Another Room in the Same. |
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Enter PISANIO, reading a letter. |
Pis. How! of adultery! Wherefore write you not |
What monster's her accuser? Leonatus! |
O master! what a strange infection |
Is fall'n into thy ear! What false Italian— |
As poisonous-tongu'd as handed—hath prevail'd |
On thy too ready hearing? Disloyal! No: |
She's punish'd for her truth, and undergoes, |
More goddess-like than wife-like, such assaults |
As would take in some virtue. O my master! |
Thy mind to her is now as low as were |
Thy fortunes. How! that I should murder her? |
Upon the love and truth and vows which I |
Have made to thy command? I, her? her blood? |
If it be so to do good service, never |
Let me be counted serviceable. How look I, |
That I should seem to lack humanity |
So much as this fact comes to?—Do 't: the letter |
That I have sent her by her own command |
Shall give thee opportunity:—O damn'd paper! |
Black as the ink that's on thee. Senseless bauble, |
Art thou a feodary for this act, and look'st |
So virgin-like without? Lo! here she comes. |
I am ignorant in what I am commanded. |
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Enter IMOGEN. |
Imo. How now, Pisanio! |
Pis. Madam, here is a letter from my lord. |
Imo. Who? thy lord? that is my lord, Leonatus. |
O! learn'd indeed were that astronomer |
That knew the stars as I his characters; |
He'd lay the future open. You good gods, |
Let what is here contain'd relish of love, |
Of my lord's health, of his content, yet not |
That we two are asunder; let that grieve him,— |
Some griefs are med'cinable; that is one of them, |
For it doth physic love,—of his content, |
All but in that! Good wax, thy leave. Bless'd be |
You bees that make these locks of counsel! Lovers |
And men in dangerous bonds pray not alike; |
Though forfeiters you cast in prison, yet |
You clasp young Cupid's tables. Good news, gods! |
Justice, and your father's wrath, should he take me in his dominion, could not be so cruel to me, as you, O the dearest of creatures, would not even renew me with your eyes. Take notice that I am in Cambria, at Milford-Haven; what your own love will out of this advise you, follow. So, he wishes you all happiness, that remains loyal to his vow, and your, increasing in love, LEONATUS POSTHUMUS. |
O! for a horse with wings! Hear'st thou, Pisanio? |
He is at Milford-Haven; read, and tell me |
How far 'tis thither. If one of mean affairs |
May plod it in a week, why may not I |
Glide thither in a day? Then, true Pisanio,— |
Who long'st, like me, to see thy lord; who long'st,— |
O! let me 'bate,—but not like me; yet long'st, |
But in a fainter kind:—O! not like me, |
For mine's beyond beyond; say, and speak thick;— |
Love's counsellor should fill the bores of hearing, |
To the smothering of the sense,—how far it is |
To this same blessed Milford; and, by the way, |
Tell me how Wales was made so happy as |
T' inherit such a haven; but, first of all, |
How we may steal from hence, and, for the gap |
That we shall make in time, from our hencegoing |
And our return, to excuse; but first, how get hence. |
Why should excuse be born or ere begot? |
We'll talk of that hereafter. Prithee, speak, |
How many score of miles may we well ride |
'Twixt hour and hour? |
Pis. One score 'twixt sun and sun, |
Madam, 's enough for you, and too much too. |
Imo. Why, one that rode to 's execution, man, |
Could never go so slow: I have heard of riding wagers, |
Where horses have been nimbler than the sands |
That run i' the clock's behalf. But this is foolery; |
Go bid my woman feign a sickness; say |
She'll home to her father; and provide me presently |
A riding-suit, no costlier than would fit |
A franklin's housewife. |
Pis. Madam, you're best consider. |
Imo. I see before me, man; nor here, nor here, |
Nor what ensues, but have a fog in them, |
That I cannot look through. Away, I prithee; |
Do as I bid thee. There's no more to say; |
Accessible is none but Milford way. [Exeunt. |
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