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Of sea and land, which can distinguish 'twixt
The fiery orbs above, and the twinned stones
Upon the numbered beach ?? and can we not
Partition make with spectacles so precious
'Twixt fair and foul?
Imo.

What makes your admiration ?
Iach. It cannot be i’the eye; for apes and monkeys
'Twixt two such shes, would chatter this way, and
Contemn with mows 2 the other: nor i'the judgment;
For idiots, in this case of favor, would
Be wisely definite : nor i’the appetite;
Sluttery, to such neat excellence opposed,
Should make desire vomit emptiness,
Not so allured to feed.3

Imo. What is the matter, trow ? lach.

The cloyed will, (That satiate yet unsatisfied desire, That tub both filled and running,) ravening first The lamb, longs after for the garbage. Imo.

What, dear sir, Thus raps you? Are you well ? lach. Thanks, madam; well.—'Beseech you, sir, desire

[To Pisanio. My man's abode where I did leave him: he Is strange and peevish.4 Pis.

I was going, sir, To give him welcome.

[Exit Pisanio. Imo. Continues well my lord? His health, beseech

you ?

Iach. Well, madam.

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1 We must either believe that the Poet, by “ numbered beach," means "numerous beach,” or else that he wrote “th' unnumbered beach; which, indeed, seems most probable.

2 To mow or moe, is to make mouths.

3 Iachimo has shown how the eyes and the judgment would determine in favor of Imogen; comparing her with the supposititious present mistress of Posthumus, he proceeds to say, that appetite too would give the same suffrage. Desire (says he) when it approached sluttery, and considered it in comparison with such neat excellence, would not only be not so allured to feed, but, seized with a fit of loathing, would vomit emptiness, would feel the convulsions of disgust, though, being unfed, it had no object.

4 i. e. he is a foreigner, and foolish, or silly.

Imo. Is he disposed to mirth ? I hope he is.

lach. Exceeding pleasant ; none a stranger there
So merry and so gamesome. He is called
The Briton reveller.
Imo.

When he was here,
He did incline to sadness; and oft-times
Not knowing why.
lach.

I never saw him sad.
There is a Frenchman his companion, one,
An eminent monsieur, that, it seems, much loves
A Gallian girl at home. He furnaces 1
The thick sighs from him ; whiles the jolly Briton
(Your lord, I mean) laughs from's free lungs, cries, O!
Can my sides hold, to think, that manwho knows
By history, report, or his own proof,
What woman is, yea, what she cannot choose
But must bewill his free hours languish for
Assured bondage ?
Imo.

Will my lord say so? Lach. Ay, madam; with his eyes in flood with

laughter. It is a recreation to be by, And hear him mock the Frenchman; but Heavens know, Some men are much to blame. Imo.

Not he, I hope.
Iach. Not he: but yet Heaven's bounty towards him

might
Be used more thankfully. In himself, 'tis much ;?
In you,—which I count his, beyond all talents,-
Whilst I am bound to wonder, I am bound
To pity too.

Imo. What do you pity, sir?
Iach. Two creatures, heartily.
Imo.

Am I one, sir?
You look on me.

What wreck discern you in me, Deserves your pity ?

1 We have the same expression in Chapman's preface to his translation of the Shield of Homer, 1598:—“Furnaceth the universal sighes and complaintes of this transposed world."

2 “ If he merely regarded his own character, without any consideration of his wife, his conduct would be unpardonable.”

Iach.

Lamentable! What!
To hide me from the radiant sun, and solace
l'the dungeon by a snuft?
Imo.

I

pray you, sir, Deliver with more openness your answers To my demands. Why do you pity me?

Iach. That others do,
I was about to say, enjoy your- -But
It is an office of the gods to venge it,
Not mine to speak on’t.
Imo.

You do seem to know
Something of me, or what concerns me. 'Pray you,
(Since doubting things go ill, often hurts more
Than to be sure they do; for certainties
Either are past remedies; or, timely knowing,
The remedy then born,) discover to me
What both you spur and stop.”
Iach.

