Iach. 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. Imog. 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 account his, beyond all talents,Whilst I am bound to wonder, I am bound To pity too. Imog. What do you pity, sir? Imog. Am I one, sir? You look on me,-What wreck discern you Deserves your pity? Iach. Lamentable! What! To hide me from the radiant sun, and solace I' the dungeon by a snuff? Imog. 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 yourBut It is an office of the gods to venge it, Not mine to speak on't. Imog. You do seem to know in me Something of me, or what concerns me ; 'Pray you,— (Since doubting things go ill, often hurts more Than to be sure they do,) Discover to me What both you spur and stop. Iach. Had I this cheek, To bathe my lips upon; this hand, whose touch, Takes prisoner the wild motion of mine eye, That mount the Capitol; join gripes with hands That all the plagues of hell should at one time Imog. My lord, 1 fear, Has forgot Britain. Iach. And himself. Not I, Inclined to this intelligence, pronounce The beggary of his change; but 'tis your graces Imog. Let me hear no more. Iach. A lady So fair, and fasten'd to an empery, Would make the greatest king double! to be partner'd With tomboys, hired with that self-exhibition, Be revenged; Or she, that bore you, was no queen, and you Imog. Revenged! How should I be revenged? If this be true,→ Iach. Should he make me Live like Diana's priest, betwixt cold sheets ; I dedicate myself to your sweet pleasure; Imog. What ho, Pisanio! Iach. Let me my service tender on your lips. Thee and the devil alike :-What ho, Pisanio!- A saucy stranger, in his court, to mart 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 call'd his! and you, his mistress, only The truest manner'd, such a holy witch, Imog. You make amends. Iach. He sits 'mongst men, like a descended god: He hath a kind of honour, sets him off, More than a mortal seeming. Be not angry, The love I bear him Made me to fan you thus; but the gods made you, Unlike all others, chaffless. 'Pray, your pardon. Imog. All's well, sir: Take my pow'r i' the court for yours. Iach. My humble thanks-I had almost forgot, Your lord; myself, and other noble friends, Imog. Pray, what is't? Iach. Some dozen Romans of us, and your lord, The best feather of our wing, have mingled sums, To buy a present for the emperor : Which I, the factor for the rest, have done Imog. Willingly: And pawn mine honour for their safety: since Iach. They are in a trunk, Attended by my men: I will make bold Imog. O no, no. Iach. Yes, I beseech, or I shall short my word, By length'ning my return. From Gallia I cross'd the seas on purpose, and on promise To see your grace. Imog. I thank you for your pains; But not away to-morrow? Iach. O, I must, madam Therefore I shall beseech you, if you please Imog. I will write. Send your trunk to me; it shall be safe kept, SCENE II. [Exeunt. CYMBELINE's Palace. Enter CLOTEN, LOCRINE, and MADAN. Cloten. Was there ever man had such luck! when I kiss'd the jack upon an up-cast, to be hit away! I had an hundred pound on't: and then a whoreson jackanapes must take me up for swearing; as if I borrowed my oaths of him, and might not spend them at my pleasure. Loc. What got he by that? You have broke his pate with your bowl. Mad. [Aside.] If his wit had been like him that broke it, it would have run all out. Cloten. When a gentleman is disposed to swear, it is not for any standers-by to curtail his oaths: Ha? Mad. No, my lord-nor crop the ears of them. [Aside. Cloten. Whoreson dog!-I give him satisfaction? 'Would he had been one of my rank! A plague on't! I had rather not be so noble as I am; they dare not fight with me, because of the queen, my mother; every jack-slave hath his belly-full of fighting, and I must go up and down, like a cock that nobody can match. Loc. It is not fit, your lordship should undertake every companion that you give offence to. |