fon I was up fo early: He cannot choose but take this service I have done, fatherly.- -Good morrow to your majefty, and to my gracious mother. Cym. Attend you here the door of our stern daughter? Will fhe not forth? Clot. I have affail'd her with mufics, but the vouchfafes no notice. Cym. The exile of her minion is too new; She hath not yet forgot him: fome more time Muft wear the print of his refemblance out, And then fhe's yours. Queen. You are moft bound to the king; Who lets go by no vantages, that may a Prefer Clot. Senfelefs? not fo. Enter a Messenger. Mef. So like you, fir, ambassadors from Rome; The one is Caius Lucius. Cym. A worthy fellow, Albeit he comes on angry purpose now; But that's no fault of his: We muft receive him b And towards himself, his goodnefs forefpent on us, Frame yourself to orderly folicits; &c.]-Conform yourself to the ordinary rules of courtship, and take efpecial care that your vifits be well timed. b bis goodness forefpent on us,]-having already experienced his friendfhip. We We must extend our notice.-Our dear fon, [Exeunt. Clot. If the be up, I'll fpeak with her; if not, I know her women are about her; What If I do line one of their hands? 'Tis gold [Knocks. Which buys admittance; oft it doth; yea, and makes Diana's rangers falfe themselves, yield up Their deer to the stand o' the stealer: and 'tis gold Which makes the true man kill'd, and faves the thief; Nay, fometime, hangs both thief and true man: What Can it not do, and undo? I will make One of her women lawyer to me; d I yet not understand the cafe myself. for By your leave. Enter a Lady. [Knocks, Lady. Who's there, that knocks? Clot. A gentleman. Lady. No more? Clot. Yes, and a gentlewoman's fọn. Lady. That's more Than fome, whofe taylors are as dear as yours, Lady. Ay, to keep her chamber. Clot. There's gold for you; fell me your good report. Lady. How! my good name? or to report of you What I fhall think is good?-The princess falfe themfelves,]-perjure themselves, betray their trust, * lawyer to me ;]—my advocate, Enter Enter Imogen. Clot. Good-morrow, fairest fifter: Your fweet hand, Imo. Good-morrow, fir: 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. Clot. Still, I fwear, I love you. Imo. If you but faid fo, 'twere as deep with me: If you fwear ftill, your recompence is still That I regard it not. Clot. This is no answer. Imo. But that you fhall not fay I yield, being filent, Το your best kindness: one of your great knowing Clot. To leave you in your madness, 'twere my fin: I will not. Imo. Fools are not mad folks. Clot. Do you call me fool? Imo. As I am mad, I do: If you'll be patient, I'll no more be mad; Should learn, being taught, forbearance.]-Should defift from an hopeless fuit, being repeatedly preffed to do fo. Fools are not mad folks.]-Fools are in no danger of being, as you fay I am, mad. Fools cure not, &c.. be patient,]-ceafe to teafe me with your importunities. A verbal:]-talkative. (To (To accufe myself) I hate you: which I had rather You felt, than make't my boaft. Clot. You fin against Obedience, which you owe your father. For But brats and beggary) in self-figur'd knot; Imo. Prophane fellow ! Wert thou the fon of Jupiter, and no more, The under-hangman of his kingdom; and hated Clot. The fouth-fog rot him! Imo. He never can meet more mifchance, than come To be but nam'd of thee. His meaneft garment, That ever hath but clipp'd his body, is dearer, m Were they all made fuch men.-How now, Pifanio? § in felf-figur'd knot ;]-of their own tying, by a match of their own making. * A bilding for a livery, &c.]-A wretch fit only to be a footman, not equal to the office of prefiding over the pantry. if 'twere made, &c.]-if the due reward of your merit were alone regarded. above thee,]-of thy head. Enter Enter Pifanio. Clot. His garment? Now, the devil- Imo. I am "fprighted with a fool; Frighted, and anger'd worfe :-Go, bid my woman Hath left mine arm; it was thy mafter's: 'fhrew me, Of any king's in Europe. I do think, I faw't this morning: confident I am, Laft night 'twas on mine arm; I kiss'd it: I hope, it be not gone, to tell my lord Pif. 'Twill not be loft, Imo. I hope fo: go, and fearch. Clot. You have abus'd me: His meanest garment? Imo. Ay; I faid fo, fir: [Exit Pifania. If you will make't an action, call witnefs to't, Imo. Your mother too : She's my good lady; and will conceive, I hope, But the worst of me. So I leave you, fir, I To the worft of difcontent. Clot. I'll be reveng'd: His meanest garment?-Well, Sprighted]-haunted. cafually]-heedlefly, through careleffnefs I have lost. P forew me,]-befhrew, ill befal me. If you will make't an aɛtion,]—If you think it actionable. [Exit. [Exit. To the worst of difcontent.]-To the mortification of your own com pany and reflections, SCENE |