| ACT III SCENE IV | Country near Milford-Haven. | |
| | Enter PISANIO and IMOGEN. | |
| IMOGEN | Thou told'st me, when we came from horse, the place | |
| | Was near at hand: ne'er long'd my mother so | |
| | To see me first, as I have now. Pisanio! man! | |
| | Where is Posthumus? What is in thy mind, | 5 |
| | That makes thee stare thus? Wherefore breaks that sigh | |
| | From the inward of thee? One, but painted thus, | |
| | Would be interpreted a thing perplex'd | |
| | Beyond self-explication: put thyself | |
| | Into a havior of less fear, ere wildness | 10 |
| | Vanquish my staider senses. What's the matter? | |
| | Why tender'st thou that paper to me, with | |
| | A look untender? If't be summer news, | |
| | Smile to't before; if winterly, thou need'st | |
| | But keep that countenance still. My husband's hand! | 15 |
| | That drug-damn'd Italy hath out-craftied him, | |
| | And he's at some hard point. Speak, man: thy tongue | |
| | May take off some extremity, which to read | |
| | Would be even mortal to me. | |
| PISANIO | Please you, read; | 20 |
| | And you shall find me, wretched man, a thing | |
| | The most disdain'd of fortune. | |
| IMOGEN | Reads | |
| | strumpet in my bed; the testimonies whereof lie | |
| | bleeding in me. I speak not out of weak surmises, | |
| | but from proof as strong as my grief and as certain | 25 |
| | as I expect my revenge. That part thou, Pisanio, | |
| | must act for me, if thy faith be not tainted with | |
| | the breach of hers. Let thine own hands take away | |
| | her life: I shall give thee opportunity at | |
| | Milford-Haven. She hath my letter for the purpose | 30 |
| | where, if thou fear to strike and to make me certain | |
| | it is done, thou art the pandar to her dishonour and | |
| | equally to me disloyal.' | |
| PISANIO | What shall I need to draw my sword? the paper | |
| | Hath cut her throat already. No, 'tis slander, | 35 |
| | Whose edge is sharper than the sword, whose tongue | |
| | Outvenoms all the worms of Nile, whose breath | |
| | Rides on the posting winds and doth belie | |
| | All corners of the world: kings, queens and states, | |
| | Maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave | 40 |
| | This viperous slander enters. What cheer, madam? | |
| IMOGEN | False to his bed! What is it to be false? | |
| | To lie in watch there and to think on him? | |
| | To weep 'twixt clock and clock? if sleep | |
| | charge nature, | 45 |
| | To break it with a fearful dream of him | |
| | And cry myself awake? that's false to's bed, is it? | |
| PISANIO | Alas, good lady! | |
| IMOGEN | I false! Thy conscience witness: Iachimo, | |
| | Thou didst accuse him of incontinency; | 50 |
| | Thou then look'dst like a villain; now methinks | |
| | Thy favour's good enough. Some jay of Italy | |
| | Whose mother was her painting, hath betray'd him: | |
| | Poor I am stale, a garment out of fashion; | |
| | And, for I am richer than to hang by the walls, | 55 |
| | I must be ripp'd:--to pieces with me!--O, | |
| | Men's vows are women's traitors! All good seeming, | |
| | By thy revolt, O husband, shall be thought | |
| | Put on for villany; not born where't grows, | |
| | But worn a bait for ladies. | 60 |
| PISANIO | Good madam, hear me. | |
| IMOGEN | True honest men being heard, like false Aeneas, | |
| | Were in his time thought false, and Sinon's weeping | |
| | Did scandal many a holy tear, took pity | |
| | From most true wretchedness: so thou, Posthumus, | 65 |
| | Wilt lay the leaven on all proper men; | |
| | Goodly and gallant shall be false and perjured | |
| | From thy great fall. Come, fellow, be thou honest: | |
| | Do thou thy master's bidding: when thou see'st him, | |
| | A little witness my obedience: look! | 70 |
| | I draw the sword myself: take it, and hit | |
| | The innocent mansion of my love, my heart; | |
| | Fear not; 'tis empty of all things but grief; | |
| | Thy master is not there, who was indeed | |
| | The riches of it: do his bidding; strike | 75 |
| | Thou mayst be valiant in a better cause; | |
| | But now thou seem'st a coward. | |
| PISANIO | Hence, vile instrument! | |
