Pif. If not at Court, Then not in Britaine muft you 'bide. Imo. Where then? Hath Britaine all the Sun that fhines? Day, night, In a great pool, a fwan's neft. Pr'ythee, think, You think of other place: th' Ambaffador, (15) Now, if you could wear a Mien Imo. Oh! for fuch means, (Though peril to my modesty, not death on't) I would adventure. Pif. Well then, here's the point: You muft forget to be a woman; change (15) Now, if you could wear a Mind Dark as your Fortune is,] But the Difguife of her Perfon is the only Thing which Pifanio is here advifing; not that the should fifle any Qualifications or Beauties of her Mind. I therefore think, we may fafely read; Now, if you could wear a Mien Dark as your Fortune is, Or, according to the French Orthography, from whence, I prefume, arofe the Corruption; Now, if you could wear a Mine. Mr. Warburton. As quarrellous as the weazel: (16) nay, you must Imo. Nay, be brief: I fee into thy end, and am almost Pif. First, make yourself but like one. ('Tis in my cloak-bag) doublet, hat, hofe, all That answer to them. 'Would you in their ferving, From youth of such a season, 'fore noble Lucius (16) nay, you must Cheek ; Forget that rareft Treasure of your Wherein Alack, no Remedy.] Now, who does this barder Heart relate to? Poftbumus is not here talk'd of, befides, he knew Nothing of her being thus expos'd to the Inclemencies of Weather: He had enjoyn'd a Courfe, which would have fecur'd her from thefe incidental Hardships. I think, common fenfe obliges us to read : But, ob, the harder Hap! i. e. the more cruel your Fortune, that you must be oblig'd to fuch Shifts. Mr. Warburton. (17) tell him, Wherein you're bappy, which will make him know, With joy be will embrace you ;] Thus, all the Editions: But, furely, the Paffage is faulty both in the Text and Pointing. Which will make him know, what? What Connection has this with the rest of the Sentence? Shakespeare can't be fufpected, certainly, of fo bald a Meaning as this; If you'll tell him qubherein you are happy, That will make him know wherein you're happy: and yet, this is the only Meaning, I think, the Words as they now ftand. I take the Poet's Senfe to be this. Pifanio tells Imogen, if she would disguise herself in the Habit of a Youth, prefent can carry, Wherein you're happy; (which will make him fo, 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 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 fhort farewel; Your carriage from the Court. My noble Mistress, Imo. Amen: I thank thee. [Exeunt, feverally. SCENE changes to the Palace of Cymbeline. Enter Cymbeline, Queen, Cloten, Lucius, and Lords. Cym. HUS far, and so farewel. TH Luc. Thanks, royal Sir. My Emperor hath wrote; I must from hence; prefent herself before Lucius the Roman General, offer her Service, and tell him wherein the was happy, i. e. what an excellent Talent fhe had in Singing; this would make him happy, if he had an Ear for Mufick, and he would gladly receive her. For, afterwards, Belarius and Arviragus, talking of Imogen, give this Description of her, whom they take for a Boy. Bel. This Youth, howe'er diftreft, feems to have had Good Ancestors. Arv. How Angel-like be fings! And And am right forry, that I must report ye Cym. Our Subjects, Sir, Will not endure his yoke; and for ourself Luc. So, Sir: I defire of you A conduct over land, to Milford-Haven. 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! Queen. He [Exit Lucius, &c. goes hence frowning; but it honours us, That we have giv'n him caufe. 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 Britaine. Queen. "Tis not fleepy bufinefs; But must be look'd to fpeedily, and ftrongly. r'd Cym. Our expectation, that it fhould be thus, [Exit a Servant. Queen. Queen. Royal Sir, Since the exile of Pofthumus, moft retir'd Re-enter the Servant. Cym. Where is the, Sir? how Her chambers are all lock'd, and there's no answer She should that duty leave unpaid to you, 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! [Exit. Queen. Son, I fay, follow the King. Clot. That man of hers, Pifania, her old fervant, I have not feen thefe two days. [Exit. Queen. Go, look after Pifanio, thou that ftandit fo for Pofthumus! He hath a drug of mine; I pray, his abfence Where is the gone? haply, defpair hath feiz'd' her; Re-enter |