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

Lord. Dáy, my lord.

Clo. I would this musick would come: I am advised to give her musick o' mornings: they say, it will penetrate.

Enter Musicians.

Come on; tune: First, a very excellent good-conceited thing; aftèr, 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.

[Exeunt Musicians.

Enter CYMBELINE and Queen.

Lord. Here comes the king.

Clo. I am glad I was up so late; for that's the reason I was up so early: 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 assail'd her with music, but she vouchsafes no notice.

Cym. The exile of her minion is too nèw; She hath not yet forgot him: some more time Must wear the print of his remembrance out, And then she's yours.

Queen. You're most bound to the king; Who let's go by no vantages, that may Prefer you to his daughter.-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.

[Exeunt Cym. Queen and Lords.

If she be up, I'll speak with her; if not,

Let her lie still, and dream.-By your leave, ho!—

Enter a Lady.

Lady. Who's there, that knocks?

Clo. A gentleman.

Lady. What's your lordship's pleasure?

Clo. Your lady's person: Is she ready?
Lady. The princess-

Enter IMOGEN.

Clo. Good morrow fairest.

[Knocks.

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.

That I, who know my heart, do here pronounce, By the bare truth of it, I care not for you.

Clo. You sin against obedience t'your father. For The contract you pretend with that base wretch (One, bred of alms), it is no contract, none.

Imo. Wert thòu the son of Jupiter, and no more, But what thou àrt, besides, thou wert indeed Too base to be his gròom.

Clo.

The south-fog rot him!

Imo. He never can meet more mischance than

come

To be but nàm'd of thee. His meanest garment,
That ever hath but clipp'd his body, 's dearer,
In my respect, than all the hairs above thee,
Were they all made such men.-How now! Pisanio!

Enter PISANIO.

Clo. His garment? Now, the devil

Imo. To Dorothy my woman hie thee presently :Clo. His garment!

Imo.

Bid my woman

Search for a jewel; 'twas thy master's: 'shrew me !

Last night 'twas on mine arm; I kiss'd it:

I hope it be not gone.

Clo. I will inform your father. I'll be reveng'd :—

His meanest garment !—Well.

[Exit.

DEBB

Phi.

Rome.

Enter POSTHUMUS and PHILARIO.

Posthumus.

EAR it not, sir: I would, I were so sure
To win the king, as I am bold her honour
Will remain hers.

What means do you make to him? Post. Not any; but abide the change of time.

Enter IACHIMO.

Post. Sure, the swift harts have posted you by land: And winds of all the corners kiss'd your sails,

To make your vessel nimble.

Phi.

Welcome, sir.

Post. I hope, the briefness of your answer made The speediness of your return.

Iach.

Is of the fairest I e'er look'd upon.

Your lady

These letters for you.

[Post. reads.

Post. And, therewithal, the best.
Iach.

Phi. Was Caius Lucius in the Britain court,

When you were there?

Iach.

But not approach'd.

Post.

He was expected then,

All is well yet—

Sparkles this stone as it was wont ?

Is't not too hard to come by.

Iach.

Your lady being so easy.

Post.

Not a whit,

Make not, sir,

Your loss your spórt: I hope, you know that we

Must not continue friends.

Iach.

Good sir, we must,

If you keep covenant: for I do here

Profess myself the winner of her honour,
Together with your ring; and not the wronger
Of her, or you, having proceeded but

By both your wills.

Post.

If you can make't apparent,

My ring is yours: if not, the foul opinion
You had of her pure honour, gains, or loses,
Your sword, or mine. Proceed.

Iach.
First, her bed-chamber,
'Twas hanged with tapestry of silk; the story
Proud Cleopatra, where she met her Roman :
A work so bravely done, that it did strive
In workmanship, and value.

Post.

This is true;

And this you might have heard of here, by me,
Or by some other.

Which you might from relation likewise reap;

Being, as 't is, well known.

Iach.

The roof o' the chamber

This her honour ?—

With golden cherubins is fretted.

Post.

Let it be granted, you have seen all this,

(Praise be to your remembrance), the description Of what is in her chàmber, nothing saves

The wager you have laid.

Iach.

Be pale: I beg but leave to air this jewel.

Post.

Then, if you can,

Once more let me behold it: Is it that