Imo. I have read three hours then: mine eyes are

weak:

Fold down the leaf where I have left: To bed:
Take not away the taper, leave it burning;
And if thou canst awake by four o'the clock,
I pr'ythee, call me. Sleep hath seiz'd me wholly.
[Exit Lady.
To your protection I commend me, gods!
From fairies, and the tempters of the night,
Guard me, beseech ye!

[Sleeps. Iachimo, from the trunk. Iach. The crickets sing, and man's o'er-labour'd

sense

Repairs itself by rest: Our Tarquin thus

Did softly press the rushes*, ere he waken'd
The chastity he wounded.-Cytherea,

How bravely thou becom'st thy bed! fresh lily!
And whiter than the sheets! That I might touch!
But kiss; one kiss!-Rubies unparagon'd,

How dearly they do't!-'Tis her breathing that
Perfumes the chamber thus: The flame o'the taper
Bows toward her; and would under-peep her lids,
To see the enclosed lights, now canopied
Under these windows: White and azure, lac'd
With blue of heaven's own tinct+.-But my design?
To note the chamber :-I will write all down :-
Such, and such, pictures :-There the window:-
Such

The adornment of her bed ;-The arras ‡, figures, Why, such, and such :-And the contents o'the story,

Ah, but some natural notes about her body,
Above ten thousand meaner moveables
Would testify, to enrich mine inventory:
O sleep, thou ape of death, lie dull upon her!
And be her sense but as a monument,
Thus in a chapel lying!-Come off, come off;-
[Taking off her bracelet.

* It was anciently the custom to strew chambers with rushes.
ti. e. The white skin laced with blue veins. ‡ Tapestry.

As slippery, as the Gordian knot was hard!
'Tis mine; and this will witness outwardly,
As strongly as the conscience does within,
To the madding of her lord. On her left breast
A mole cinque-spotted, like the crimson drops
I'the bottom of a cowslip: Here's a voucher,
Stronger than ever law could make: this secret
Will force him think I have pick'd the lock, and ta'en
The treasure of her honour. No more.

end?

To what

Why should I write this down, that's rivetted,
Screw'd to my memory? She hath been reading late
The tale of Tereus; here the leaf's turn'd down,
Where Philomel gave up ;-I have enough:
To the trunk again, and shut the spring of it.
Swift, swift, you dragons of the night!-that
dawning

May bare the raven's eye: I lodge in fear;
Though this a heavenly angel, hell is here.

One, two, three,-Time, time!

[Goes into the trunk.

SCENE III.

[Clock strikes.

The scene closes.

An ante-chamber adjoining Imogen's apartment.

Enter Cloten and Lords.

1 Lord. Your lordship is the most patient man in loss, the most coldest that ever turn'd up ace. Clo. It would make any man cold to lose.

I Lord. But not every man patient, after the noble temper of your lordship; You are most hot, and furious, when you win.

Clo. Winning would put any man into courage: If I could get this foolish Imogen, I should have gold enough; It's almost morning, is't not?

1 Lord. Day, my lord.

Clo. I would this musick would come: I am ad

vised to give her musick o' mornings; they say, it will penetrate.

Enter Musicians.

Come on; tune: If you can penetrate her with your fingering, so; we'll try with tongue too: if none will do, let her remain; but I'll never give o'er. First, a very excellent good-conceited thing; after, a wonderful sweet air, with admirable rich words to it, and then let her consider.

SONG.

Hark! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings;
And Phoebus 'gins arise,

His steeds to water at those springs

On chalic'd flowers that lies;

And winking Mary-buds begin
To ope their golden eyes;
With every thing that pretty bin:
My lady sweet, arise;
Arise, arise.

So, get you gone: If this penetrate, I will consider your musick the better+: if it do not, it is a vice in her ears, which horse-hairs, and cats-guts, nor the voice of unpaved eunuch to boot, can never amend. [Exeunt Musicians.

Enter Cymbeline and Queen.

2 Lord. Here comes the king. Clo. I am glad, I was up so late; for that's the reason I was up so early: He cannot choose but take this service I have done, fatherly.-Good morrow to your majesty, and to my gracious mother. Cym. Attend you here the door of our stern daughter?

Will she not forth?

Clo. I have assailed her with musick, but she vouchsafes no notice.

Cym. The exile of her minion is too new;

* Cups.

Will pay you more for it.

She hath not yet forgot him: some more time
Must wear the print of his remembrance out,
And then she's yours.

Queen.
You are most bound to the king;
Who lets go by no vantages, that may
Prefer you to his daughter: Frame yourself
To orderly solicits; and be friended

With aptness of the season*: make denials
Increase your services: so seem, as if

You were inspir'd to do those duties which
You tender to her; that you in all obey her,
Save when command to your dismission tends,
And therein you are senseless.

Clo.

Senseless? not so.

Enter a Messenger.

Mess. So like you, sir, embassadors from Rome; The one is Caius Lucius.

Cym.

A worthy fellow,
Albeit he comes on angry purpose now;

But that's no fault of his: We must receive him
According to the honour of his sender;

And towards himself his goodness forespent on us
We must extend our notice.-Our dear son,
When you have given good morning to your mis-

tress,

Attend the queen, and us; we shall have need To employ you towards this Roman.-Come, our queen.

[Exeunt Cym. Queen, Lords, and Mess. Clo. If she be up, I'll speak with her; if not, Let her lie still, and dream.-By your leave ho !— [Knocks.

I know her women are about her; What
If I do line one of their hands? "Tis gold
Which buys admittance; oft it doth; yea, and makes
Diana's rangers false themselves, yield up

Their deer to the stand of the stealer; and 'tis gold * With solicitations not only proper but well-timed.

Which makes the true man kill'd, and saves the

thief;

Nay, sometime, hangs both thief and true man:

What

Can it not do, and undo? I will make
One of her women lawyer to me; for
I yet not undertand the case myself.
By your leave.

Enter a Lady.

Lady. Who's there, that knocks?

Clo.

Lady.

[Knocks.

A gentleman.

No more?

That's more

Clo. Yes, and a gentlewoman's son.

Lady. Than some, whose tailors are as dear as yours, Can justly boast of: What's your lordship's plea

sure?

Clo. Your lady's person: Is she ready?

Lady.

To keep her chamber.

Ay,

Clo. There's gold for you; sell me your good

report. Lady. How! my good name? or to report of you What I shall think is good?-The princess

Enter Imogen.

Clo. Good-morrow, fairest sister: Your sweet

hand.

Imo. Good-morrow, sir: You lay out too much

pains

For purchasing but trouble: the thanks I give,
Is telling you that I am poor of thanks,

And scarce can spare them.

Clo.

Still, I swear, I love you.

Imo. If you but said so, 'twere as deep with me: If you swear still, your recompence is still

That I regard it not.

Clo.

This is no answer.