Had I this cheek
To bathe my lips upon ; this hand, whose touch,
Whose every touch, would force the feeler's soul
To the oath of loyalty; this object, which
Takes prisoner the wild motion of mine eye,
Fixing it only here; should I (damned then)
Slaver with lips as common as the stairs
That mount the Capitol ; join gripes with hands
Made hard with hourly falsehood, (falsehood, as
With labor ;) then lie peeping in an eye,
Base and unlustrous as the smoky light
That's fed with stinking tallow; it were fit,
That all the plagues of hell should at one time
Encounter such revolt.
Imo.

My lord, I fear,
Has forgot Britain.
Iach.

And himself. Not I,
Inclined to this intelligence, pronounce

1 It seems probable that knowing is here an error of the press for known.

2 « The information which you seem to press forward and yet withhold." The allusion is to horsemanship.

3 Hard with falsehood is hard by being often griped with frequent change of hands.

The beggary of his change ; but ’tis your graces
That, from my mutest conscience, to my tongue,
Charms this report out.
Imo.

Let me hear no more. lach. O dearest soul! your cause doth strike my

heart With pity, that doth make me sick. A lady So fair, and fastened to an empery, Would make the greatest king double! to be partnered With tomboys, hired with that self-exhibition Which your own coffers yield! with diseased ventures, That play with all infirmities for gold, Which rottenness can lend nature ! such boiled stuff, As well might poison poison ! Be revenged; Or she that bore you was no queen, and you Recoil from your great stock. Imo.

Revenged!
How should I be revenged? If this be true,
(As I have such a heart, that both mine ears
Must not in haste abuse,) if it be true,
How should I be revenged ?
lach.

Should he make me
Live, like Diana's priest, betwixt cold sheets;
Whiles he is vaulting variable ramps,
In your despite, upon your purse? Revenge it.
I dedicate myself to your sweet pleasure ;
More noble than that runagate to your bed;
And will continue fast to your affection,
Still close, as sure.
Imo.

What, ho, Pisanio!
Iach. Let me my service tender on your lips.

Imo. Away !—I do condemn mine ears, that have
So long attended thee.--If thou wert honorable,
Thou wouldst have told this tale for virtue, not
For such an end thou seek'st; as base, as strange.

1 Empery is a word signifying sovereign command; now obsolete.

2 We still call a forward or rude hoyden a tomboy. But our ancestors seem to have used the term for a wanton.

3 This alludes to an ancient process of scalding, or parboiling, to cure a certain disease. See Randle Holme, Storehouse of Armory, b. 3. p. 441.

Thou wrong'st a gentleman, who is as far
From thy report, as thou from honor; and
Solicit'st here a lady, that disdains
'Thee and the devil alike. What, ho, Pisanio!-
The king, my father, shall be made acquainted
Of thy assault. If he shall think it fit,
A saucy stranger, in his court, to mart
As in a Romish stew, and to expound
His beastly mind to us; he hath a court
He little cares for, and a daughter whom
He not respects at all.—What, ho, Pisanio!

Iach. O happy Leonatus ! I may say ;
The credit, that thy lady hath of thee,
Deserves thy trust; and thy most perfect goodness
Her assured credit -Blessed live you long!
A lady to the worthiest sir, that ever
Country called his! and you his mistress, only
For the most worthiest fit! Give me your pardon.
I have spoke this, to know if your affiance
Were deeply rooted; and shall make your lord,
That which he is, new o'er. And he is one
The truest mannered ; such a holy witch,
That he enchants societies unto him ;
Half all men's hearts are his.
Imo.

You make amends.
Iach. He sits ’mongst men, like a descended god;
He hath a kind of honor sets him off,
More than a mortal seeming. Be not angry,
Most mighty princess, that I have adventured
To try your taking of a false report; which hath
Honored with confirmation your great judgment
In the election of a sir so rare,
Which, you know, cannot err. The love I bear him
Made me to fan you thus; but the gods made you,
Unlike all others, chaffless. Pray your pardon.
Imo. All's well, sir. Take my power i'the court for

yours.

1 Romish for Roman was the phraseology of Shakspeare's age.

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VOL. VI.

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