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fingering, so; we'll try with tongue too: if none will do, let her remain; but I'll never give o'er. First, a very excellent good.conceited thing; after, a wonderful sweet air, with admirable rich words to it,and then let her consider.
Hark! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,
And Phoebus 'gins arise,
On chalic'd flowers that lies ;
To ope their golden eyes ; With every thing that pretty bin: My lady sweet, arise;
So, get you gone: If this penetrate, I will consider your musick the bettert: If it do not, it is a vice in her ears, which horse-hairs, and cats-guts, nor the voice of unpaved eunuch to boot, can never aniend.
Enter Cymbeline and Queen. 2 Lord. Here comes the king.
Clo. I ain glad, I was up so late; for that's the reason I was up so early: He cannot choose but take this service I have done, fatherly-Good more row to your majesty, and to my gracious mother. Cym. Attend you here the door of our stern
daughter? Will she not forth?
Clo. I have assailed her with musick, but she vouchsafes no notice.
Cym. The exile of her minion is too new;
it will pay you more for it.
She hath not yet forgot him : some more time
Queen. You are most bound to the king;
Senseless? not so. Enter a Messenger. Mess. So like you, sir, embassadors from Rome; Throne is Caius Lucius. Cym.
A worthy fellow, Albeit he comes on angry purpose now; But that's no fault of his: We must receive him According to the honour of his sender; And towards himself his goodness forespent on as We must extend our notice.-Our dear son, When you have given good morning to your mistress, Attend the queen, and us; we shall have need To employ you towards this. Roman.-Come, our.
[Exeunt Cym. Queen, Lords, and Mess. Clo. If she be up, I'll speak with her; if not, Let her lie still, and dream.-By your leave ho!-
[Knocks. I know her women are about her; What If I do line one of their hands? 'Tis gold Which buys admittance; oft it doth; yea, and makes Diana's rangers false themselves, yield up Their deer to the stand of the stealer; and 'tis gold Which makes the true man kill'd, and saves the thief;
* With solicitations not only proper but well-timed. Vay, sometime, bangs both thief and true man:
That's more Than some, whose tailors are as dear as yours, Can justly boast of: What's your lordship's plea
sure ? Clo. Your lady's person: Is she ready?
Lady. To keep her chamber. Clo. There's gold for you ; sell me your good re
port. Lady. How! my good name? or to report of you What I shall think is good ? –The princess
Enter Imogen. clo. Good-morrow, fairest sister: Your sweet
hand. Imo. Good-morrow, sir: You lay out too much
pains For purchasing but trouble: the thanks I give, 18. telling you that I am poor of thanks, And scarce can spare them. Clo.
Still, I swear, I love you. Imo. If you but said so, 'twere as deep with me : If you swear still, your recompence is still That I regard it not. Clo.
This is no answer. Imo. But that you shall not say I yield, being sie
I would not speak, I pray you, spare me: i'faith,
sin: I will not.
Imo. Fools are not mad folks.
Do you call me fool ?
You sin against Obedieuce, which you owe your father. For The contract you pretend with that base wretch, (One, bred of alms, and foster'd with cold dislies, With scraps o'the court), it is no contract, none: And though it be allow'd in mcaner parties, (Yet who, than he, more mean?) to knit their souls (oa whoin there is no more dependency But brats and beggary) in self-figurd kuott; 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 I for a livery, a squire's cloth, A pantler, not so eminent. Imo.
Profane fellow! Wert thou the son of Jupiler, and no more, But what thou art, besides, thou wert too base To be bis groom : thou wert dignified enough,
* So verbose, so full of talk.
Even to the point of envy, if 'twere made
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 inen.-How now, Pisanio?
Clo. His garment? Now, the devil-
I am sprighted with a fool;
Twill not be lost. | Imo. I hope so: go, and search. [Erit Pis. clo.
You have abus'd me
Ay; I said so, sir.
will make't an action, call witness to't.
Your mother too: