Cymbeline

not for any standers by to curtall his oathes. Ha?

2. No my Lord; nor crop the eares of them

Clot. Whorson dog: I gaue him satisfaction? would
he had bin one of my Ranke

2. To haue smell'd like a Foole

Clot. I am not vext more at any thing in th' earth: a pox on't I had rather not be so Noble as I am: they dare not fight with me, because of the Queene my Mother: euery Iacke-Slaue hath his belly full of Fighting, and I must go vp and downe like a Cock, that no body can match

2. You are Cocke and Capon too, and you crow
Cock, with your combe on

Clot. Sayest thou?

2. It is not fit your Lordship should vndertake euery
Companion, that you giue offence too

Clot. No, I know that: but it is fit I should commit
offence to my inferiors

2. I, it is fit for your Lordship onely

Clot. Why so I say

1. Did you heere of a Stranger that's come to Court
night?

Clot. A Stranger, and I not know on't?

2. He's a strange Fellow himselfe, and knowes it not

1. There's an Italian come, and 'tis thought one of
Leonatus Friends

Clot. Leonatus? A banisht Rascall; and he's another,
whatsoeuer he be. Who told you of this Stranger?

1. One of your Lordships Pages

Clot. Is it fit I went to looke vpon him? Is there no
derogation in't?

2. You cannot derogate my Lord
Clot. Not easily I thinke

2. You are a Foole graunted, therefore your Issues
being foolish do not derogate

Clot. Come, Ile go see this Italian: what I haue lost
to day at Bowles, Ile winne to night of him. Come: go

2. Ile attend your Lordship.

Enter.

That such a craftie Diuell as is his Mother
Should yeild the world this Asse: A woman, that
Beares all downe with her Braine, and this her Sonne,
Cannot take two from twenty for his heart,
And leaue eighteene. Alas poore Princesse,
Thou diuine Imogen, what thou endur'st,
Betwixt a Father by thy Step-dame gouern'd,
A Mother hourely coyning plots: A Wooer,
More hatefull then the foule expulsion is
Of thy deere Husband. Then that horrid Act
Of the diuorce, heel'd make the Heauens hold firme
The walls of thy deere Honour. Keepe vnshak'd
That Temple thy faire mind, that thou maist stand
T' enioy thy banish'd Lord: and this great Land.

Exeunt.

Scena Secunda

Enter Imogen, in her Bed, and a Lady.

Imo. Who's there? My woman: Helene?

La. Please you Madam

Imo. What houre is it?

Lady. Almost midnight, Madam

Imo. I haue read three houres then:
Mine eyes are weake,
Fold downe the leafe where I haue left: to bed.
Take not away the Taper, leaue it burning:
And if thou canst awake by foure o'th' clock,
I prythee call me: Sleepe hath ceiz'd me wholly.
To your protection I commend me, Gods,
From Fayries, and the Tempters of the night,
Guard me beseech yee.

Sleepes.

Iachimo from the Trunke.