CYMBELINE
Thus far, and so farewell.
LUCIUS
Thanks, royal sir.
My emperor wrote; I must from ,
And am right sorry that I must report
My master’s enemy.
CYMBELINE
Our subjects, sir,
Will not endure his yoke; and for ourself
To show less sovereignty than they, must needs
Appear unkinglike.
LUCIUS
So, sir. I desire of you
A conduct overland to Milford Haven.
Madam, all joy befall your Grace, and you!
CYMBELINE
My lords, you are appointed for that office;
The due of honour in no point omit.
So farewell, noble Lucius.
LUCIUS
Your hand, my lord.
CLOTEN
Receive it friendly; but from this time forth
I wear it as your enemy.
LUCIUS
Sir, the event
Is yet to name the winner. Fare you well.
CYMBELINE
Leave not the worthy Lucius, good my lords,
Till he have cross’d the Severn. Happiness!
QUEEN
He goes frowning; but it honours us
That we have given him cause.
CLOTEN
all the better;
Your valiant Britons have their wishes in it.
CYMBELINE
Lucius wrote already to the Emperor
How it goes here. It fits us therefore ripely
Our chariots and our horsemen be in readiness.
The pow’rs that he already in Gallia
Will soon be drawn to head, from he moves
His war for Britain.
QUEEN
not sleepy business,
But must be look’d to speedily and strongly.
CYMBELINE
Our expectation that it would be thus
made us forward. But, my gentle queen,
Where is our daughter? She not appear’d
Before the Roman, nor to us tender’d
The duty of the day. She looks us like
A thing more made of malice than of duty;
We have noted it. Call her before us, for
We have been too slight in sufferance.
QUEEN
Royal sir,
Since the exile of Posthumus, most retir’d
her life been; the cure whereof, my lord,
time must do. Beseech your Majesty,
Forbear sharp speeches to her; she’s a lady
So tender of rebukes that words are strokes,
And strokes death to her.
CYMBELINE
Where is she, sir? How
Can her contempt be answer’d?
ATTENDANT
Please you, sir,
Her chambers are all lock’d, and there’s no answer
That will be given to th’ loud of noise we make.
QUEEN
My lord, when last I went to visit her,
She pray’d me to excuse her keeping close;
Whereto constrain’d by her infirmity
She should that duty leave unpaid to you
Which daily she was bound to proffer. This
She wish’d me to make known; but our great court
Made me to blame in memory.
CYMBELINE
Her doors lock’d?
Not seen of late? Grant, heavens, that which I fear
Prove false!
QUEEN
Son, I say, follow the King.
CLOTEN
That man of hers, Pisanio, her old servant,
I have not seen these two days.
QUEEN
Go, look after.
QUEEN
Pisanio, that stand’st so for Posthumus!
He a drug of mine. I pray his absence
Proceed by swallowing that; for he believes
It is a thing most precious. But for her,
Where is she gone? Haply despair seiz’d her;
Or, wing’d with fervour of her love, she’s flown
To her desir’d Posthumus. Gone she is
To death or to dishonour, and my end
Can make good use of either. She being down,
I have the placing of the British crown.
QUEEN
How now, my son?
CLOTEN
certain she is fled.
Go in and cheer the King. He rages; none
Dare come about him.
QUEEN
All the better. May
This night forestall him of the coming day!
CLOTEN
I love and hate her; for she’s fair and royal,
And that she all courtly parts more exquisite
Than lady, ladies, woman. From every one
The best she , and she, of all compounded,
Outsells them all. I love her therefore; but
Disdaining me and throwing favours on
The low Posthumus slanders so her judgement
That what’s else rare is chok’d; and in that point
I will conclude to hate her, nay, indeed,
To be reveng’d upon her. For when fools
Shall—
CLOTEN
Who is here? What, are you packing, ?
Come . Ah, you precious pandar! Villain,
Where is lady? In a word, or else
art straightway with the fiends.
PISANIO
O good my lord!
CLOTEN
Where is lady? or, by Jupiter—
I will not ask again. Close villain,
I’ll have this secret from heart, or rip
heart to find it. Is she with Posthumus?
From whose so many weights of baseness cannot
A dram of worth be drawn.
PISANIO
Alas, my lord,
How can she be with him? When was she miss’d?
He is in Rome.
CLOTEN
Where is she, sir? Come nearer.
No farther halting! Satisfy me home
What is become of her.
PISANIO
O my all-worthy lord!
CLOTEN
All-worthy villain!
Discover where mistress is at once,
At the next word. No more of ‘worthy lord’!
Speak, or silence on the instant is
condemnation and death.
PISANIO
Then, sir,
This paper is the history of my knowledge
Touching her flight.
CLOTEN
Let’s see’t. I will pursue her
Even to Augustus’ throne.
PISANIO
Or this or perish.
She’s far enough; and what he learns by this
May prove his travel, not her danger.
CLOTEN
Humh!
PISANIO
I’ll write to my lord she’s dead. O Imogen,
Safe mayst wander, safe return again!
CLOTEN
, is this letter true?
PISANIO
Sir, as I think.
CLOTEN
It is Posthumus’ hand; I know’t. , if not be a villain, but do me true service, undergo those employments wherein I should have cause to use with a serious industry—that is, what villainy soe’er I bid do, to perform it directly and truly—I would think an honest man; neither want my means for relief nor my voice for preferment.
PISANIO
Well, my good lord.
CLOTEN
Wilt serve me? For since patiently and constantly stuck to the bare fortune of that beggar Posthumus, canst not, in the course of gratitude, but be a diligent follower of mine. Wilt serve me?
PISANIO
Sir, I will.
CLOTEN
Give me hand; here’s my purse. any of late master’s garments in possession?
PISANIO
I have, my lord, at my lodging, the same suit he wore when he took leave of my lady and mistress.
CLOTEN
The first service me, fetch that suit . Let it be first service; go.
PISANIO
I shall, my lord.
CLOTEN
Meet at Milford Haven! I forgot to ask him one thing; I’ll remember’t . Even there, villain Posthumus, will I kill . I would these garments were come. She said upon a time—the bitterness of it I now belch from my heart—that she held the very garment of Posthumus in more respect than my noble and natural person, together with the adornment of my qualities. With that suit upon my back will I ravish her; first kill him, and in her eyes. There shall she see my valour, which will then be a torment to her contempt. He on the ground, my speech of insultment ended on his dead body, and when my lust dined—which, as I say, to vex her I will execute in the clothes that she so prais’d—to the court I’ll knock her back, foot her home again. She despis’d me rejoicingly, and I’ll be merry in my revenge.
CLOTEN
Be those the garments?
PISANIO
Ay, my noble lord.
CLOTEN
How long is’t since she went to Milford Haven?
PISANIO
She can scarce be there yet.
CLOTEN
Bring this apparel to my chamber; that is the second thing that I have commanded . The third is that wilt be a voluntary mute to my design. Be but duteous and true, preferment shall tender itself to . My revenge is now at Milford, would I had wings to follow it! Come, and be true.
PISANIO
bid’st me to my loss; for true to
Were to prove false, which I will never be,
To him that is most true. To Milford go,
And find not her whom pursuest. Flow, flow,
You heavenly blessings, on her! This fool’s speed
Be cross’d with slowness! Labour be his meed!