mansion of my Loue (my Heart:)</l>
      <l n="1684">Feare not, 'tis empty of all things, but Greefe:</l>
      <l n="1685">Thy Master is not there, who was indeede</l>
      <l n="1686">The riches of it. Do his bidding, strike,</l>
      <l n="1687">Thou mayst be valiant in a better cause;</l>
      <l n="1688">But now thou seem'st a Coward.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-cym-pis">
      <speaker rend="italic">Pis.</speaker>
      <l n="1689">Hence vile Instrument,</l>
      <l n="1690">Thou shalt not damne my hand.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-cym-imo">
      <speaker rend="italic">Imo.</speaker>
      <l n="1691">Why, I must dye:</l>
      <l n="1692">And if I do not by thy hand, thou art</l>
      <l n="1693">No Seruant of thy Masters. Against Selfe‑slaughter,</l>
      <l n="1694">There is a prohibition so Diuine,</l>
      <l n="1695">That crauens my weake hand: Come, heere's my heart:</l>
      <l n="1696">Something's a‑foot: Soft, soft, wee'l no defence,</l>
      <l n="1697">Obedient as the Scabbard. What is heere,</l>
      <l n="1698">The Scriptures of the Loyall<hi rend="italic">Leonatus</hi>,</l>
      <l n="1699">All turn'd to Heresie? Away, away</l>
      <l n="1700">Corrupters of my Faith, you shall no more</l>
      <l n="1701">Be Stomachers to my heart: thus may poore Fooles</l>
      <l n="1702">Beleeue false Teachers: Though those that are betraid</l>
      <l n="1703">Do feele the Treason sharpely, yet the Traitor</l>
      <l n="1704">Stands in worse case of woe. And thou<hi rend="italic">Posthumus</hi>,</l>
      <l n="1705">That didd'st set vp my disobedience 'gainst the King</l>
      <l n="1706">My Father, and makes me put into contempt the suites</l>
      <l n="1707">Of Princely Fellowes, shalt heereafter finde</l>
      <l n="1708">It is no acte of common passage, but</l>
      <l n="1709">A straine of Rarenesse: and I greeue my selfe,</l>
      <l n="1710">To thinke, when thou shalt be disedg'd by her,</l>
      <l n="1711">That now thou tyrest on, how thy memory</l>
      <l n="1712">Will then be pang'd by me. Prythee dispatch,</l>
      <l n="1713">The Lambe entreats the Butcher. Wher's thy knife?</l>
      <l n="1714">Thou art too slow to do thy Masters bidding</l>
      <l n="1715">When I desire it too.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-cym-pis">
      <speaker rend="italic">Pis.</speaker>
      <l n="1716">Oh gracious Lady:</l>
      <l n="1717">Since I receiu'd command to do this businesse,</l>
      <l n="1718">I haue not slept one winke.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-cym-imo">
      <speaker rend="italic">Imo.</speaker>
      <l n="1719">Doo't, and to bed then.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-cym-pis">
      <speaker rend="italic">Pis.</speaker>
      <l n="1720">Ile wake mine eye‑balles first.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-cym-imo">
      <speaker rend="italic">Imo.</speaker>
      <l n="1721">Wherefore then</l>
      <l n="1722">Didd'st vndertake it? Why hast thou abus'd</l>
      <l n="1723">So many Miles, with a pretence? This place?</l>
      <l n="1724">Mine Action? and thine owne<c rend="italic">?</c>Our Horses labour?</l>
      <l n="1725">The Time inuiting thee? The perturb'd Court</l>
      <l n="1726">For my being absent? whereunto I neuer</l>
      <l n="1727">Purpose returne. Why hast thou gone so farre</l>
      <l n="1728">To be vn‑bent? when thou hast 'tane thy stand,</l>
      <cb n="2"/>
      <l n="1729">Th'elected Deere before thee?</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-cym-pis">
      <speaker rend="italic">Pis.</speaker>
      <l n="1730">But to win time</l>
      <l n="1731">To loose so bad employment, in the which</l>
      <l n="1732">I haue consider'd of a course: good Ladie</l>
      <l n="1733">Heare me with patience.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-cym-imo">
      <speaker rend="italic">Imo.</speaker>
      <l n="1734">Talke thy tongue weary, speake:</l>
