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, to be styl'd
The under-hangman of his kingdom, and hated
For being preferr'd so well.

Clo.

The south-fog rot him! Imo. He never can meet more mischance, than come To be but nam'd of thee. His meanest garment, That ever hath but clipp'd 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.-
Clo. His garment?

Imo.

I am sprighted with a fool;

Frighted, and anger'd worse.-Go, bid my woman
Search for a jewel, that too casually

Hath left mine arm: it was thy master's; 'shrew me,
If I would lose it for a revenue

Of any king's in Europe. I do think,

I saw't this morning: confident I am,

Last night 'twas on mine arm; I kiss'd it.
I hope, it be not gone to tell my lord

That I kiss aught but he.

Pis.

"Twill not be lost.

[Exit PIS.

Imo. I hope so: go, and search.

6A HILDING for a livery,] A "hilding was a low wretch. See Vol. iii. pp. 138. 268; Vol. iv. p. 345; Vol. vi. p. 459.

Clo.

Imo.

You have abus'd me.

Ay; I said so, sir.

His meanest garment?

If you will make't an action, call witness to't.

Clo. I will inform your father.

Imo.

Your mother too:

She's my good lady; and will conceive, I hope,

But the worst of me. So I leave you, sir,

To the worst of discontent.

[Exit.

Enter POSTHUMUS and PHILARIO.

Post. Fear it not, sir: I would, I were so sure To win the king, as I am bold, her honour

Will remain hers.

Phi.

What means do you make to him?

Post. Not any; but abide the change of time; Quake in the present winter's state, and wish

That warmer days would come. In these fear'd hopes, I barely gratify your love; they failing,

I must die much your debtor.

Phi. Your very goodness, and your company,
O'erpays all I can do. By this, your king
Hath heard of great Augustus: Caius Lucius
Will do 's commission throughly; and, I think,
He'll grant the tribute, send the arrearages,
Or look upon our Romans, whose remembrance
Is yet fresh in their grief.

I do believe,

Post. (Statist though I am none, nor like to be)

That this will prove a war; and you shall hear
The legion, now in Gallia, sooner landed

In our not-fearing Britain, than have tidings
Of any penny tribute paid. Our countrymen
Are men more order'd, than when Julius Cæsar
Smil'd at their lack of skill, but found their courage
Worthy his frowning at their discipline

(Now mingled with their courages') will make known To their approvers, they are people, such

That mend upon the world.

Phi.

Enter IACHIMO.

See! Iachimo?

Post. The swiftest harts have posted you by land, And winds of all the corners kiss'd your sails,

To make your vessel nimble.

Phi.

Welcome, sir.

Post. I hope, the briefness of your answer made The speediness of your return.

Iach.

Your lady

Is one of the fairest that I have look'd upon.

Post. And, therewithal, the best; or let her beauty Look through a casement to allure false hearts,

Phi. Was Caius Lucius in the Britain court,

When you were there?

Iach.

He was expected then,

7 (Now MINGLED with their courages)] In the folio, 1623, the word is wing-led, but altered to "mingled" in the folio, 1632: the emendation was therefore not made by Rowe, as some modern editors, who did not refer to the second folio, have affirmed.

8 Was Caius Lucius, &c.] In the folios, this speech is given to Posthumus, but most likely by a mistake, owing to the same initial belonging to Philario. Philario takes up the conversation, while Posthumus is employed in eagerly reading his letters.

VOL. VIII.

N

But not approach'd.

Post.

All is well yet.—

Sparkles this stone as it was wont? or is't not
Too dull for your good wearing?

Iach.

If I have lost it,

I should have lost the worth of it in gold.
I'll make a journey twice as far, t'enjoy
A second night of such sweet shortness, which
Was mine in Britain; for the ring is won.
Post. The stone's too hard to come by.
Iach.

Your lady being so easy.

Post.

Not a whit,

Make not, sir,

Your loss your sport: I hope, you know that we
Must not continue friends.

Iach.

Good sir, we must,

If you keep covenant. Had I not brought

The knowledge of your mistress home, I grant
We were to question farther; but I now
Profess myself the winner of her honour,
Together with your ring; and not the wronger
Of her, or you, having proceeded but

By both your wills.

Post.

If you can make't apparent
That you have tasted her in bed, my hand,
And ring, is yours: if not, the foul opinion.
You had of her pure honour, gains, or loses,
Your sword, or mine; or masterless leaves both
To who shall find them.

Iach.
Sir, my circumstances,
Being so near the truth, as I will make them,
Must first induce you to believe: whose strength
I will confirm with oath; which, I doubt not,
You'll give me leave to spare, when you shall find

You need it not.

Post.

Iach.

Proceed.

First, her bedchamber,

(Where, I confess, I slept not, but, profess,
Had that was well worth watching) it was hang'd
With tapestry of silk and silver; the story,
Proud Cleopatra, when she met her Roman,
And Cydnus swell'd above the banks, or for
The press of boats, or pride: a piece of work
So bravely done, so rich, that it did strive
In workmanship, and value; which, I wonder'd,
Could be so rarely and exactly wrought,

Since the true life on't was

Post.

This is true;

And this you might have heard of here, by me,

The chimney

Or do your honour injury.

Iach.
Is south the chamber; and the chimney-piece,
Chaste Dian, bathing: never saw I figures
So likely to report themselves: the cutter
Was as another nature, dumb; outwent her,
Motion and breath left out.

This is a thing,

Post.
Which you might from relation

Being, as it is, much spoke of.

likewise reap,

Iach.
With golden cherubins is fretted: her andirons
(I had forgot them) were two winking Cupids
Of silver, each on one foot standing, nicely
Depending on their brands.

The roof o' the chamber

Post.

This is her honour.

Let it be granted, you have seen all this, (and praise

Be given to your remembrance) the description

Of what is in her chamber, nothing saves

The wager you have laid.

Iach.

Then, if you can,