To your protection I commend me, Gods; 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 How bravely thou becom'ft thy bed! fresh lilly, 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- [Taking off ber bracelet. As flipp'ry as the Gordian knot was hard. Where Where Philomele gave up-I have enough To th' trunk again, and fhut the fpring of it. [Clock ftrikes, 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, 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. 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 Queen. You are most bound to th' King, With aptness of the feason, make denials 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 And towards himself, for's goodnefs fore-fpent on us, When you have giv'n good morning to your mistress, ་ ཀྭ'| T'employ you towards this Roman. Come, our Queen SCENE IV. [Exeunt. Clot. If the be up, I'll speak with her; if not, Their deer to th' ftand o' th' ftealer: and 'tis gold One of her women lawyer to me, for I yet not understand the cafe myself. [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 '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. Imo. As I am mad I do : If you'll be patient, I'll no more be mad; And am near the lack of charity T'accuse myself, I hate you: which I had rather Clot. You fin against Obedience, which you owe your father; for (Yet who than he more mean?) to knit their fouls, Imo. Prophane fellow ! Wert thou the fon of Jupiter, and no more |