Shakespeare's First Folio Part 681

Enter a Messenger.

Cym. Where is she Sir? How Can her contempt be answer'd?

Mes. Please you Sir, Her Chambers are all lock'd, and there's no answer That will be giuen to'th' lowd of noise, we make

Qu. My Lord, when last I went to visit her, She pray'd me to excuse her keeping close, Whereto constrain'd by her infirmitie, She should that dutie leaue vnpaide to you Which dayly she was bound to proffer: this She wish'd me to make knowne: but our great Court Made me too blame in memory

Cym. Her doores lock'd?

Not seene of late? Grant Heauens, that which I Feare, proue false.

Enter.

Qu. Sonne, I say, follow the King

Clot. That man of hers, Pisanio, her old Seruant I haue not seene these two dayes.

Enter.

Qu. Go, looke after: Pisanio, thou that stand'st so for Posthumus, He hath a Drugge of mine: I pray, his absence Proceed by swallowing that. For he beleeues It is a thing most precious. But for her, Where is she gone? Haply dispaire hath seiz'd her: Or wing'd with feruour of her loue, she's flowne To her desir'd Posthumus: gone she is, To death, or to dishonor, and my end Can make good vse of either. Shee being downe, I haue the placing of the Brittish Crowne.

Enter Cloten.

How now, my Sonne?

Clot. 'Tis certaine she is fled: Go in and cheere the King, he rages, none Dare come about him

Qu. All the better: may This night fore-stall him of the comming day.

Exit Qu.

Clo. I loue, and hate her: for she's Faire and Royall, And that she hath all courtly parts more exquisite Then Lady, Ladies, Woman, from euery one The best she hath, and she of all compounded Out-selles them all. I loue her therefore, but Disdaining me, and throwing Fauours on The low Posthumus, slanders so her iudgement, That what's else rare, is choak'd: and in that point I will conclude to hate her, nay indeede, To be reueng'd vpon her. For, when Fooles shall- Enter Pisanio.

Who is heere? What, are you packing sirrah?

Come hither: Ah you precious Pandar, Villaine, Where is thy Lady? In a word, or else Thou art straightway with the Fiends

Pis. Oh, good my Lord

Clo. Where is thy Lady? Or, by Iupiter, I will not aske againe. Close Villaine, Ile haue this Secret from thy heart, or rip Thy heart to finde it. Is she with Posthumus?

From whose so many waights of basenesse, cannot A dram of worth be drawne

Pis. Alas, nay Lord, How can she be with him? When was she miss'd?

He is in Rome

Clot. Where is she Sir? Come neerer: No farther halting: satisfie me home, What is become of her?

Pis. Oh, my all-worthy Lord

Clo. All-worthy Villaine, Discouer where thy Mistris is, at once, At the next word: no more of worthy Lord: Speake, or thy silence on the instant, is Thy condemnation, and thy death

Pis. Then Sir: This Paper is the historie of my knowledge Touching her flight

Clo. Let's see't: I will pursue her Euen to Augustus Throne

Pis. Or this, or perish.

She's farre enough, and what he learnes by this, May proue his trauell, not her danger

Clo. Humh

Pis. Ile write to my Lord she's dead: Oh Imogen, Safe mayst thou wander, safe returne agen

Clot. Sirra, is this Letter true?

Pis. Sir, as I thinke

Clot. It is Posthumus hand, I know't. Sirrah, if thou would'st not be a Villain, but do me true seruice: vndergo those Imployments wherin I should haue cause to vse thee with a serious industry, that is, what villainy soere I bid thee do to performe it, directly and truely, I would thinke thee an honest man: thou should'st neither want my meanes for thy releefe, nor my voyce for thy preferment

Pis. Well, my good Lord

Clot. Wilt thou serue mee? For since patiently and constantly thou hast stucke to the bare Fortune of that Begger Posthumus, thou canst not in the course of grat.i.tude, but be a diligent follower of mine. Wilt thou serue mee?

Pis. Sir, I will

Clo. Giue mee thy hand, heere's my purse. Hast any of thy late Masters Garments in thy possession?

Pisan. I haue (my Lord) at my Lodging, the same Suite he wore, when he tooke leaue of my Ladie & Mistresse

Clo. The first seruice thou dost mee, fetch that Suite hither, let it be thy first seruice, go

Pis. I shall my Lord.

Enter.

Clo. Meet thee at Milford-Hauen: (I forgot to aske him one thing, Ile remember't anon:) euen there, thou villaine Posthumus will I kill thee. I would these Garments were come. She saide vpon a time (the bitternesse of it, I now belch from my heart) that shee held the very Garment of Posthumus, in more respect, then my n.o.ble and naturall person; together with the adornement of my Qualities. With that Suite vpon my backe wil I rauish her: first kill him, and in her eyes; there shall she see my valour, which wil then be a torment to hir contempt.

He on the ground, my speech of insulment ended on his dead bodie, and when my l.u.s.t hath dined (which, as I say, to vex her, I will execute in the Cloathes that she so prais'd:) to the Court Ile knock her backe, foot her home againe. She hath despis'd mee reioycingly, and Ile bee merry in my Reuenge.

Enter Pisanio.

Be those the Garments?

Pis. I, my n.o.ble Lord

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

Pis. She can sca.r.s.e be there yet

Clo. Bring this Apparrell to my Chamber, that is the second thing that I haue commanded thee. The third is, that thou wilt be a voluntarie Mute to my designe. Be but dutious, and true preferment shall tender it selfe to thee. My Reuenge is now at Milford, would I had wings to follow it. Come, and be true.

Exit

Pis. Thou bid'st me to my losse: for true to thee, Were to proue false, which I will neuer bee To him that is most true. To Milford go, And finde not her, whom thou pursuest. Flow, flow You Heauenly blessings on her: This Fooles speede Be crost with slownesse; Labour be his meede.

Exit

Scena s.e.xta.

Enter Imogen alone.

Imo. I see a mans life is a tedious one, I haue tyr'd my selfe: and for two nights together Haue made the ground my bed. I should be sicke, But that my resolution helpes me: Milford, When from the Mountaine top, Pisanio shew'd thee, Thou was't within a kenne. Oh Ioue, I thinke Foundations flye the wretched: such I meane, Where they should be releeu'd. Two Beggers told me, I could not misse my way. Will poore Folkes lye That haue Afflictions on them, knowing 'tis A punishment, or Triall? Yes; no wonder, When Rich-ones sca.r.s.e tell true. To lapse in Fulnesse Is sorer, then to lye for Neede: and Falshood Is worse in Kings, then Beggers. My deere Lord, Thou art one o'th' false Ones: Now I thinke on thee, My hunger's gone; but euen before, I was At point to sinke, for Food. But what is this?

Heere is a path too't: 'tis some sauage hold: I were best not call; I dare not call: yet Famine Ere cleane it o're-throw Nature, makes it valiant.

Plentie, and Peace breeds Cowards: Hardnesse euer Of Hardinesse is Mother. Hoa? who's heere?

If any thing that's ciuill, speake: if sauage, Take, or lend. Hoa? No answer? Then Ile enter.