      <l n="1735">I haue heard I am a Strumpet, and mine eare</l>
      <l n="1736">Therein false strooke, can take no greater wound,</l>
      <l n="1737">Nor tent, to bottome that. But speake.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-cym-pis">
      <speaker rend="italic">Pis.</speaker>
      <l n="1738">Then Madam,</l>
      <l n="1739">I thought you would not backe againe.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-cym-imo">
      <speaker rend="italic">Imo.</speaker>
      <l n="1740">Most like,</l>
      <l n="1741">Bringing me heere to kill me.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-cym-pis">
      <speaker rend="italic">Pis.</speaker>
      <l n="1742">Not so neither:</l>
      <l n="1743">But if I were as wise, as honest, then</l>
      <l n="1744">My purpose would proue well: it cannot be,</l>
      <l n="1745">But that my Master is abus'd. Some Villaine,</l>
      <l n="1746">I, and singular in his Art, hath done you both</l>
      <l n="1747">This cursed iniurie.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-cym-imo">
      <speaker rend="italic">Imo.</speaker>
      <l n="1748">Some Roman Curtezan<c rend="italic">?</c>
      </l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-cym-pis">
      <speaker rend="italic">Pisa.</speaker>
      <l n="1749">No, on my life:</l>
      <l n="1750">Ile giue but notice you are dead, and send him</l>
      <l n="1751">Some bloody signe of it. For 'tis commanded</l>
      <l n="1752">I should do so: you shall be mist at Court,</l>
      <l n="1753">And that will well confirme it.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-cym-imo">
      <speaker rend="italic">Imo.</speaker>
      <l n="1754">Why good Fellow,</l>
      <l n="1755">What shall I do the while? Where bide? How liue<c rend="italic">?</c>
      </l>
      <l n="1756">Or in my life, what comfort, when I am</l>
      <l n="1757">Dead to my Husband?</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-cym-pis">
      <speaker rend="italic">Pis.</speaker>
      <l n="1758">If you'l backe to'th'Court.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-cym-imo">
      <speaker rend="italic">Imo.</speaker>
      <l n="1759">No Court, no Father, nor no more adoe</l>
      <l n="1760">With that harsh, noble, simple nothing:</l>
      <l n="1761">That<hi rend="italic">Clotten</hi>, whose Loue‑suite hath bene to me</l>
      <l n="1762">As fearefull as a Siege.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-cym-pis">
      <speaker rend="italic">Pis.</speaker>
      <l n="1763">If not at Court,</l>
      <l n="1764">Then not in Britaine must you bide.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-cym-imo">
      <speaker rend="italic">Imo.</speaker>
      <l n="1765">Where then<c rend="italic">?</c>
      </l>
      <l n="1766">Hath Britaine all the Sunne that shines? Day? Night?</l>
      <l n="1767">Are they not but in Britaine<c rend="italic">?</c>I'th'worlds Volume</l>
      <l n="1768">Our Britaine seemes as of it, but not in't:</l>
      <l n="1769">In a great Poole, a Swannes‑nest, prythee thinke</l>
      <l n="1770">There's liuers out of Britaine.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-cym-pis">
      <speaker rend="italic">Pis.</speaker>
      <l n="1771">I am most glad</l>
      <l n="1772">You thinke of other place: Th'Ambassador,</l>
      <l n="1773">
         <hi rend="italic">Lucius</hi>the Romane comes to Milford‑Hauen</l>
      <l n="1774">To morrow. Now, if you could weare a minde</l>
      <l n="1775">Darke, as your Fortune is, and but disguise</l>
      <l n="1776">That which t'appeare it selfe, must not yet be,</l>
      <l n="1777">But by selfe‑danger, you should tread a course</l>
      <l n="1778">Pretty, and full of view: yea, happily, neere</l>
      <l n="1779">The residence of<hi rend="italic">Posthumus</hi>; so nie (at least)</l>
      <l n="1780">That though his Actions were not visible, yet</l>
