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Shall-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.


O, good my lord!

Clo. 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.


Alas, my lord,

How can she be with him? When was she miss'd?

He is in Rome.


Where is she, sir? Come nearer;

No further halting: satisfy me home,

What is become of her?

Pis. O, my all-worthy lord!


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.

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



Pis. I'll write to my lord she's dead. O Imogen, Safe may'st thou wander, safe return again!

Clo. Sirrah, is this letter true?


Or this, or perish.] i.e. I must either practise this deceit upon Cloten,

or perish by his fury.-MALONE.


So, as I think.

Clo. It is Posthumus' hand; I know't.-Sirrah, if thou would'st 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 villainy soe'er I bid thee do, to perform it, directly and truly,-I would think thee an honest man; thou shouldest neither want my means for thy relief, nor my voice for thy preferment. Pis. Well, my good lord.

Clo. 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? Pis. Sir, I will.

Clo. Give me thy hand, here's my purse. Hast any of thy late master's garments in thy possession?

Pis. I have, my lord, at my lodging, the same suit he wore when he took leave of my lady and mistress.

Clo. The first service thou dost me, fetch that suit hither let it be thy first service; go.

Pis. I shall, my lord.

[Exit. Clo. 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?

Pis. Ay, my noble lord.

Clo. How long is't since she went to Milford-Haven? Pis. She can scarce be there yet.

Clo. 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. Pis. Thou bidd'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 pursu'st. Flow, flow, You heavenly blessings, on her! This fool's speed Be cross'd with slowness: labour be his meed!


Before the Cave of Belarius.

Enter IMOGEN, in Boy's Clothes.


Imo. I see, a man's life is a tedious one: I have tir'd 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 reliev'd. 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!

To him that is most true.] Pisanio, notwithstanding his master's letter, commanding the murder, of Imogen, considers him as true, supposing, as he has already said to her, that Posthumus was abused by some villain, equally an enemy to them both.-MALONE.

Is sorer,] i. e. Is a greater or heavier crime,-JOHNSON.

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