| ACT III SCENE II | Another room in the palace. | |
| | Enter PISANIO, with a letter. | |
| PISANIO | How? of adultery? Wherefore write you not | |
| | What monster's her accuser? Leonatus, | |
| | O master! what a strange infection | |
| | Is fall'n into thy ear! What false Italian, | 5 |
| | As poisonous-tongued as handed, hath prevail'd | |
| | On thy too ready hearing? Disloyal! No: | |
| | She's punish'd for her truth, and undergoes, | |
| | More goddess-like than wife-like, such assaults | |
| | As would take in some virtue. O my master! | 10 |
| | Thy mind to her is now as low as were | |
| | Thy fortunes. How! that I should murder her? | |
| | Upon the love and truth and vows which I | |
| | Have made to thy command? I, her? her blood? | |
| | If it be so to do good service, never | 15 |
| | Let me be counted serviceable. How look I, | |
| | That I should seem to lack humanity | |
| | so much as this fact comes to? | |
| | Reading | |
| | 'Do't: the letter | |
| | that I have sent her, by her own command | 20 |
| | Shall give thee opportunity.' O damn'd paper! | |
| | Black as the ink that's on thee! Senseless bauble, | |
| | Art thou a feodary for this act, and look'st | |
| | So virgin-like without? Lo, here she comes. | |
| | I am ignorant in what I am commanded. | 25 |
| | Enter IMOGEN. | |
| IMOGEN | How now, Pisanio! | |
| PISANIO | Madam, here is a letter from my lord. | |
| IMOGEN | Who? thy lord? that is my lord, Leonatus! | |
| | O, learn'd indeed were that astronomer | |
| | That knew the stars as I his characters; | 30 |
| | He'ld lay the future open. You good gods, | |
| | Let what is here contain'd relish of love, | |
| | Of my lord's health, of his content, yet not | |
| | That we two are asunder; let that grieve him: | |
| | Some griefs are med'cinable; that is one of them, | 35 |
| | For it doth physic love: of his content, | |
| | All but in that! Good wax, thy leave. Blest be | |
| | You bees that make these locks of counsel! Lovers | |
| | And men in dangerous bonds pray not alike: | |
| | Though forfeiters you cast in prison, yet | 40 |
| | You clasp young Cupid's tables. Good news, gods! | |
| | Reads. | |
| | 'Justice, and your father's wrath, should he take me | |
| | in his dominion, could not be so cruel to me, as | |
| | you, O the dearest of creatures, would even renew me | |
| | with your eyes. Take notice that I am in Cambria, | 45 |
| | at Milford-Haven: what your own love will out of | |
| | this advise you, follow. So he wishes you all | |
| | happiness, that remains loyal to his vow, and your, | |
| | increasing in love, | |
| | LEONATUS POSTHUMUS.' | 50 |
| | O, for a horse with wings! Hear'st thou, Pisanio? | |
| | He is at Milford-Haven: read, and tell me | |
| | How far 'tis thither. If one of mean affairs | |
| | May plod it in a week, why may not I | |
| | Glide thither in a day? Then, true Pisanio,-- | 55 |
| | Who long'st, like me, to see thy lord; who long'st,-- | |
| | let me bate,-but not like me--yet long'st, | |
| | But in a fainter kind:--O, not like me; | |
| | For mine's beyond beyond--say, and speak thick; | |
| | Love's counsellor should fill the bores of hearing, | 60 |
| | To the smothering of the sense--how far it is | |
| | To this same blessed Milford: and by the way | |
| | Tell me how Wales was made so happy as | |
| | To inherit such a haven: but first of all, | |
| | How we may steal from hence, and for the gap | 65 |
| | That we shall make in time, from our hence-going | |
| | And our return, to excuse: but first, how get hence: | |
| | Why should excuse be born or e'er begot? | |
| | We'll talk of that hereafter. Prithee, speak, | |
| | How many score of miles may we well ride | 70 |
| | 'Twixt hour and hour? | |
| PISANIO | One score 'twixt sun and sun, | |
| | Madam, 's enough for you: | |
| | and too much too. | |
| IMOGEN | Why, one that rode to's execution, man, | 75 |
| | Could never go so slow: I have heard of | |
| | riding wagers, | |
| | Where horses have been nimbler than the sands | |
| | That run i' the clock's behalf. But this is foolery: | |
| | Go bid my woman feign a sickness; say | 80 |
| | She'll home to her father: and provide me presently | |
| | A riding-suit, no costlier than would fit | |
| | A franklin's housewife. | |
| PISANIO | Madam, you're best consider. | |
| IMOGEN | I see before me, man: nor here, nor here, | 85 |
| | Nor what ensues, but have a fog in them, | |
| | That I cannot look through. Away, I prithee; | |
| | Do as I bid thee: there's no more to say, | |
| | Accessible is none but Milford way. | |
| | Exeunt | |
