Near Milford-Haven. | |
| |
Enter PISANIO and IMOGEN. | |
| Imo. Thou told’st me, when we came from horse, the place | |
| Was near at hand: ne’er long’d my mother so | 4 |
| To see me first, as I have now. Pisanio! man! | |
| Where is Posthumus? What is in thy mind, | |
| That makes thee stare thus? Wherefore breaks that sigh | |
| From the inward of thee? One, but painted thus, | 8 |
| Would be interpreted a thing perplex’d | |
| Beyond self-explication; put thyself | |
| Into a haviour of less fear, ere wildness | |
| Vanquish my staider senses. What’s the matter? | 12 |
| Why tender’st thou that paper to me with | |
| A look untender? If ’t be summer news, | |
| Smile to ’t before; if winterly, thou need’st | |
| But keep that count’nance still. My husband’s hand! | 16 |
| That drug-damn’d Italy hath out-craftied him, | |
| And he’s at some hard point. Speak, man; thy tongue | |
| May take off some extremity, which to read | |
| Would be even mortal to me. | 20 |
| Pis. Please you, read; | |
| And you shall find me, wretched man, a thing | |
| The most disdain’d of fortune. | |
| Imo. Thy mistress, Pisanio, hath played the strumpet in my bed; the testimonies whereof lie bleeding in me. I speak not out of weak surmises, but from proof as strong as my grief and as certain as I expect my revenge. That part thou, Pisanio, must act for me, if thy faith be not tainted with the breach of hers. Let thine own hands take away her life; I shall give thee opportunity at Milford-Haven; she hath my letter for the purpose; where, if thou fear to strike, and to make me certain it is done, thou art the pandar to her dishonour and equally to me disloyal. | 24 |
| Pis. What shall I need to draw my sword? the paper | |
| Hath cut her throat already. No, ’tis slander, | |
| Whose edge is sharper than the sword, whose tongue | |
| Outvenoms all the worms of Nile, whose breath | 28 |
| Rides on the posting winds and doth belie | |
| All corners of the world; kings, queens, and states, | |
| Maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave | |
| This viperous slander enters. What cheer, madam? | 32 |
| Imo. False to his bed! What is it to be false? | |
| To lie in watch there and to think on him? | |
| To weep ’twixt clock and clock? if sleep charge nature, | |
| To break it with a fearful dream of him, | 36 |
| And cry myself awake? that’s false to ’s bed, is it? | |
| Pis. Alas! good lady. | |
| Imo. I false! Thy conscience witness! Iachimo, | |
| Thou didst accuse him of incontinency; | 40 |
| Thou then look’dst like a villain; now methinks | |
| Thy favour’s good enough. Some jay of Italy, | |
| Whose mother was her painting, hath betray’d him: | |
| Poor I am stale, a garment out of fashion, | 44 |
| And, for I am richer than to hang by the walls, | |
| I must be ripp’d; to pieces with me! O! | |
| Men’s vows are women’s traitors! All good seeming, | |
| By thy revolt, O husband! shall be thought | 48 |
| Put on for villany; not born where ’t grows, | |
| But worn a bait for ladies. | |
| Pis. Good madam, hear me. | |
| Imo. True honest men being heard, like false Æneas, | 52 |
| Were in his time thought false, and Sinon’s weeping | |
| Did scandal many a holy tear, took pity | |
| From most true wretchedness; so thou, Posthumus, | |
| Wilt lay the leaven on all proper men; | 56 |
| Goodly and gallant shall be false and perjur’d | |
| From thy great fail. Come, fellow, be thou honest; | |
| Do thou thy master’s bidding. When thou seest him, | |
| A little witness my obedience; look! | 60 |
| I draw the sword myself; take it, and hit | |
| The innocent mansion of my love, my heart. | |
| Fear not, ’tis empty of all things but grief; | |
| Thy master is not there, who was indeed | 64 |
| The riches of it: do his bidding; strike. | |
| Thou mayst be valiant in a better cause, | |
| But now thou seem’st a coward. | |
| Pis. Hence, vile instrument! | 68 |
| Thou shalt not damn my hand. | |
| Imo. Why, I must die; | |
| And if I do not by thy hand, thou art | |
| No servant of thy master’s. Against self-slaughter | 72 |
| There is a prohibition so divine | |
| That cravens my weak hand. Come, here’s my heart. | |
| Something’s afore ’t; soft, soft! we’ll no defence; | |
| Obedient as the scabbard. What is here? | 76 |
| The scriptures of the loyal Leonatus | |
| All turn’d to heresy! Away, away! | |
| Corrupters of my faith; you shall no more | |
| Be stomachers to my heart. Thus may poor fools | 80 |
| Believe false teachers; though those that are betray’d | |
| Do feel the treason sharply, yet the traitor | |
| Stands in worse case of woe. | |
| And thou, Posthumus, thou that didst set up | 84 |
| My disobedience ’gainst the king my father, | |
| And make me put into contempt the suits | |
| Of princely fellows, shalt hereafter find | |
| It is no act of common passage, but | 88 |
| A strain of rareness; and I grieve myself | |
| To think, when thou shalt be disedg’d by her | |
| That now thou tir’st on, how thy memory | |
| Will then be pang’d by me. Prithee, dispatch; | 92 |
| The lamb entreats the butcher; where’s thy knife? | |
| Thou art too slow to do thy master’s bidding, | |
