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But not every man patient after the noble temper of

your lordship. You are most hot and furious when you win.

CLOTEN.

Winning will put any man into courage. If I could get this

foolish Imogen, I should have gold enough. It's almost morning,

is't not?

FIRST LORD.

Day, my lord.

CLOTEN.

I would this music would come. I am advised to give her

music a mornings; they say it will penetrate.

Enter musicians

Come on, tune. If you can penetrate her with your 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.

SONG

Hark, hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,

And Phoebus 'gins arise,

His steeds to water at those springs

On chalic'd flow'rs that lies;

And winking Mary-buds begin

To ope their golden eyes.

With everything that pretty bin,

My lady sweet, arise;

Arise, arise!

So, get you gone. If this penetrate, I will consider your music

the better; if it do not, it is a vice in her ears which

horsehairs and calves' guts, nor the voice of unpaved eunuch to

boot, can never amend. Exeunt musicians

Enter CYMBELINE and QUEEN

SECOND LORD.

Here comes the King.

CLOTEN.

I am 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 morrow to your Majesty and to my gracious mother.

CYMBELINE.

Attend you here the door of our stern daughter?

Will she not forth?

CLOTEN.

I have assail'd her with musics, but she vouchsafes no notice.

CYMBELINE.

The exile of her minion is too new;

She hath not yet forgot him; some more time

Must wear the print of his remembrance out,

And then she's yours.

QUEEN.

You are most bound to th' King,

Who lets go by no vantages that may

Prefer you to his daughter. Frame yourself

To orderly soliciting, and be friended

With aptness of the season; make denials

Increase your services; so seem as if

You were inspir'd to do those duties which

You tender to her; that you in all obey her,

Save when command to your dismission tends,

And therein you are senseless.

CLOTEN.

Senseless? Not so.

Enter a MESSENGER

MESSENGER.

So like you, sir, ambassadors from Rome;

The one is Caius Lucius.

CYMBELINE.

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 us,

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

T' employ you towards this Roman. Come, our queen.

Exeunt all but CLOTEN

CLOTEN.

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 th' stand o' th' stealer; and 'tis gold

Which makes the true man kill'd and saves the thief;

Nay, sometime hangs both thief and true man. What

Can it not do and undo? I will make

One of her women lawyer to me, for

I yet not understand the case myself.

By your leave. [Knocks]

Enter a LADY

LADY.

Who's there that knocks?

CLOTEN.

A gentleman.

LADY.

No more?

CLOTEN.

Yes, and a gentlewoman's son.

LADY.

That's more

Than some whose tailors are as dear as yours

Can justly boast of. What's your lordship's pleasure?

CLOTEN.

Your lady's person; is she ready?

LADY.

Ay,

To keep her chamber.

CLOTEN.

There is gold for you; sell me your good report.

LADY.

How? My good name? or to report of you

What I shall think is good? The Princess!

Enter IMOGEN

CLOTEN.

Good morrow, fairest sister. Your sweet hand.

Exit LADY

IMOGEN.

Good morrow, sir. You lay out too much pains

For purchasing but trouble. The thanks I give

Is telling you that I am poor of thanks,