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And that she hath all courtly parts more exquisite
Than lady, ladies, woman; from every one
The best she hath, and she, of all compounded,
Outsells them all: I love her therefore: But,
Disdaining me, and throwing favours on

The low Posthúmus, slanders so her judgment,
That what's else rare, is chok'd; and, in that point,
I will conclude to hate her, nay, indeed,

To be reveng'd upon her. For, when fools


Shall-Who is here? What! are you packing, sirrah?
Come hither: Ah, you precious pandar! Villain,
Where is thy lady? In a word; or else

Thou art straightway with the fiends.
Pis. O, good my lord!

Clo. Where is thy lady? or, by Jupiter,

I will not ask again. Close villain,

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

Thy heart to find it. Is she with Posthumus?

From whose so many weights of baseness cannot
A dram of worth be drawn.

Pis. Alas, my lord,

How can she be with him? When was she miss'd?
He is in Rome.

Clo. Where is she, sir? Come nearer;

No further halting; satisfy me home,

What is become of her?

Pis. O, my all-worthy lord!

Clo. All-worthy villain!

Discover where thy mistress is, at once,

At the next word,-No more of worthy lord,

Speak, or thy silence on the instant is
Thy condemnation and thy death.

Pis. Then, sir,

This paper is the history of my knowledge

Touching her flight.

[Presenting a Letter.

Clo. Let's see't:-I will pursue her

Even to Augustus' throne.

Pis. Or this, or perish.

She's far enough; and what he learns by this, Aside.

May prove his travel, not her danger.

Clo. Humph!

Pis. I'll write to my lord she's dead. O Imogen,

Safe may'st thou wander, safe return again!

Clo. Sirrah, is this letter true?

Pis. Sir, as I think.


Clo. It is Posthumus' hand; I know't.-Sirrah, if thou would'st not be a villain, but do me true service; undergo those employments, wherein I should have cause to use thee, with a serious industry,—that is, what villainy soe'er I bid thee do, to perform it, directly and truly, I would think thee an honest man: thou should'st neither want my means for thy relief, nor my voice for thy preferment.

Pis. Well, my good lord.

Clo. Wilt thou serve me? For, since patiently and constantly thou hast stuck to the bare fortune of that beggar Posthumus, thou canst not, in the course of gratitude, but be a diligent follower of mine. Wilt thou serve me?

Pis. Sir, I will.

Clo. Give me thy hand, here's my purse. Hast any of thy late master's garments in thy possession?

Pis. I have, my lord, at my lodging, the same suit he wore when he took leave of my lady and mistress. Clo. The first service thou dost me, fetch that suit hither let it be thy first service; go.

Pis. I shall, my lord.


Clo. Meet thee at Milford-Haven :-I forgot to ask him one thing; I'll remember't anon:-Even there thou villain, Posthumus, will I kill thee.-I would, these garments were come. She said upon a time, (the bitterness of it I now belch from my heart,) that she held the very garment of Posthumus in more respect than my noble and natural person, together with the adornment of my qualities. With that suit upon my back, will I ravish her: First kill him, and in her eyes; there shall she see my valour, which will then be a torment to her contempt. He on the ground, my speech of insultment ended on his dead body,-and when my lust hath dined, (which, as I say, to vex her, I will execute in the clothes that she so praised,) to the court I'll knock her back, foot her home again. She hath despised me rejoicingly, and I'll be merry in my revenge.

Re-enter PISANIO, with the Clothes.

Be those the garments?

Pis. Ay, my noble lord.

Clo. How long is't since she went to Milford-Haven?

Pis. She can scarce be there yet.

Clo. Bring this apparel to my chamber; that is the second thing that I have commanded thee: the third

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is, that thou shalt be a voluntary mute to my design.
Be but duteous, and true preferment shall tender itself
to thee. My revenge is now at Milford; 'Would I
had wings to follow it!-Come, and be true. [Exit.
Pis. Thou bid'st me to my loss: for, true to thee,
Were to prove false, which I will never be,
To him that is most true.-To Milford go,

And find not her whom thou pursu'st. Flow, flow,
You heavenly blessings, on her! This fool's speed
Be cross'd with slowness; labour be his meed! [Exit.

SCENE VI.-Before the Cave of BELARIUS.

Enter IMOGEN, in Boy's Clothes.

Imo. I see, a man's life is a tedious one:

I have tir'd myself; and for two nights together Have made the ground my bed. I should be sick, But that my resolution helps me.-Milford,

When from the mountain-top Pisanio show'd thee,

Thou wast within a ken: O Jove! I think,

Foundations fly the wretched: such, I mean,

Where they should be reliev'd. Two beggars told me,
I could not miss my way: Will poor folks lie,
That have afflictions on them; knowing 'tis
A punishment, or trial? Yes; no wonder,

When rich ones scarce tell true: To lapse in fulness
Is sorer, than to lie for need; and falsehood
Is worse in kings, than beggars.-My dear lord!
Thou art one o'the false ones: Now I think on thee,
My hunger's gone; but even before, I was

At point to sink for food.-But what is this?

Here is a path to it: 'Tis some savage hold:
I were best not call; I dare not call: yet famine,
Ere clean it o'erthrow nature, makes it valiant.
Plenty, and peace, breeds cowards; hardness ever
Of hardiness is mother.-Ho! who's here?
If any thing that's civil, speak; if savage,
Take, or lend.-Ho!-No answer? then I'll enter.
Best draw my sword, and if mine enemy

But fear the sword like me, he'll scarcely look on't.
Such a foe, good heavens ! [She goes into the Cave.


Bel. You, Polydore, have prov'd best woodman, and

Are master of the feast: Cadwal, and I,

Will play the cook and servant; 'tis our match

The sweat of industry would dry, and die,


But for the end it works to. Come; our stomachs
Will make what's homely, savoury: Weariness

Can snore upon the flint, when restive sloth
Finds the down pillow hard.-Now, peace be here,
Poor house, that keep'st thyself!

Gui. I am throughly weary.

Arv. I am weak with toil, yet strong in appetite.

Gui. There is cold meat i'the cave; we'll browze on


Whilst what we have kill'd be cook'd.

Bel. Stay; come not in:

[Locking in.

But that it eats our victuals, I should think

Here were a fairy.

Gui. What's the matter, sir?

Bel. By Jupiter, an angel! or, if not,

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