To fhew lefs fovereignty than they, muft needs
Appear un-kinglike.

Luc. So, Sir, I defire

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. 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,
How it goes here. It fits us therefore ripely,
Our chariots and our horfemen be in readiness;
The powers that he already hath in Gallia

Will foon be drawn to head, from whence he moves
His war for Britain.

Queen. 'Tis not fleepy business,

But must be look'd to speedily, and ftrongly.

Cym. Our expectation that it should be thus
Hath made us forward. But, my gentle Queen,
Where is our daughter? fhe hath not appear'd
Before the Roman, nor to us hath tender'd
The duty of the day. She looks as like
A thing more made of malice, than of duty;
We've noted it. Call her before us, for
We've been too light in fufferance.

Queen. Royal Sir,

[Exit a Mejenger.

Since th' exile of Pofthumus, most retir'd

Hath her life been; the cure whereof, my Lord, 'Tis time must do. "Befeech your Majesty,

V L. VIII.

Bb

For

Forbear fharp fpeeches to her. She's a lady
So tender of rebukes, that words are strokes,
And ftrokes death to her.

Re-enter the Messenger.

Cym. Where is the? and how'
Can her contempt be answer'd?
Mef. Please you, Sir,

Her chambers are all lock'd, and there's no answer
That will be given to the loudest noise we make.
Queen. My Lord, when laft I went to vifit her,
She pray'd me to excufe her keeping close,
Whereto constrain'd by her infirmity,

She should that duty leave unpaid to you
Which daily fhe was bound to proffer; this

She wifh'd me to make known; but our great Court
Made me to blame in mem'ry.

Cym. Her doors lock'd?

Not feen of late? grant heav'ns, that which I fear

Prove falfe!

Queen. Son, I fay; follow you the King.

[Exit.

[Exit.

[To the Messenger.

Clot. That man of hers, Pifanio, her old fervant,

I have not seen these two days.
Queen. Go look after

Pifanio, he that ftandeth fo for Pofthumus,
He hath a drug of mine; pray,

his abfence

Proceed by fwallowing that; for he believes

It is a thing moft precious. But for her,

Where is the gone? haply despair hath feiz'd her;
Or wing'd with fervor of her love, fhe's flown
To her defir'd Pofthumus; gone the is

To death, or to dishonour, and

my

end

Can make good ufe of either. She being down,
I have the placing of the British crown.

How now, my Son?

Re-enter Cioten.

Clot. 'Tis certain fhe is fled.

Go in and cheer the King, he rages, none
Dare come about him.

Queen. All the better; may

This night fore-ftall him of the coming day! [Exit Queen.

Clet

Clot. I love and hate her. For fhe's fair and royal, And that he hath all courtly parts more exquifite Than any lady, winning from each one The beft the hath, and the of all compounded Out-fells them all; I love her therefore: but Difdaining me, and throwing favours on The low Pofthumus, flanders fo her judgment, That what's elfe rare is choak'd, and in that point I will conclude to hate her, nay indeed

To be reveng'd upon her. For when fools

.

Shall

SCENE VI.

Enter Pifanio.

Who is here? what! are you packing, firrah?
Come hither; ah you precious pandar, villain,
Where is thy Lady? in a word, or else

Thou'rt ftraightway with the fiends. [Draving his sword.
Pif. Oh, good my Lord!

Clot. Where is thy Lady? or, by Jupiter,

I will not ask again. Clofe villain,

I'll have this fecret from thy heart, or rip

Thy heart to find it. Is fhe with Pofthumus?
From whofe fo many weights of bafenefs cannot
A dram of worth be drawn.

Pif. Alas, my Lord,

How can fhe be with him? when was the mifs'd?
He is in Rome.

Clot. Where is the, Sir? come nearer;
No farther halting; fatisfie me home,
What is become of her.

Pif. Oh, my all-worthy Lord!
Clot. All-worthy villain!

Discover where thy miftrefs is, at once,

At the next word; no more of worthy Lord.
Speak, or thy ilence on the inftant is
Thy condemnation and thy death.

