take it (Heart)
But keepe it till you woo another Wife,
When Imogen is dead

   Post. How, how? Another?
You gentle Gods, giue me but this I haue,
And seare vp my embracements from a next,
With bonds of death. Remaine, remaine thou heere,
While sense can keepe it on: And sweetest, fairest,
As I (my poore selfe) did exchange for you
To your so infinite losse; so in our trifles
I still winne of you. For my sake weare this,
It is a Manacle of Loue, Ile place it
Vpon this fayrest Prisoner

   Imo. O the Gods!
When shall we see againe?
Enter Cymbeline, and Lords.

Post. Alacke, the King

   Cym. Thou basest thing, auoyd hence, from my sight:
If after this command thou fraught the Court
With thy vnworthinesse, thou dyest. Away,
Thou'rt poyson to my blood

   Post. The Gods protect you,
And blesse the good Remainders of the Court:
I am gone

   Imo. There cannot be a pinch in death
More sharpe then this is

   Cym. O disloyall thing,
That should'st repayre my youth, thou heap'st
A yeares age on mee

   Imo. I beseech you Sir,
Harme not your selfe with your vexation,
I am senselesse of your Wrath; a Touch more rare
Subdues all pangs, all feares

   Cym. Past Grace? Obedience?
  Imo. Past hope, and in dispaire, that way past Grace

   Cym. That might'st haue had
The sole Sonne of my Queene

   Imo. O blessed, that I might not: I chose an Eagle,
And did auoyd a Puttocke

   Cym. Thou took'st a Begger, would'st haue made my
Throne, a Seate for basenesse

Imo. No, I rather added a lustre to it

   Cym. O thou vilde one!
  Imo. Sir,
It is your fault that I haue lou'd Posthumus:
You bred him as my Play-fellow, and he is
A man, worth any woman: Ouer-buyes mee
Almost the summe he payes

   Cym. What? art thou mad?
  Imo. Almost Sir: Heauen restore me: would I were
A Neat-heards Daughter, and my Leonatus
Our Neighbour-Shepheards Sonne.
Enter Queene.

  Cym. Thou foolish thing;
They were againe together: you haue done
Not after our command. Away with her,
And pen her vp

   Qu. Beseech your patience: Peace
Deere Lady daughter, peace. Sweet Soueraigne,
Leaue vs to our selues, and make your self some comfort
Out of your best aduice

   Cym. Nay, let her languish
A drop of blood a day, and being aged
Dye of this Folly.
Enter.

Enter Pisanio.

  Qu. Fye, you must giue way:
Heere is your Seruant. How now Sir? What newes?
  Pisa. My Lord your Sonne, drew on my Master

   Qu. Hah?
No harme I trust is done?
  Pisa. There might haue beene,
But that my Master rather plaid, then fought,
And had no helpe of Anger: they were parted
By Gentlemen, at hand

Qu. I am very glad on't

   Imo. Your Son's my Fathers friend, he takes his part
To draw vpon an Exile. O braue Sir,
I would they were in Affricke both together,
My selfe by with a Needle, that I might pricke
The goer backe. Why came you from your Master?
  Pisa. On his command: he would not suffer mee
To bring him to the Hauen: left these Notes
Of what commands I should be subiect too,
When't pleas'd you to employ me

   Qu. This hath beene
Your faithfull Seruant: I dare lay mine Honour
He will remaine so

Pisa. I humbly thanke your Highnesse

Qu. Pray walke a-while

   Imo. About some halfe houre hence,
Pray you speake with me;
You shall (at least) go see my Lord aboord.
For this time leaue me.

Exeunt.

Scena Tertia.

Enter Clotten, and two Lords.

1. Sir, I would aduise you to shift a Shirt; the Violence of Action hath made you reek as a Sacrifice: where ayre comes out, ayre comes in: There's none abroad so wholesome as that you vent

   Clot. If my Shirt were bloody, then to shift it.
Haue I hurt him?
  2 No faith: not so much as his patience

   1 Hurt him? His bodie's a passable Carkasse if he bee
not hurt. It is a through-fare for Steele if it be not hurt

   2 His Steele was in debt, it went o'th' Backe-side the
Towne

Clot. The Villaine would not stand me

2 No, but he fled forward still, toward your face

   1 Stand you? you haue Land enough of your owne:
But he added to your hauing, gaue you some ground

   2 As many Inches, as you haue Oceans (Puppies.)
  Clot. I would they had not come betweene vs

   2 So would I, till you had measur'd how long a Foole
you were vpon the ground

   Clot. And that shee should loue this Fellow, and refuse
mee

2 If it be a sin to make a true election, she is damn'd

1 Sir, as I told you alwayes: her Beauty & her Braine go not together. Shee's a good signe, but I haue seene small reflection of her wit

   2 She shines not vpon Fooles, least the reflection
Should hurt her

   Clot. Come, Ile to my Chamber: would there had
beene some hurt done

   2 I wish not so, vnlesse it had bin the fall of an Asse,
which is no great hurt

   Clot. You'l go with vs?
  1 Ile attend your Lordship

Clot. Nay come, let's go together

2 Well my Lord.

Exeunt.

Scena Quarta.

Enter Imogen, and Pisanio.

  Imo. I would thou grew'st vnto the shores o'th' Hauen,
And questioned'st euery Saile: if he should write,
And I not haue it, 'twere a Paper lost
As offer'd mercy is: What was the last
That he spake to thee?
  Pisa. It was his Queene, his Queene

   Imo. Then wau'd his Handkerchiefe?
  Pisa. And kist it, Madam

   Imo. Senselesse Linnen, happier therein then I:
And that was all?
  Pisa. No Madam: for so long
As he could make me with his eye, or eare,
Distinguish him from others, he did keepe
The Decke, with Gloue, or Hat, or Handkerchife,
Still wauing, as the fits and stirres of's mind
Could best expresse how slow his Soule sayl'd on,
How swift his Ship

   Imo. Thou should'st haue made him
As little as a Crow, or lesse, ere left
To after-eye him

Pisa. Madam, so I did

   Imo. I would haue broke mine eye-strings;
Crack'd them, but to looke vpon him, till the diminution
Of space, had pointed him sharpe as my Needle:
Nay, followed him, till he had melted from
The smalnesse of a Gnat, to ayre: and then
Haue turn'd mine eye, and wept. But good Pisanio,
When shall we heare from him

   Pisa. Be assur'd Madam,
With his next