Imo. But that you shall not say I yield, being

silent,

I would not speak. I pray you, spare me: 'faith,
I shall unfold equal discourtesy

To your best kindness: one of your great knowing
Should learn, being taught, forbearance.

Clo. To leave you in your madness, 'twere my sin: I will not.

Imo. Fools are not mad folks.

Clo.

Imo.. As I am mad, I do:

Do you call me foolo1?

If you'll be patient, I'll no more be mad;
That cures us both. I am much sorry, sir,
You put me to forget a lady's manners,
By being so verbal and learn now, for all,
That I, which know my heart, do here pronounce,
By the very truth of it, I care not for you;
And am so near the lack of charity,

(To accuse myself) I hate you: which I had rather You felt, than make't my boast.

Clo. You sin against Obedience, which you owe your father. For 22 The contract you pretend with that base wretch, (One, bred of alms, and foster'd with cold dishes, With scraps o' the court,) it is no contract, none: And though it be allow'd in meaner parties,

(Yet who, than he, more mean?) to knit their souls (On whom there is no more dependency But brats and beggary) in self-figur'd knot; Yet you are curb'd from that enlargement by The consequence o' the crown; and must not soil The precious note of it with a base slave, A hilding for a livery, a squire's cloth,

A pantler, not so eminent.

Imo.

Profane fellow!

Wert thou the son of Jupiter, and no more,
But what thou art, besides, thou wert too base
To be his groom: thou wert dignified enough,
Even to the point of envy, if 'twere made
Comparative for your virtues, to be styl'd
The under-hangman of his kingdom; and hated
For being preferr'd so well.

Clo.

The south-fog rot him!

Imo. He never can meet more mischance, than

come

To be but nam'd of thee. His meanest garment,
That ever hath but clipp'd his body, is 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.

I am sprighted with a fool;

Frighted, and anger'd worse:-Go, bid my woman

Search for a jewel, that too casually

Hath left mine arm; it was thy master's: 'shrew me, If I would lose it for a revenue

Of any king's in Europe. I do think,

I saw't this morning: confident I am,

Last night 'twas on mine arm; I kiss'd it:
I hope, it be not gone, to tell my lord

That I kiss aught but he.

If you will make't an action, call witness to't.

Clo. I will inform your father.

Imo.

Your mother too:

She's my good lady; and will conceive, I hope,
But the worst of me. So I leave you, sir,

To the worst of discontent.

[Exit.

Clo.

I'll be reveng'd:

His meanest garment?-Well.

[Exit.

SCENE IV.

Rome. An apartment in Philario's House.

Enter POSTHUMUS and PHILARIO.

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

Phi.

What means do you make to him?

Post. Not any; but abide the change of time;

Quake in the present winter's state, and wish

That warmer days would come: in these fear'd hopes, I barely gratify your love; they failing,

I must die much your debtor.

Phi. Your very goodness, and your company,
O'erpays all I can do. By this, your king

Hath heard of great Augustus: Caius Lucius
Will do his commission throughly: And, I think,
He'll grant the tribute, send the arrearages,
Or look upon our Romans, whose remembrance
Is yet fresh in their grief.

Post.

I do believe,

(Statist though I am none, nor like to be,)
That this will prove a war; and you shall hear
The legions, now in Gallia, sooner landed
In our not-fearing Britain, than have tidings
Of any penny tribute paid. Our countrymen
Are men more order'd, than when Julius Cæsar
Smil'd at their lack of skill, but found their courage
Worthy his frowning at: Their discipline

(Now mingled with their courages) will make known To their approvers, they are people, such

That mend upon the world.

Phi.

Enter IACHIMO.

See! Jachimo!

Post. The swiftest harts have posted you by land;

VOL. XII.

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.

Iuch.

Your lady

Is one the fairest that I have look'd upon.

Post. And, therewithal, the best; or let her beauty

Look through a casement to allure false hearts,

And be false with them.

Iach.

Here are letters for you.

'Tis very like.

Post. Their tenour good, I trust.

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? or is't not

Too dull for your good wearing?

Iach.

If I have lost it,

I should have lost the worth of it in gold.
I'll make a journey twice as far, to enjoy
A second night of such sweet shortness, which
Was mine in Britain; for the ring is won.

Post. The stone's too hard to come by.
Iach.

Your lady being so easy.

Post.

Not a whit,

Make not, sir,