| When I desire it too. | |
| Pis. O, gracious lady! | 96 |
| Since I receiv’d command to do this business | |
| I have not slept one wink. | |
| Imo. Do ’t, and to bed then. | |
| Pis. I’ll wake mine eyeballs blind first. | 100 |
| Imo. Wherefore then | |
| Didst undertake it? Why hast thou abus’d | |
| So many miles with a pretence? this place? | |
| Mine action and thine own? our horses’ labour? | 104 |
| The time inviting thee? the perturb’d court, | |
| For my being absent?—whereunto I never | |
| Purpose return.—Why hast thou gone so far, | |
| To be unbent when thou hast ta’en thy stand, | 108 |
| The elected deer before thee? | |
| Pis. But to win time | |
| To lose so bad employment, in the which | |
| I have consider’d of a course. Good lady, | 112 |
| Hear me with patience. | |
| Imo. Talk thy tongue weary; speak: | |
| I have heard I am a strumpet, and mine ear, | |
| Therein false struck, can take no greater wound, | 116 |
| Nor tent to bottom that. But speak. | |
| Pis. Then, madam, | |
| I thought you would not back again. | |
| Imo. Most like, | 120 |
| Bringing me here to kill me. | |
| Pis. Not so, neither; | |
| But if I were as wise as honest, then | |
| My purpose would prove well. It cannot be | 124 |
| But that my master is abus’d; some villain, | |
| Some villain, ay, and singular in his art, | |
| Hath done you both this cursed injury. | |
| Imo. Some Roman courtezan. | 128 |
| Pis. No, on my life. | |
| I’ll give but notice you are dead and send him | |
| Some bloody sign of it; for ’tis commanded | |
| I should do so: you shall be miss’d at court, | 132 |
| And that will well confirm it. | |
| Imo. Why, good fellow, | |
| What shall I do the while? where bide? how live? | |
| Or in my life what comfort, when I am | 136 |
| Dead to my husband? | |
| Pis. If you’ll back to the court,— | |
| Imo. No court, no father; nor no more ado | |
| With that harsh, noble, simple nothing Cloten! | 140 |
| That Cloten, whose love-suit hath been to me | |
| As fearful as a siege. | |
| Pis. If not at court, | |
| Then not in Britain must you bide. | 144 |
| Imo. Where then? | |
| Hath Britain all the sun that shines? Day, night, | |
| Are they not but in Britain? I’ the world’s volume | |
| Our Britain seems as of it, but not in ’t; | 148 |
| In a great pool a swan’s nest: prithee, think | |
| There’s livers out of Britain. | |
| Pis. I am most glad | |
| You think of other place. The ambassador, | 152 |
| Lucius the Roman, comes to Milford-Haven | |
| To-morrow; now, if you could wear a mind | |
| Dark as your fortune is, and but disguise | |
| That which, t’ appear itself, must not yet be | 156 |
| But by self-danger, you should tread a course | |
| Pretty, and full of view; yea, haply, near | |
| The residence of Posthumus; so nigh at least | |
| That though his actions were not visible, yet | 160 |
| Report should render him hourly to your ear | |
| As truly as he moves. | |
| Imo. O! for such means: | |
| Though peril to my modesty, not death on ’t, | 164 |
| I would adventure. | |
| Pis. Well, then, here’s the point: | |
| You must forget to be a woman; change | |
| Command into obedience; fear and niceness— | 168 |
| The handmaids of all women, or more truly | |
| Woman it pretty self—into a waggish courage; | |
| Ready in gibes, quick-answer’d, saucy, and | |
| As quarrelous as the weasel; nay, you must | 172 |
| Forget that rarest treasure of your cheek, | |
| Exposing it—but, O! the harder heart, | |
| Alack! no remedy—to the greedy touch | |
| Of common-kissing Titan, and forget | 176 |
| Your laboursome and dainty trims, wherein | |
| You made great Juno angry. | |
| Imo. Nay, be brief: | |
| I see into thy end, and am almost | 180 |
| A man already. | |
| Pis. First, make yourself but like one. | |
| Forethinking this, I have already fit— | |
| ’Tis in my cloak-bag—doublet, hat, hose, all | 184 |
| That answer to them; would you in their serving, | |
| And with what imitation you can borrow | |
| From youth of such a season, ’fore noble Lucius | |
| Present yourself, desire his service, tell him | 188 |
| Wherein you are happy,—which you’ll make him know, | |
| If that his head have ear in music,—doubtless | |
| With joy he will embrace you, for he’s honourable, | |
| And, doubling that, most holy. Your means abroad, | 192 |
| You have me, rich; and I will never fail | |
| Beginning nor supplyment. | |
| Imo. Thou art all the comfort | |
| The gods will diet me with. Prithee, away; | 196 |
| There’s more to be consider’d, but we’ll even | |
| All that good time will give us; this attempt | |
| I’m soldier to, and will abide it with | |
| A prince’s courage. Away, I prithee. | 200 |
| Pis. Well, madam, we must take a short farewell, | |
| Lest, being miss’d, I be suspected of | |
| Your carriage from the court. My noble mistress, | |
| Here is a box, I had it from the queen, | 204 |
| What’s in ’t is precious; if you are sick at sea, | |
| Or stomach-qualm’d at land, a dram of this | |
| Will drive away distemper. To some shade, | |
| And fit you to your manhood. May the gods | 208 |
| Direct you to the best! | |
| Imo. Amen. I thank thee. [Exeunt. | |