Pif. Then, Sir,

This paper is the hiftory of my knowledge
Touching her flight.

Clot. Let's fee't; I will purfue her

Even to Auguftus' throne.

Bb 2

Pif.

Pif. Or this, or perish.

She's far enough, and what he learns by this,
May prove his travel, not her danger.

Clot. Humh.

} Afide.

Pif.I'll write to my Lord fhe's dead. Oh, Imogen, Afide. Safe may'ft thou wander, safe return again!

Clot. Sirrah, is this letter true?

Pif. Sir, as I think,

Clot. It is Pofthumus's hand, I know't. Sirrah, if thou would'ft not be a villain, but do me true service; undergo thofe employments wherein I fhould have caufe to use thee with a serious induftry, that is, what villainy foe'er I bid thee do, perform it directly and truly; I would think thee an honeft man, thou shouldft neither want my means for thy relief, nor my voice for thy preferment.

Pif. Well, my good Lord.

Clot. Wilt thou ferve me? for fince patiently and conftantly thou haft ftuck to the bare fortune of that beggar Pofthumus, tho'u canst not in the course of gratitude but be a diligent follower of mine. Wilt thou ferve me? Pif. Sir, I will.

Clot. Give me thy hand, here's my purfe. Haft any of thy late mafter's garments in thy poffeffion?

Pif. I have, my Lord, at the lodging, the fame fuit he wore when he took leave of my lady and miftrefs.

Clot. The first fervice thou doft me, fetch that fuit hither let it be thy firft fervice, go.

Pif. I fhall, my Lord.

[Exit. Clot. Meet thee at Milford-Haven-I forgot to ask him one thing, I'll remember't anon ;- even there, thou villain Pofthumus, will I kill thee. I would thefe garments were come. She faid upon a time, (the bitterness of it I now belch from my heart,) that she held the very garment of Pofthumus in more refpect than my noble and natural perfon, together with the adornment of my qualities. With that fuit upon my back will I ravifh her; first kill him, and in her eyes-there fhall fhe fee my valour, which will then be a torment to her contempt. He on the ground, my fpeech of infultment ended on his dead body, and when my luft hath dined, (which as I fay, to vex her, I will

execute in the cloaths that she so prais'd) to the Court I'll kick her back, foot her home again. She hath despis'd me rejoicingly, and I'll be merry in my revenge.'

Enter Pifanio, with a fuit of cloaths.

Be those the garments?

Pif. Ay, my noble Lord.

Clot. How long is't fince she went to Milford-Haven? Pif. She can fcarce be there yet.

Clot. Bring this apparel to my chamber, that is the fecond thing that I have commanded thee. The third is, that thou wilt be a voluntary mute to my defign. Be but duteous, and true preferment fhall tender it felf to thee. My revenge is now at Milford, would I had wings to follow it! come and be true. [Exit. Pif. Thou bid'dft me to my lofs: for true to thee, Were to prove falfe, which I will never be, To her that is most true. To Milford go,

And find not her, whom thou purfu'ft. Flow, flow,
You heav'nly bleffings, on her! this fool's speed
Be croft with flowness; labour be his meed!

[Exit,
SCENE VII. The Foreft and Cave.
Enter Imogen in boy's cloaths.

Imo. I fee a man's life is a tedious one : I've tired myself; and for two nights together Have made the ground my bed. I fhould be fick, But that my refolution helps me. Milford, When from the mountain-top Pisanio fhew'd thee, Thou waft within a ken. Oh Jove, I think Foundations fly the wretched, fuch I mean Where they should be reliev'd. Two beggars told me, I could not miss my way. Will poor folks lie That have affliction on them, knowing 'tis A punishment, or tryal? yet no wonder, When rich ones fcarce tell true, To lapfe in fulness Is forer, than to lie for need; and falfhood

Is worfe in Kings,

Thou'rt one o' th'

than beggars. My dear Lord! falfe ones; now I think on thee, My hunger's gone; but even before, I was At point to fink for food. But what is this?

[Seeing the Cave.

Here