A Room in CYMBELINE'S Palace. |
| |
Enter CYMBELINE, Lords, PISANIO, and Attendants. |
| Cym. Again; and bring me word how 'tis with her. [Exit an Attendant. |
| A fever with the absence of her son, |
| A madness, of which her life's in danger. Heavens! |
| How deeply you at once do touch me. Imogen, |
| The great part of my comfort, gone; my queen |
| Upon a desperate bed, and in a time |
| When fearful wars point at me; her son gone, |
| So needful for this present: it strikes me, past |
| The hope of comfort. But for thee, fellow, |
| Who needs must know of her departure and |
| Dost seem so ignorant, we'll enforce it from thee |
| By a sharp torture. |
| Pis. Sir, my life is yours, |
| I humbly set it at your will; but, for my mistress, |
| I nothing know where she remains, why gone, |
| Nor when she purposes return. Beseech your highness, |
| Hold me your loyal servant. |
| First Lord. Good my liege, |
| The day that she was missing he was here; |
| I dare be bound he's true and shall perform |
| All parts of his subjection loyally. For Cloten, |
| There wants no diligence in seeking him, |
| And will, no doubt, be found. |
| Cym. The time is troublesome. |
| [To PISANIO.] We'll slip you for a season; but our jealousy |
| Does yet depend. |
| First Lord. So please your majesty, |
| The Roman legions, all from Gallia drawn, |
| Are landed on your coast, with a supply |
| Of Roman gentlemen, by the senate sent. |
| Cym. Now for the counsel of my son and queen! |
| I am amaz'd with matter. |
| First Lord. Good my liege, |
| Your preparation can affront no less |
| Than what you hear of; come more, for more you're ready: |
| The want is, but to put those powers in motion |
| That long to move. |
| Cym. I thank you. Let's withdraw; |
| And meet the time as it seeks us. We fear not |
| What can from Italy annoy us, but |
| We grieve at chances here. Away! [Exeunt all but PISANIO. |
| Pis. I heard no letter from my master since |
| I wrote him Imogen was slain; 'tis strange; |
| Nor hear I from my mistress, who did promise |
| To yield me often tidings; neither know I |
| What is betid to Cloten; but remain |
| Perplex'd in all: the heavens still must work. |
| Wherein I am false I am honest; not true to be true: |
| These present wars shall find I love my country, |
| Even to the note o' the king, or I'll fall in them. |
| All other doubts, by time let them be clear'd; |
| Fortune brings in some boats that are not steer'd. [Exit. |
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