May bare the raven's eye. I lodge in fear;
Though this a heavenly angel, hell is here.

One, two, three,—Time, time!

[Clock strikes.

[Goes into the trunk. The scene closes.

SCENE III. An Antechamber adjoining Imogen's Apartment.

Enter CLOTEN and Lords.

1 Lord. Your lordship is the most patient man in loss, the most coldest that ever turned up ace. Clo. It would make any man cold to lose.

1 Lord. But not every man patient, after the noble temper of your lordship. You are most hot and furious, when you win.

Clo. Winning would put any man into courage. If I could get this foolish Imogen, I should have gold enough. It's almost morning, is't not?

1 Lord. Day, my lord.

Clo. I would this music would come. I am advised to give her music o'mornings; they say, it will pene

trate.

Enter Musicians.

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

SONG.

Hark! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,
And Phoebus 'gins arise,

His steeds to water at those springs

On chaliced flowers that lies;

1 The morning sun dries up the dew which lies in the cups of flowers. The cup of the flower is called the calix; whence chalice.

And winking Mary-buds begin
To ope their golden eyes;
With every thing that pretty bin:
My lady sweet, arise;
Arise, arise.

So, get you gone. If this penetrate, I will consider your music the better; if it do not, it is a vice in her ears, which horse-hairs, and cat-guts, nor the voice of of unpaved eunuch to boot, can never amend.

[Exeunt Musicians.

Enter CYMBELINE and Queen.

2 Lord. Here comes the king.

Clo. I am glad I was up so late; for that's the reason I was up so early. He cannot choose but take this service I have done, fatherly.—Good morrow to your majesty, and to my gracious mother.

Cym. Attend you here the door of our stern daughter?

Will she not forth?

Clo. I have assailed her with music; but she vouchsafes no notice.

Cym. The exile of her minion is too new; She hath not yet forgot him. Some more time Must wear the print of his remembrance out, And then she's yours.

Queen. You are most bound to the king; Who lets go by no vantages, that may Prefer you to his daughter. Frame yourself To orderly solicits; and be friended

2

With aptness of the season. Make denials
Increase your services; so seem, as if

You were inspired to do those duties which
You tender to her; that you in all obey her,
Save when command to your dismission tends,
And therein you are senseless.

Clo.

Senseless? not so.

1 i. e. I will pay you more amply for it.

2" With solicitations not only proper, but well timed."

Enter a Messenger.

Mess. So like you, sir, ambassadors from Rome;
The one is Caius Lucius.

Cym.
A worthy fellow,
Albeit he comes on angry purpose now;

But that's no fault of his. We must receive him
According to the honor of his sender;

And towards himself his goodness forespent on us
We must extend our notice.'-Our dear son,
When you have given good morning to your mistress,
Attend the queen, and us; we shall have need
To employ you towards this Roman.-Come, our queen.
[Exeunt CYM., Queen, Lords, and Mess.
Clo. If she be up, I'll speak with her; if not,
Let her lie still, and dream.-By your leave, ho!-

I know her women are about her; what
If I do line one of their hands? 'Tis gold

[Knocks.

Which buys admittance; oft it doth; yea, and makes
Diana's rangers false themselves, yield up

Their deer to the stand of the stealer; and 'tis gold
Which makes the true man killed, and saves the thief;
Nay, sometime, 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 case myself.
By your leave.

Enter a Lady.

Lady. Who's there that knocks?

Clo.

Lady.

[Knocks.

A gentleman.

No more?

That's more

Clo. Yes, and a gentlewoman's son.

Lady.

Than some, whose tailors are as dear as yours,
Can justly boast of.

What's your lordship's pleasure?

1 That is, we must extend towards himself our notice of his goodness heretofore shown to us.

2 False is not here an adjective, but a verb.

Clo. Your lady's person; is she ready?
Lady.

To keep her chamber.

Ay,

Clo. There's gold for you; sell me your good re

port.

Lady. How! my good name? or to report of you What I shall think is good?-The princess

Enter IMOGEN.

Clo. Good morrow, fairest sister; your sweet hand. Imo. Good morrow, sir; you lay out too much pains For purchasing but trouble. The thanks I give, Is telling you that I am poor of thanks,

And scarce can spare them.

Clo.

Still, I swear, I love you.

Imo. If you but said so, 'twere as deep with me. If you swear still, your recompense is still

That I regard it not.

Clo.

This is no answer.

Imo. But that you shall not say I yield, being silent,
I would not speak. I pray you, spare me. I' faith,
I shall unfold equal discourtesy

To your best kindness; one of your great knowing
Should learn, being taught, forbearance.1

Clo. To leave you in your madness, 'twere my sin! I will not.

Imo. Fools are not mad folks.2

Clo.

Imo. As I am mad, I do.

Do you call me fool?

If you'll be patient, I'll no more be mad;
That cures us both. I am much sorry, sir,
You put me to forget a lady's manners,

3

By being so verbal; 3 and learn now, for all,
That I, which know my heart, do here pronounce,

1 i. e. "a man of your knowledge, being taught forbearance, should learn it."

2 This, as Cloten very well understands it, is a covert mode of calling him a fool. The meaning implied is this :-" If I am mad, as you tell me, I am what you can never be." "Fools are not mad folks."

3 i. e. so verbose, so full of talk.

By the very truth of it, I care not for you;
And am so near the lack of charity,

To accuse myself,) I hate you; which I had rather
You felt, than make't my boast.

Clo. You sin against Obedience, which you owe your father. For The contract you pretend with that base wretch, (One, bred of alms, and fostered with cold dishes, With scraps o' the court,) it is no contract, none; And though it be allowed in meaner parties, (Yet who, than he, more mean?) to knit their souls On whom there is no more dependency But brats and beggary) in self-figured knot;1 Yet you are curbed from that enlargement by The consequence o' the crown; and must not soil The precious note of it with a base slave, A hilding for a livery, a squire's cloth,

A pantler, not so eminent.

Imo.

Profane fellow !

Wert thou the son of Jupiter, and no more,
But what thou art, besides, thou wert too base
To be his groom; thou wert dignified enough,
Even to the point of envy, if 'twere made
Comparative for your virtues,3 to be styled
The under-hangman of his kingdom; and hated
For being preferred so well.

Clo.

The south-fog rot him!

Imo. He never can meet more mischance than come

To be but named of thee. His meanest garment,
That ever hath but clipped his body, is dearer,
In my respect, than all the hairs above thee,

Were they all made such men.-How now, Pisanio?

Enter PISANIO.

Clo. His garment? Now, the devil—————

Imo. To Dorothy, my woman, hie thee presently.—

1 In knots of their own tying.

2 A low fellow only fit to wear a livery.

3 "If you were to be dignified only in comparison to your virtues, the under-hangman's place is too good for you."