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To your protection I commend me, Gods;
From fairies and the tempters of the night

Guard me, befeech ye!

[Sleeps.

[Iachimo rifes from the trunk.

Iach. The crickets fing, and man's o'er-labour'd sense

Repairs it felf by reft: our Tarquin thus

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

How bravely thou becom'ft thy bed! fresh lilly,
And whiter than the fheets! that I might touch,
But kifs, one kiss- 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' inclofed lights, now canopy'd
Under thofe curtains white with azure lac'd,
The blue of heav'n's own tinct.

To note the chamber

Such and fuch pictures

-But my defign's

I will write all down,

-there the window-fuch

Th' adornment of her bed-the arras, figures

Why, fuch and fuch-and the contents o' th' ftory-
Ah, but fome natʼral notes about her body,
Above ten thousand meaner moveables
Would teftifie, t' enrich mine inventory.
O fleep, thou ape of death, lye dull upon her,
And be her fenfe but as a monument,
Thus in a chappel lying! Come off, come off.-

[Taking off ber bracelet.

As flipp'ry as the Gordian knot was hard.
'Tis mine, and this will witness outwardly,
As ftrongly as the confcience do's 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 should I write this down that's rivetted,
Screw'd to my mem'ry? Sh' hath been reading late,
The Tale of Tereus, here the leaf's turn'd down

Where

Where Philomele gave up-I have enough

To th' trunk again, and fhut the fpring of it.
Swift, fwift, you dragons of the night! that dawning
May bare its raven-eye*: I lodge in fear,
Though this a heav'nly angel, hell is here.
One, two, three: time, time!

[Clock ftrikes,

[blocks in formation]

Without the Palace under Imogen's Apartment.

Enter Cloten and Lords.

1 Lord. Your Lordship is the moft patient man in lofs, the coldest that ever turn'd up ace.

Clot. It would make any man cold to lofe.

I Lord. But not every man patient, after the noble temper of your Lordship; you are moft hot and furious when you win.

Clot. Winning will put any man into courage: If I could get this foolish Imogen, I fhall have gold enough: It's almoft morning, is't not?

I Lord. Day, my Lord.

Clot. I would this mufick would come: I am advised to give her mufick a-mornings, they fay it will penetrate. Enter Muficians.

Come on, tune; if you can penetrate here with your fingering, fo; we'll try with tongue too; if none will do, let her remain: but I'll never give o'er. Firft, a very excellent good conceited thing; after, a wonderful sweet air with admirable rich words to it; and then let her confider. SONG.

Hark, bark, the lark at heav'n's gate fings,
And Phoebus 'gins arife,

His feeds to water at thofe Springs

Each chalic'd flower Supplies:

And winking Mary buds begin

To ope their golden eyes,

With all the things that pretty bin:

My Lady fweet, arife,

Arife, arife.

The Raven's eye is remarkably large and gray.

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So, get you gone- -if this penetrate, I will confider your mufick the better: if it do not, it is a vice in her ears; which horfe-hairs,and cats-guts; with the voice of unpav'd eunuch to boot, can never amend. [Exeunt Muficians. Enter Queen and Cymbeline.

21 er Here comes the King.

Civ. I am glad I was up fo late, for that's the reason I was up fo early: he cannot chufe but take this fervice [ have done, fatherly. Good-morrow to your Majefty, and to my gracious mother.

Cym. Attend you here the door of our stern daughter? Will the not forth?

Clot. I have affail'd her with musick, but she vouchfafes no notice.

Cym. The exile of her minion is too new.

She hath not yet forgot him: fome more time
Muft wear the print of his remembrance out,
And then he's yours,

Queen. You are most bound to th' King,
Who lets go by no vantages, that may
Prefer you to his daughter. Frame yourself.
To orderly folicits; and befriended

With aptness of the feason, make denials
Encrease your fervices; fo feem, as if
You are infpir'd to do thofe duties which
You tender to her: that you in all obey her,
Save when command to your difmiffion tends,
And therein you are fenfelefs.

Clot. Senfelefs? not fo?

Enter a Meffenger.

Mef. So like you, Sir, ambaffadors from Rome;

One's Caius Lucius.

Cym. A worthy fellow,

Albeit he comes on angry purpofe now;

But that's no fault of his : we must receive him
According to the honour of his fender;

And towards himself, for's goodnefs fore-fpent on us,
We must extend our notice: our dear fon,

When you have giv'n good morning to your mistress,
Attend the Queen and us; we fhall have need

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T'employ you towards this Roman. Come, our Queen

SCENE IV.

[Exeunt.

Clot. If the be up, I'll speak with her; if not,
Let her lye ftill, and dream. By your leave, ho!
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, makes
Diana's rangers false themselves, and yield

Their deer to th' ftand o' th' ftealer: and 'tis gold
Which makes the true man kill'd, and faves the thief;
Nay, fometimes 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 cafe myself.
By your leave,

[Knocks

Enter a Lady.

Lady. Who's there that knocks?

Clot. A gentleman.

Lady. No more?

Clot. Yes, and a gentlewoman's fon.

Lady. That's more

Than fome, whofe tailors are as dear as yours,

Can justly boast of: what's your Lordship's pleasure ? Clot. Your Lady's perfon, is the ready?

Lady, Ay,

To keep her chamber.

Clot. There is gold for you,

Sell me your good report.

Lady. How, my good name?

Or to report of you what I think good?

The Princefs

Enter Imogen.

Clot. Good-morrow, faireft; fifter, your sweet hand. Imo. Good-morrow, Sir; you lay out too much pains For purchafing but trouble: the thanks I give

Is telling you that I am poor of thanks,

And scarce can spare them.

Clot. Still I fwear I love you.

Imo. If you but faid fo, 'twere as deep with me:

If you fwear ftill, your recompence is ftill
That I regard it not.

'Clot. This is no answer.

Imo. But that you shall not say I yield, being silent, I would not fpeak. I pray you, fpare me; 'faith, I fhall unfold equal difcourtefie

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

Clot. To leave you in your madness, 'twere my fin; I will not do't.

Imo. Fools cure not mad folks, Sir.
Clot. Do you call me fool?

Imo. As I am mad I do :

If you'll be patient, I'll no more be mad;
That cures us both. I am much forry, Sir,
You put me to forget a Lady's manners
By being fo verbal: and learn now for all,
That I who know my heart, do here pronounce
By th' very truth of it, care not for you:

And am near the lack of charity

T'accuse myself, I hate you: which I had rather
You felt, than make my boaft.

Clot. You fin against

Obedience, which you owe your father; for
The contract you pretend with that base wretch,
(One bred of alms, and fofler'd with cold dishes,
With fcraps o' th' Court,) it is no contract, none:
And though it be allow'd in meaner parties,

(Yet who than he more mean?) to knit their fouls,
On whom there is no more dependency
But brats and beggary, in felf-figur'd knot;
Yet you are curb'd from that enlargement by
The confequence o' th' crown, and must not foil
The precious note of it with a base flave,
A hilding for a livery, a fquire's cloth,
A pantler; and fo eminent.

Imo. Prophane fellow !

Wert thou the fon of Jupiter, and no more
But what thou art befides, thou wert too base
To be his groom: thou wert dignify'd enough,

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