Pif. I'll break mine eye-balls first. Imo. Ah wherefore then Didst undertake it? why haft thou abus'd Pif. But to win time To lose so bad employment, in the which Imo. Talk thy tongue weary, speak. Pif. Then, madam, I thought you would not back again. Imo. Moft like Bringing me here to kill me. Pif. Not fo neither; : But if I were as wife as honeft, then Imo. Some Roman curtezan? Pif. No, on my life. I'll give him notice you are dead, and send him I fhould do fo. You fhall be miss'd at court, And that will well confirm it. Imo. Why, good fellow; What shall I do the while? where bide? how live? Or in my life what comfort, when I am Dead to my husband? Pif. If you'll back to th' court -- Imo. No court, no father; nor no more ado With that harsh, noble, fimple nothing, Cloten: Whofe love-fuit hath been to me As fearful as a fiege. Pif. If not at court, Then not in Britain must you bide. Imo. Where then? Hath Britain all the fun that fhines? Day? night? In a great pool a swan's neft. Pif. I'm most glad Pr'ythee think You think of other place: th' Ambaffador, Imo. Oh! for fuch means, (Though peril to my modefty, not death on't,) I would adventure. Pif. Well then, here's the point: • Command into obedience; fear and niceness, (The handmaids of all women, or more truly Woman its pretty self,) to waggish courage, Ready in gybes, quick-anfwer'd, fawcy, and 'As quarrellous as the weazel: nay, you must • Forget that rareft treasure of your cheek, Expofing it (but oh the harder heart, Alack, no remedy) to th❜ greedy touch < Of common-kiffing Titan; and forget • Your labourfome and dainty trims, wherein I fee into thy end, and am almost A man already. Pif. First, make your felf but like one. Fore-thinking this, I have already fit, ('Tis in my cloak-bag) doublet, hat, hose, all Imo. Thou'rt all the comfort The gods will diet me with. Pr'ythee away. This attempt I'm I'm foldier to, and will abide it with A prince's courage. Away, I pr'ythee. Pif. Well, madam, we must take a fhort farewel. Your carriage from the court. My noble mistress, Imo. Amen: I thank thee. SCENE V. The Palace of Cymbeline. [Exeunt. Enter Cymbeline, Queen, Cloten, Lucius, and Lords. Cym. c. Thanks, royal Sir. My Emperor hath wrote; I muft from hence, And am right forry, that I must report ye My master's enemy. Cym. Our fubjects, Sir, Will not endure his yoak; and for our self To fhew lefs foveraignty then they, must needs Luc. So, Sir: I defire of you A conduct over land, to Milford-Haven. Madam, all joy befal your grace; and you. Cym. My lords, you are appointed for that office; The due of honour in no point omit: So farewel, noble Lucius. Luc. Luc. Your hand, my lord. Clot. Receive it friendly; but from this time forth. I wear it as your enemy. Luc. Th'event Is yet to name the winner. Fare you well. Cym. Leave not the worthy Lucius, good my lords, 'Till he have croft the Severn. Happiness! [Exit Lucius, &c. Queen. He goes hence frowning; but it honours us That we have giv'n him cause. Clot. 'Tis all the better, Your valiant Britons have their wishes in it. Cym. Lucius hath wrote already to the Emperor, Will foon be drawn to head, from whence he moves Queen. 'Tis not fleepy business, But must be look'd to speedily, and strongly. Since th' exile of Pofthumus, moft retir'd Forbear sharp fpeeches to her. She's a lady Enter |