| | Thou shalt not damn my hand. | |
| IMOGEN | Why, I must die; | 80 |
| | And if I do not by thy hand, thou art | |
| | No servant of thy master's. Against self-slaughter | |
| | There is a prohibition so divine | |
| | That cravens my weak hand. Come, here's my heart. | |
| | Something's afore't. Soft, soft! we'll no defence; | 85 |
| | Obedient as the scabbard. What is here? | |
| | The scriptures of the loyal Leonatus, | |
| | All turn'd to heresy? Away, away, | |
| | Corrupters of my faith! you shall no more | |
| | Be stomachers to my heart. Thus may poor fools | 90 |
| | Believe false teachers: though those that | |
| | are betray'd | |
| | Do feel the treason sharply, yet the traitor | |
| | Stands in worse case of woe. | |
| | And thou, Posthumus, thou that didst set up | 95 |
| | My disobedience 'gainst the king my father | |
| | And make me put into contempt the suits | |
| | Of princely fellows, shalt hereafter find | |
| | It is no act of common passage, but | |
| | A strain of rareness: and I grieve myself | 100 |
| | To think, when thou shalt be disedged by her | |
| | That now thou tirest on, how thy memory | |
| | Will then be pang'd by me. Prithee, dispatch: | |
| | The lamb entreats the butcher: where's thy knife? | |
| | Thou art too slow to do thy master's bidding, | 105 |
| | When I desire it too. | |
| PISANIO | O gracious lady, | |
| | Since I received command to do this business | |
| | I have not slept one wink. | |
| IMOGEN | Do't, and to bed then. | 110 |
| PISANIO | I'll wake mine eye-balls blind first. | |
| IMOGEN | Wherefore then | |
| | Didst undertake it? Why hast thou abused | |
| | So many miles with a pretence? this place? | |
| | Mine action and thine own? our horses' labour? | 115 |
| | The time inviting thee? the perturb'd court, | |
| | For my being absent? whereunto I never | |
| | Purpose return. Why hast thou gone so far, | |
| | To be unbent when thou hast ta'en thy stand, | |
| | The elected deer before thee? | 120 |
| PISANIO | But to win time | |
| | To lose so bad employment; in the which | |
| | I have consider'd of a course. Good lady, | |
| | Hear me with patience. | |
| IMOGEN | Talk thy tongue weary; speak | 125 |
| | I have heard I am a strumpet; and mine ear | |
| | Therein false struck, can take no greater wound, | |
| | Nor tent to bottom that. But speak. | |
| PISANIO | Then, madam, | |
| | I thought you would not back again. | 130 |
| IMOGEN | Most like; | |
| | Bringing me here to kill me. | |
| PISANIO | Not so, neither: | |
| | But if I were as wise as honest, then | |
| | My purpose would prove well. It cannot be | 135 |
| | But that my master is abused: | |
| | Some villain, ay, and singular in his art. | |
| | Hath done you both this cursed injury. | |
| IMOGEN | Some Roman courtezan. | |
| PISANIO | No, on my life. | 140 |
| | I'll give but notice you are dead and send him | |
| | Some bloody sign of it; for 'tis commanded | |
| | I should do so: you shall be miss'd at court, | |
| | And that will well confirm it. | |
| IMOGEN | Why good fellow, | 145 |
| | 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 | 150 |
| | 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. | 155 |
| 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 | 160 |
| | 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 | 165 |
| | 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 | 170 |
| | 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, | 175 |
| | 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, | 180 |
| | 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! | 185 |
| | 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 | 190 |
| | 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 | 195 |
| | 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, | 200 |
| | 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. | 205 |
| 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 | 210 |
| | 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: | 215 |
| | 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! | 220 |
| IMOGEN | Amen: I thank thee. | |
| | Exeunt, severally. | |