      <l n="1781">Report should render him hourely to your eare,</l>
      <l n="1782">As truely as he mooues.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-cym-imo">
      <speaker rend="italic">Imo.</speaker>
      <l n="1783">Oh for such meanes,</l>
      <l n="1784">Though perill to my modestie, not death on't</l>
      <l n="1785">I would aduenture.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-cym-pis">
      <speaker rend="italic">Pis.</speaker>
      <l n="1786">Well then, heere's the point:</l>
      <l n="1787">You must forget to be a Woman: change</l>
      <l n="1788">Command, into obedience. Feare, and Nicenesse</l>
      <l n="1789">(The Handmaides of all Women, or more truly</l>
      <l n="1790">Woman it pretty selfe) into a waggish courage,</l>
      <l n="1791">Ready in gybes, quicke‑answer'd, sawcie, and</l>
      <l n="1792">As quarrellous as the Weazell: Nay, you must</l>
      <l n="1793">Forget that rarest Treasure of your Cheeke,</l>
      <l n="1794">Exposing it (but oh the harder heart,</l>
      <pb facs="FFimg:axc0894-0.jpg" n="384"/>
      <cb n="1"/>
      <l n="1795">Alacke no remedy) to the greedy touch</l>
      <l n="1796">Of common‑kissing<hi rend="italic">Titan:</hi>and forget</l>
      <l n="1797">Your laboursome and dainty Trimmes, wherein</l>
      <l n="1798">You made great<hi rend="italic">Iuno</hi>angry.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-cym-imo">
      <speaker rend="italic">Imo.</speaker>
      <l n="1799">Nay be breefe?</l>
      <l n="1800">I see into thy end, and am almost</l>
      <l n="1801">A man already.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-cym-pis">
      <speaker rend="italic">Pis.</speaker>
      <l n="1802">First, make your selfe but like one,</l>
      <l n="1803">Fore‑thinking this. I haue already fit</l>
      <l n="1804">('Tis in my Cloake‑bagge) Doublet, Hat, Hose, all</l>
      <l n="1805">That answer to them: Would you in their seruing,</l>
      <l n="1806">(And with what imitation you can borrow</l>
      <l n="1807">From youth of such a season) 'fore Noble<hi rend="italic">Lucius</hi>
      </l>
      <l n="1808">Present your selfe, desire his seruice: tell him</l>
      <l n="1809">Wherein you're happy; which will make him know,</l>
      <l n="1810">If that his head haue eare in Musicke, doubtlesse</l>
      <l n="1811">With ioy he will imbrace you: for hee's Honourable,</l>
      <l n="1812">And doubling that, most holy. Your meanes abroad:</l>
      <l n="1813">You haue me rich, and I will neuer faile</l>
      <l n="1814">Beginning, nor supplyment.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-cym-imo">
      <speaker rend="italic">Imo.</speaker>
      <l n="1815">Thou art all the comfort</l>
      <l n="1816">The Gods will diet me with. Prythee away,</l>
      <l n="1817">There's more to be consider'd: but wee'l euen</l>
      <l n="1818">All th<c rend="inverted">a</c>t good time will giue vs. This attempt,</l>
      <l n="1819">I am Souldier too, and will abide it with</l>
      <l n="1820">A Princes Courage. Away, I prythee.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-cym-pis">
      <speaker rend="italic">Pis.</speaker>
      <l n="1821">Well Madam, we must take a short farewell,</l>
      <l n="1822">Least being mist, I be suspected of</l>
      <l n="1823">Your carriage from the Court. My Noble Mistris,</l>
      <l n="1824">Heere is a boxe, I had it from the Queene,</l>
      <l n="1825">What's in't is precious: If you are sicke at Sea,</l>
      <l n="1826">Or Stomacke‑qualm'd at Land, a Dramme of this</l>
      <l n="1827">Will driue away distemper. To some shade,</l>
      <l n="1828">And fit you to your Manhood: may the Gods</l>
      <l n="1829">Direct you to the best.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-cym-imo">
      <speaker rend="italic">Imo.</speaker>
      <l n="1830">Amen: I thanke thee.</l>
   </sp>
   <stage rend="italic rightJustified" type="exit">Exeunt.</stage>
</div>

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