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I croft the seas on purpose, and on promise

To fee your Grace.
Imo. I thank you for

your pains;

But not away to-morrow?

Iach. O, I must, Madam.

Therefore I fhall befech you, if you please

To greet your Lord with writing, do't to-night,
I have outftood my time, which is material
To th' tender of our prefent..

Imo. I will write :

1

Send your trunk to me, it fhall fafe be kept,
And truly yielded you. You're very welcome.

[Exeunt.

ACT II. SCENE I.

Cymbeline's Palace.

Enter Cloten, and two Lords.

CLOTEN.

AS there ever man had fuch luck! when I

W kifs'd the Jack upon an up-caft, to be hit

away ! I had an hundred pound on't. And then a whorefon jack-an-apes muft take me up for fwearing, as if I borrowed mine 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.

[Afide.

2 Lord. If his wit had been like him that broke it, it would have run all out. Clot. When a gentleman is difpofed to fwear, it is not for any standers-by to curtail his oaths.

Ha?

2 Lord.

2

2 Lord. No, my Lord; nor crop the ears of them.

[Afide. Clot. Whorefon dog! I give him fatisfaction? would, he had been one of my rank.

2 Lord. To have smelt like a fool.

[Afide.

Clot. I am not vext more at any thing in the earth, -a pox on't! I had rather not be fo noble as I am; they dare not fight with me, because of the Queen my mother; every Jack flave ha h his belly full of fighting, and I must go up and down like a cock that no body can match.

3

[Afide.

2 Lord. You are a cock and a capon too; and you crow, cock, with your comb on. Clot. Say't thou?

1 Lord. It is not fit your Lordship should undertake every companion, that you give offence to.

Clot. No, I know that; but it is fit I fhould commit offence to my inferiors.

2 Lord. It is fit for your Lordship only.

Clot. Why, fo I fay.

I Lord. Did you hear of a ftranger that's come to court to-night?

Clot. A ftranger, and I not know on't?

2 Lord. He's a ftrange fellow himself, and knows it not. [Afide.. I Lord. There's an Italian come, and, 'tis thought, one of Leonatus's friends.

Clot. Leonatus! a banifh'd rafcal; and he's another, whatsoever he be. Who told you of this stranger?

1 Lord. One of your Lordship's pages. Clot. Is it fit I went to look upon him? is there

no derogation in 't?

2 No, my Lord, &c.] This, I lufion is to a fool's сар, which believe, should stand thus :

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had a comb like a cock's.

4 every companion,] The ufe of companion was the fame as of fellow now. It was a word of contempt.

1 Lord.

I Lord. You cannot derogate, my Lord.
Clot. Not eafily, I think.

2 Lord. You are a fool granted, therefore fues being foolifh do not derogate.

your if

[Afide. Clot. Come, I'll go fee this Italian: what I have loft to-day at bowls, I'll win to-night of him. Come;

go.

2 Lord. I'll attend your lordship. That fuch a crafty devil, as his mother, Should yield the world this afs !

[Exit Cloten.'

-a woman, that
Bears all down with her brain; and this her fon
Cannot take two from twenty for his heart,
And leave eighteen.-Alas, poor Princess,
Thou divine Imogen, what thou endur'st!
Betwixt a father by thy ftep-dame govern'd,
A mother hourly coining plots; a wooer,
More hateful than the foul expulsion is
Of thy dear husband, than that horrid act

Of the divorce 5 he'd make.-The heav'ns hold firm
The walls of thy dear Honour; keep unshak'd
That Temple, thy fair Mind; that thou may'ft ftand
T'enjoy thy banish'd Lord, and this great land!

[Exeunt.

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Changes to a magnificent Bed-chamber; in one part of it, a large trunk.

Imogen is difcovered reading in her bed, a Lady at

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Imo. What hour is it?

Lady. Almoft midnight, Madam.

Imo. 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:
And if thou canft awake by four o' th' clock,
I pry'thee, call me. Sleep hath feiz'd me wholly.

[Exit Lady.
To your protection I commend me, Gods;
From Fairies, and the Tempters of the night,
Guard me, 'beseech ye.

[Sleeps.

[lachimo rifes from the trunk. Iach. The crickets fing, and man's o'er-labour'd

fenfe

Repairs itself by reft: our Tarquin thus

? Did foftly prefs the rushes, ere he waken'd
The chastity he wounded. Cytherea,

How bravely thou becom'ft thy bed! fresh lily,
And whiter than the fheets! that I might touch,
But kifs, one kifs-rubies unparagon'd,

How dearly they do't!-'tis her breathing, that
Perfumes the chamber thus: the flame o' th' taper
Bows tow'rd her, and would under-peep her lids,
To fee th' inclosed light, now canopy'd

8

Under thefe windows: white and azure! lac'd With blue of heav'n's own tinct.-But my defign's To note the chamber-I will write all down,

Such, and fuch, pictures-there, the window,-fuch Th' adornment of her bed-the arras, figures

6our Tarquin-] The fpeaker is an Italian.

7 Did foftly press the rushes,-] It was the cuftom in the time of our authour, to ftrew chambers with rushes, as we now cover them with carpets. The practice is mentioned in Caius de E

phemera Britannica.

8

-white AND azure, lac'd WITH blue of heav'n's own tinct.-] We fhould read, -white with azure lac'd, THE blue of heav'n's own tinct. i. e. the white fkin laced with blue veins. U 3

WARBURTON,
Why,

Why, fuch and fuch-and the contents o' th' ftory-
Ah, but fome natʼral notes about her body,
Above ten thousand meaner moveables,
Would teftify, t'enrich my inventory.
O Sleep, thou ape of Death, lie dull upon her
And be her fenfe but as a monument,
Thus in a chapel lying!Come off, come off.
[Taking off her bracelet.
As flipp'ry, as the Gordian knot was hard.-
'Tis mine; and this will witness outwardly,
As ftrongly as the confcience does within,
To th' madding of her Lord. On her left breaft
A mole cinque-fpotted, like the crimson drops
I' th' bottom of a cowflip. Here's a voucher,
Stronger than ever law could make: this fecret
Will force him think, I've pick'd the lock; and ta'en
The treasure of her honour. No more-to what end?
Why fhould I write this down, that's rivetted,
Screw'd to my mem'ry? She hath been reading, late,
The tale of Tereus; here the leaf's turn'd down,
Where Philomel gave up- I have enough:
To th' trunk again, and fhut the fpring of it.
Swift, fwift, you Dragons
dawning

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of the night! that

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