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,
 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
 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!
 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;
 And you shall find me, wretched man, a thing
 The most disdain'd of fortune.

IMOGEN [Reads]  'Thy mistress, Pisanio, hath played the
 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
 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
 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,
 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
 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,
 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;
 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,
 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.

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,
 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!
 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
 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;
 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;
 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
 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
 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
 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,
 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.

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?
 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?

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
 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.

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
 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.
 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,
 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
 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.

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
 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
 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
 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,
 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,
 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!
 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
 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
 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,
 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.

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
 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:
 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!

IMOGEN Amen: I thank thee.

 [Exeunt, severally]




 CYMBELINE


ACT III