Cymbeline

miss’d at court,
And that will well confirm it. Imogen

Why, good fellow,
What shall I do the where? where bide? how live?
Or in my life what comfort, when I am
Dead to my husband?

Pisanio If you’ll back to the court⁠— Imogen

No court, no father; nor no more ado
With that harsh, noble, simple nothing,
That Cloten, whose love-suit hath been to me
As fearful as a siege.

Pisanio

If not at court,
Then not in Britain must you bide.

Imogen

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;
In a great pool a swan’s nest: prithee, think
There’s livers out of Britain.

Pisanio

I am most glad
You think of other place. The ambassador,
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, to appear itself, must not yet be
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
Report should render him hourly to your ear
As truly as he moves.

Imogen

O, for such means!
Though peril to my modesty, not death on’t,
I would adventure.

Pisanio

Well, then, here’s the point:
You must forget to be a woman; change
Command into obedience: fear and niceness⁠—
The handmaids of all women, or, more truly,
Woman its pretty self⁠—into a waggish courage;
Ready in gibes, quick-answer’d, saucy and
As quarrelous as the weasel; nay, you must
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
Your laboursome and dainty trims, wherein
You made great Juno angry.

Imogen

Nay, be brief:
I see into thy end, and am almost
A man already.

Pisanio

First, make yourself but like one.
Fore-thinking this, I have already fit⁠—
’Tis in my cloak-bag⁠—doublet, hat, hose, all
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
Wherein you’re 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,
You have me, rich; and I will never fail
Beginning nor supplyment.

Imogen

Thou art all the comfort
The gods will diet me with. Prithee, away:
There’s more to be consider’d; but we’ll even
All that good time will give us: this attempt
I am soldier to, and will abide it with
A prince’s courage. Away, I prithee.

Pisanio

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:
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
Direct you to the best!

Imogen Amen: I thank thee. Exeunt, severally.

Scene V

A room in Cymbeline’s palace.

	Enter Cymbeline, Queen, Cloten, Lucius, Lords, and Attendants.
Cymbeline	Thus far; and so farewell.
Lucius	Thanks, royal sir. My emperor hath wrote, I must from hence; And am right sorry that I must report ye My master’s enemy.
Cymbeline	Our subjects, sir, Will not endure his yoke; and for ourself To show less sovereignty than they, must needs Appear unkinglike.
Lucius	So, sir: I desire of you A conduct over-land to Milford-Haven. Madam, all joy befall your grace!
Queen	And you!
Cymbeline	My lords, you are appointed for that office; The due of honour in no point omit. So farewell, noble Lucius.
Lucius	Your hand, my lord.
Cloten	Receive it friendly; but from this time forth I wear it as your enemy.
Lucius	Sir, the event Is yet to name the winner: fare you well.
Cymbeline	Leave not the worthy Lucius, good my lords, Till he have cross’d the Severn. Happiness! Exeunt Lucius and Lords.
Queen	He goes hence frowning: but it honours us That we have given him cause.
Cloten	’Tis all the better; Your valiant Britons have their wishes in it.
Cymbeline	Lucius hath wrote already to the emperor How it goes here. It fits us therefore ripely Our chariots and our horsemen be in readiness: The powers that he already hath in Gallia Will soon be drawn to head, from whence he moves His war for Britain.
Queen	’Tis not sleepy business; But must be look’d to speedily and strongly.
Cymbeline	Our expectation that it would 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 have noted it. Call her before us; for We have been too slight in sufferance. Exit an Attendant.
Queen	Royal sir, Since the exile of Posthumus, most retired Hath her life been; the cure whereof, my lord, ’Tis time must do. Beseech your majesty, Forbear sharp speeches to her: she’s a lady So tender of rebukes that words are strokes And strokes death to her.
	Re-enter Attendant.
Cymbeline	Where is she, sir? How Can her contempt be answer’d?
Attendant	Please you, sir, Her chambers are all lock’d; and there’s no answer That will be given to the loudest noise we make.
Queen	My lord, when last I went to visit her, She pray’d me to excuse her keeping close, Whereto constrain’d by her infirmity, She should that duty leave unpaid to you, Which daily she was bound to proffer: this She wish’d me to make known; but our great court Made me to blame in memory.
Cymbeline	Her doors lock’d? Not seen of late? Grant, heavens, that which I fear Prove false! Exit.
Queen	Son, I say, follow the king.
Cloten	That man of hers, Pisanio, her old servant, I have not seen these two days.
Queen	Go, look after. Exit Cloten. Pisanio, thou that stand’st so 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, Where is she gone? Haply, despair hath seized her, Or, wing’d with fervour of her