Enter Pifanio, and Imogen.

Imo. Thou told'ft me, when we came from horse, the

place

Was near at hand. Ne'er long'd my mother fo
To fee me first, as I have now

Fifanio,

Where is Pethumus? What is in thy mind,

That makes thee ftare thus ? wherefore breaks that figh
From th' inward of thee? one, but painted thus,
Would be interpreted a thing perplex'd
Beyond felf-explication. Put thyfelf
Into a 'haviour of less fear, ere wildness
Vanquish my ftaider fenfes

what's the matter?

Why tender'ft thou that paper to me, with
A look untender? if't be fummer news,
Smile to't before; if winterly, thou ne d'it

But keep that count'nance ftill. My husband's hand?
That drug damn'd Italy hath out-craftied him,
And he's asome hard point. Speak, man; thy tongue
May take off fome extremity, which to read

Would be e'en mortal to me.

Pif. Please you, read;

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

Imogen reads.

I

THY miftrefs, Pifanio, hath play'd the firumpet in my bed: the teftimonies whereof lie bleeding in me. Speak not out of weak furmife, but from proof as ftrong as my grief, and as certain as I expect my revenge. That part thou. Pifanio, must act for me. If thy faith be not tainted with the breach of hers, let thine own hands take away life: I shall give thee opportunity at Milford-Haven. She bath my letter for the purpose; where, if thou fear to firike, and to make me certain it is done, thou art the Pander to her dishonour, and equally to me difloyal.

Pif. What fhall I need to draw

Hath cut her throat already.

my

ber

fword? the paper

- No, 'tis flander;

Whole edge is sharper than the fword, whofe tongue

Out

Out-venoms all the worms of Nile; whofe breath
Rides on the pofting winds, and doth belye

All corners of the world. Kings, Queens, and states,
Maids, matrons, nay, the fecrets of the grave
This viperous flander enters. What chear, Madam?
Imo. Falfe to his bed! what is it to be falfe ?

To lie in watch there, and to think on him?
To weep 'twixt clock and clock? if fleep charge nature,
To break it with a fearful dream of him,

And cry myself awake that falfe to's bed!

Pif. Alas, good lady!

Imo. I falfe? thy confcience witness, Iachimo, Thou didst accufe him of incontinency,

Thou then look'dft like a villain: now, methinks, Thy favour's good enough. Some Jay of Italy (33) (Whofe mother was her painting) hath betray'd him: Poor I am stale, a garment out of fashion;

And, for I'm richer than to hang by th' walls,

I must be ript: to pieces with me: oh,
Men's vows are women's traitors.

-All good feeming

By thy revolt, oh hufband, shall be thought

(33)

Some Fay of Italy,

(Whofe mother was her painting) bath betray'd him.] This paffage has ftrongly lain under my fufpicion, tho' I have not ventur❜d to give it an emendation. If the text be genuine as it ftands, it seems to me to have this fenfe, whose mother was a bị, đị of the fame feather, i. e. fuch another gay ftrumpet: which is fevere. enough. I have imagin'd, the foet might have wrote;

(Whofe mother was ber planting)

i. e. was bared to her, and planted her on Pofibumus which is fill more farcaftical. Again, Mr. Rowe gives us a reading, which f should very eagerly efpoule, were I fure the word were standard, and that it were not coin d by the cafual inverfion of an M, into a W:

(Whole wother was her painting)

i. e. whofe chief beauty was her artificial face, her falfe complexion. For Mr. Gildon, in his fhort gl. ffary prefix'd to Shakespeare's poems, comes and boldly tells us, wother fignifies merit, beauty, &c. But I fhrewdly fufpect, he ftruck out these interpretations to fort with the fenfe of the reading he found in Mr. Rove; and trufted implicitly to his theme being genuine. But I have fearch'd in vain, and can find no fuch word as other SPELMAN in his Gloffary has P ૪, (i. e. woth) which he expounds, eloquentia, facundia, eloquzice. But this, I am afraid, in no kind will ferve our turn, M 6

Put

Put on for villainy: not born, where't grows;
But worn, a bait for ladies.

Pif. Madam, hear me

Imo. True honeft men being heard, like falfe Eneas, Were in his time thought falfe: and Simon's weeping Did fcandal many a holy tear; took pity

From most true wretchedness. So thou, Pofthumus, Wilt lay the leven to all proper men ;

Goodly, and gallant, fhall be falfe and perjur'd,
From thy great fail. Come, fellow, be thou honest,
Do thou thy master's bidding: when thou seeft him,
A little witnefs my obedience. Look!

