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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 perjur'd

From thy great fail. Come, fellow, be thou honest;

Do thou thy master's bidding; when thou seest 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,

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 disedg'd by her

That now thou tirest on, how thy memory

Will then be pang'd by me. Prithee dispatch.

The lamp 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 receiv'd command to do this busines

I have not slept one wink.

IMOGEN.

Do't, and to bed then.

PISANIO.

I'll wake mine eyeballs first.

IMOGEN.

Wherefore then

Didst undertake it? Why hast thou abus'd

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,

Th' 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 abus'd. 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 while? where bide? how live?

Or in my life what comfort, when I am

Dead to my husband?

PISANIO.

If you'll back to th' 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' th' 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.