Dark as your fortune is, and but disguise
That, which, t' appear itself, must not yet be,
But by felf danger; you fhould tread a courfe
Pretty, and full of view; yea, haply, near
The refidence of Pofthumus; fo nigh, at leaft,
That though his actions were not visible,
Report should render him hourly to your ear,
As truly as he moves.

Imo. Oh! for fuch means,

8 Though peril to my modefty, not death on 't, I would adventure.

Pif. Well then, here's the point:

9

You must forget to be a woman; change
Command into obedience; fear and nicenefs,
The handmaids of all women, or, more truly,
Woman its pretty felf, to waggifh courage;
Ready in gybes, quick-anfwer'd, faucy, and
As quarrellous as the weazel: nay, you must
Forget that rareft treasure of your cheek;
Expofing it (but, oh, the harder Heart!
Alack, no remedy) to the greedy touch
Of common-kiffing Titan; and forget
Your labourfome and dainty trims, wherein

does this harder Heart relate to? Pofthumus is not here talk'd of; befides, he knew nothing of her being thus expos'd to the incle

mencies of weather: he had enjoin'd a course, which would have fecur'd her from thefe incidental hardships. I think, common fenfe obliges us to read,

But, oh, the harder Hap! i. e. the more cruel your fortune, that you must be oblig'd to fuch fhifts. WARBURTON.

I think it very natural to reflect in this distress on the cruelty of Posthumus.

You

You made great Juno angry.

Imo. Nay, be brief:

I fee into thy end, and am almost

A man already.

Pif. Firft, make yourself but like one. Fore-thinking this, I have already fit,

'Tis in my cloak-bag, doublet, hat, hofe, all
That answer to them. Would you in their ferving,
And with what Imitation you can borrow
From youth of fuch a season, 'fore noble Lucius
Present yourself, defire his fervice, tell him
Wherein you're happy; I which you'll make him
know,

If that his head have ear in mufick; doubtless,
With joy he will embrace you; for he's honourable,
And, doubling that, most holy. Your means abroad?
You have me rich; and I will never fail
Beginning, nor fupply.

Imo. Thou 'rt all the comfort

The Gods will diet me with. Pr'ythee, away.
There's more to be confider'd; but we'll even
All that good time will give us.
3 This attempt
I'm foldier to, and will abide it with

A Prince's courage. Away, I pr'ythee.

Pif. Well, Madam, we must take a thort farewel; Left, being mifs'd, I be fufpected of

Your carriage from the Court. My noble Miftrefs, Here is a box; I had it from the Queen,

What's in 't is precious if you're fick at fea,
Or ftomach-qualm'd at land, a dram of this
Will drive away diftemper-To fome shade,
And fit you to your manhood; may the Gods
Direct you to the best!

Imo. Amen: I thank thee.

[Exeunt, feverally.

Changes to the Palace of Cymbeline.

Enter Cymbeline, Queen, Cloten, Lucius, and Lords.

Cym.

HUS far, and so farewel.

Luc. Thanks, royal Sir.

My Emperor hath wrote; I muft from hence,

And am right forry, that I must report ye

My master's enemy.

Cym. Our Subjects, Sir,'

Will not endure his yoke; and for ourself
To fhew lefs Sovereignty than they, muft needs
Appear un-kinglike.

Luc. So, Sir: I defire of you

A conduct over land, to Milford-Haven.
Madam, all joy befal your Grace, and you!

Cym. My Lords, you are appointed for that office; The due of Honour in no point omit:

So farewel, noble Lucius.

Luc. Your hand, my Lord.

Clot. Receive it friendly; but from this time forth

I wear it as your enemy.

Luc. Th' event

Is yet to name the winner.

Fare you well.

Cym. Leave not the worthy Lucius, good my

Lords,

'Till he have croft the Severn.

Happiness!

[Exit Lucius, &c. Queen.

Queen. He goes hence frowning; but it honours us,

That we have giv'n him cause.

Clot. 'Tis all the better;

Your valiant Britons have their wishes in it.

Cym. Lucius hath wrote already to the Emperor, How it goes here. It fits us therefore ripely, Our chariots and our horfemen be in readiness; The Powers, that he already hath in Gallia, Will foon be drawn to head, from whence he moves His war for Britain..

Queen. 'Tis not fleepy business;

But must be look'd to fpeedily, and strongly.
Cym. Our expectation, that it should be thus,
Hath made us forward. But, my gentle Queen,
Where is our Daughter? She hath not appear'd
Before the Roman, nor to us hath tender'd
The duty of the day. She looks us like
A thing more made of malice, than of duty;
We've noted it. Call her before us, for
We've been too light in fufferance.

Queen. Royal Sir,

[Exit a Servant.

Since the exile of Pofthumus, most retir'd
Hath her life been; the cure whereof, my Lord,
'Tis time muft do.. 'Befeech your Majefty,
Forbear fharp fpeeches to her. She's a lady
So tender of rebukes, that words are strokes,
And ftrokes death to her.

Re-enter the Servant.

Cym. Where is the, Sir? how
Can her contempt be answer'd?
Serv. Please you, Sir,

Her chambers are all lock'd, and there's no answer
That will be given to th' loudest noise we make.
Queen. My Lord, when laft I went to visit her,
She pray'd me to excufe her keeping close;

7

Whereto

Whereto conftrain'd by her infirmity,

She should that duty leave unpaid to you,
Which daily fhe was bound to proffer; this

She wifh'd me to make known; but our great court
Made me to blame in mem❜ry.

Cym. Her doors lock'd?

Not feen of late? grant heav'ns, that, which I fear, Prove falfe!

Queen. Son, I fay, follow the King.

[Exit,

Clot. That man of hers, Pifanio, her old fervant, I have not feen these two days,

Queen. Go, look after.

Pifanio, that ftands fo for Posthumus,

He hath a drug of mine; I pray, his absence
Proceed by swallowing that; for he believes,
It is a thing most precious. But for her,

[Exit.

Where is the gone? haply, defpair hath feiz'd her;
Or, wing d with fervor of her love, fhe's flown
To her defir'd Pofthumus; gone she is

To death, or to dishonour; and my end
Can make good ufe of either. She being down.
I having the placing of the British crown.

Re-enter Cloten.

How now, my fon?

Clot. 'Tis certain, fhe is fled.

Go in and cheer the King, he rages, none
Dare come about him.

Queen. All the better; may

This night fore-ftall him of the coming day!

Clot. I love, and hate her;

royal,

[Exit Queen. for fhe's fair and

And that the hath all courtly parts more exquifite

Than

And that he hath all courtly
parts more exquifite

Than lady Ladies WOMAN, from each one

The