Cymbeline

love, she’s flown
To her desired Posthumus: gone she is
To death or to dishonour; and my end
Can make good use of either: she being down,
I have the placing of the British crown. Re-enter Cloten. How now, my son! Cloten

’Tis certain she is fled.
Go in and cheer the king: he rages; none
Dare come about him.

Queen

Aside. All the better: may
This night forestall him of the coming day! Exit.

Cloten

I love and hate her: for she’s fair and royal,
And that she hath all courtly parts more exquisite
Than lady, ladies, woman; from every one
The best she hath, and she, of all compounded,
Outsells them all; I love her therefore: but
Disdaining me and throwing favours on
The low Posthumus slanders so her judgment
That what’s else rare is choked; and in that point
I will conclude to hate her, nay, indeed,
To be revenged upon her. For when fools
Shall⁠—

Enter Pisanio.

Who is here? What, are you packing, sirrah?
Come hither: ah, you precious pander! Villain,
Where is thy lady? In a word; or else
Thou art straightway with the fiends.

Pisanio O, good my lord! Cloten

Where is thy lady? or, by Jupiter⁠—
I will not ask again. Close villain,
I’ll have this secret from thy heart, or rip
Thy heart to find it. Is she with Posthumus?
From whose so many weights of baseness cannot
A dram of worth be drawn.

Pisanio

Alas, my lord,
How can she be with him? When was she miss’d?
He is in Rome.

Cloten

Where is she, sir? Come nearer;
No further halting: satisfy me home
What is become of her.

Pisanio O, my all-worthy lord! Cloten

All-worthy villain!
Discover where thy mistress is at once,
At the next word: no more of “worthy lord!”
Speak, or thy silence on the instant is
Thy condemnation and thy death.

Pisanio

Then, sir,
This paper is the history of my knowledge
Touching her flight. Presenting a letter.

Cloten

Let’s see’t. I will pursue her
Even to Augustus’ throne.

Pisanio

Aside. Or this, or perish.
She’s far enough; and what he learns by this
May prove his travel, not her danger.

Cloten Hum! Pisanio

Aside. I’ll write to my lord she’s dead. O Imogen,
Safe mayst thou wander, safe return again!

Cloten Sirrah, is this letter true? Pisanio Sir, as I think. Cloten It is Posthumus’ hand; I know’t. Sirrah, if thou wouldst not be a villain, but do me true service, undergo those employments wherein I should have cause to use thee with a serious industry, that is, what villany soe’er I bid thee do, to perform it directly and truly, I would think thee an honest man: thou shouldst neither want my means for thy relief nor my voice for thy preferment. Pisanio Well, my good lord. Cloten Wilt thou serve me? for since patiently and constantly thou hast stuck to the bare fortune of that beggar Posthumus, thou canst not, in the course of gratitude, but be a diligent follower of mine: wilt thou serve me? Pisanio Sir, I will. Cloten Give me thy hand; here’s my purse. Hast any of thy late master’s garments in thy possession? Pisanio I have, my lord, at my lodging, the same suit he wore when he took leave of my lady and mistress. Cloten The first service thou dost me, fetch that suit hither: let it be thy lint service; go. Pisanio I shall, my lord. Exit. Cloten Meet thee at Milford-Haven!⁠—I forgot to ask him one thing; I’ll remember’t anon:⁠—even there, thou villain Posthumus, will I kill thee. I would these garments were come. She said upon a time⁠—the bitterness of it I now belch from my heart⁠—that she held the very garment of Posthumus in more respect than my noble and natural person, together with the adornment of my qualities. With that suit upon my back, will I ravish her: first kill him, and in her eyes; there shall she see my valour, which will then be a torment to her contempt. He on the ground, my speech of insultment ended on his dead body, and when my lust hath dined⁠—which, as I say, to vex her I will execute in the clothes that she so praised⁠—to the court I’ll knock her back, foot her home again. She hath despised me rejoicingly, and I’ll be merry in my revenge. Re-enter Pisanio, with the clothes. Be those the garments? Pisanio Ay, my noble lord. Cloten How long is’t since she went to Milford-Haven? Pisanio She can scarce be there yet. Cloten Bring this apparel to my chamber; that is the second thing that I have commanded thee: the third is, that thou wilt be a voluntary mute to my design. Be but duteous, and true preferment shall tender itself to thee. My revenge is now at Milford: would I had wings to follow it! Come, and be true. Exit. Pisanio

Thou bid’st me to my loss: for true to thee
Were to prove false, which I will never be,
To him that is most true. To Milford go,
And find not her whom thou pursuest. Flow, flow,
You heavenly blessings, on her! This fool’s speed
Be cross’d with slowness; labour be his meed! Exit.

Scene VI

Wales. Before the cave of Belarius.

Enter Imogen, in boy’s clothes.

Imogen

I see a man’s life is a tedious one: I have tired myself, and for two nights together Have made the ground my bed. I should be sick, But that my resolution helps me. Milford, When from the mountain-top Pisanio show’d thee, Thou wast within a ken: O Jove! I think Foundations fly the wretched; such, I mean, Where they should be relieved. Two beggars told me I could not miss my way: will poor folks lie, That have afflictions on them, knowing ’tis A punishment or trial? Yes; no wonder, When rich ones scarce tell true. To lapse in fulness Is sorer than to lie for need, and falsehood Is worse in kings than beggars. My dear lord! Thou art one o’ the false ones. Now I think on thee, My hunger’s gone; but even before, I was At point to sink for food. But what is this? Here is a path to’t: ’tis some savage hold: I were best not to call; I dare not call: yet famine, Ere clean it o’erthrow