I draw the sword myself, take it, and hit
The innocent manfion of my love, my heart;
Fear not, 'tis empty of all things, but grief;
Thy matter is not there, who was, indeed,
The riches of it. Do his bidding, strike;
Thou may't be valiant in a better caufe,
But now thou feem'ft a coward.
Pif. Hence, vile inftrument!
Thou shalt not damn my hand.
Imo. Why, I must die;

And, if I do not by thy hand, thou art
No fervant of thy master's.

'Gaint felf-flaughter

There is a prohibition fo divine,

That cravens my weak hand: come,

(Something's afore't-soft, soft, well no defence ;)

[Opening her breaft.

Cbedient as the fcabbard ! What is here?

The fcriptures of the loyal Leonatus

All turn'd to herefy? away, away,

[Pulling his letters out of her bofom.

Corrupters of my faith! you fhall no more

Be ftomachers to my heart: thus may poor fools
Believe falfe teachers: tho' those. that are betray'd,
Do feel the treason sharply, yet the traitor

Stands in worfe cafe of woe. And thon, Pofthumus,
That fet my difobedience 'gainst the King,
☛nd mad'st me put into contempt the fuits
Of princely fellows, fhalt hereafter find,

It

It is no act of common paffage, but
A strain of rarenefs: and I grieve myself,
To think, when thou shalt be dif-edg'd by her
Whom now thou tir'ft on, how thy memory
Will then be pang'd by me.-Pr'ythee, difpatch 3
The lamb entreats the butcher. Where's thy knife?
Thou art too flow to do thy master's bidding,
When I defire it too.

Pif. O gracious Lady!

Since I receiv'd command to do this business,
I have not slept one wink.

Imo. Do't, and to bed then.

Pif. I'll break mine eye-balls first:
Imo. Ah, wherefore then

Didft undertake it? why haft thou abus'd

So many miles with a pretence? this place?
Mine action? and thine own? our horfes' labour?
The time inviting thee? the perturb'd court,
For my being absent ? whereunto I never
Parpofe to return. Why haft thou gone so far,
To be unbent, when thou haft ta'en thy ftand,
Th' elected deer before thee ?

Pif. But to win time

To lose so bad employment, in the which
I have confider'd of a courfe; good lady
Hear me with patience.

Imo. Talk thy tongue weary, speak,
I've heard, I am a ftrumpet; and mine ear
(Therein falfe ftruck) can take no greater wound,
Nor tent to bottom that. But, fpeak.

Pif. Then, Madam,

I thought, you would not back again.
Imo. Moft like,

Bringing me here to kill me.

Pif. Not fo neither;

But if I were as wife as honeft, then
My purpose would prove well; it cannot be,
But that my mafter is abus'd; some villain,
And fingular in his art, hath done you both
This curfed injury.

Imo. Some Roman Courtezan-
Pif. No, on my life.

I'll give him notice you are dead, and fend him
Some bloody fign of it: for 'tis commanded,
I fhould do fo. You fhall be mifs'd at court,
And that will well confirm it.

Imo. Why, good fellow,

What fhall I do the while ? where 'bide? how live? Or in my life what comfort, when I am

Dead to my husband?

Pif. If you'll back to th' court

Imo. No court, no father; nor no more ado With that harsh, noble, fimple, Nothing, Cloten: That Cloten, whofe love fuit hath been to me As fearful as a siege.

Pif. If not at court,

Then not in Britaine must you 'bide.

Imo. Where then ?

Hath Britaine all the fun that fhines? Day, night,
Are they not but in Britaine? l' th' world's volume
Our Britaine feems as of it, but not in it;

In a great pool, a fwan's neft.
There's living out of Britaine.
Pif I'm most glad,

Pr'ythee, think,

You think of other place; th' Ambassador,
Lucius the Roman, comes to Milford-Haven

To-morrow. (34) Now, if you could wear a mien
Dark as your fortune is, and but disguise

(34)

Now, if you could wear a mind

Dark as your fortune is,] But the difguife of her perfon is the only thing which Pifanio is here advifing; not that she should ftifle any qualifications or beauties of her mind. I therefore think, we may fafely read;

Now, if you could wear a mien
Dark as your fortune is,

Or, according to the Frencb orthography, from whence, I prefume, arofe the corruption;

Now, if you could wear a mine.

Mr. Warburton.

I have fhewn in a note, upon one of the former plays, that mien fignifies not only mine du visage, oris facies, the air and turn of the face; but also, kabitus, geftus corporis, the form and gefture of the whole perfon.

That,