CLOTEN

If my Shirt were bloody, then to shift it. Have I hurt him? The Villain would not stand me. I would they had not come between us. And that she should love this Fellow, and re fuse me. Come, I'll to my Chamber: would there had been some hurt done. You'll go with us? Nay come, let's go together. Was there ever man had such Juck? when I kissed the Jack upon and upcast, to be hit away? I had a hun dreaded pound on't: and then a whor on Iacke-an-Apes, mu to take me up for swearing, as if I borrowed mine oa ne of him, and might not spend them at my pleasure. When a Gentleman is disposed to swear: it is not for any standers by to curtal his oaths. Would? Whoreson dog: I gave him satisfaction? would he had been one of my Rank. I am not vexed more at any thing in the earth: a pox on't. I had rather not be so Noble as I am: they dare not fight with me, because of the Queen my More there: every Iacke-Slaue hath his belly full of Fighting, and I must go up and down Like a Cock, that no body can match. Sayest thou? No, I know that: but it is fit I should commit offence to my inferiors. Why so I say. A Stranger, and I not know on't? Leonatus ? A banished Rascal; and he's another, whatsoever he be. Who told you of this Stranger? Is it fit I went to look upon him? Is there no de ogation in't? Not easily I think. Come, I'll go see this Italian: what I have lost to day at Bowls, I'll win to night of him. Come: go. It would make any man cold to lose. I would this Music would come: I am adui said to give her Music a morning's, they say it will pene trate. Come on, tune: If you can penetrate her with your fin gering, so: we'll try with tongue too: if none will do, let her remain: but I'll never give over. First, a very excel lent good conceited thing after a wondered sweet air, with admirable rich words to it, and then let her consi der. Hark, hark, the Lark at Heavens gate sings, and Phœbus begins arise, His Steeds to water at those Springs on chalice Flowers that lies: And winking Mary-buds begin to open their Golden eyes With every thing that pretty is, my Lady sweet arise: Arise, arise. So, get you gone: if this pen trate, I will consider your Music the better: if it do not, it is a voice in her ears which Horsehairs, and Calues-guts, nor the voice of unpaved Eunuch to boot, can never amed. I am glad I was up so late, for that's the reason I was up so early: he cannot choose but take this Sir vice I have done, fatherly. Good morrow to your Ma iesty, and to my gracious Mother. I have assailed her with Musics, but she vouch safes no notice. Senseless? Not so. If she be up, I'll speak with her: if not Let her lie still, and dream: by your leave hoa, I know her women are about her: what If I do line one of their hand , it's Gold Which buys admittance (oft it does) yea, and makes Diana is Rangers false themselves, yield up Their Dear to the stand of the Stealer: and it's Gold Which makes the Trueman killed, and saves the Thief: Nay, sometime hangs both Thief, and Trueman: what Can it not do, and undo? I will make One of her women Lawyer to me, for I yet not understand the case my self. By your leave. A Gentleman. Yes, and a Gentlewoman's Son. Your Ladies person, is she ready? There is Gold for you, Fell me your good report. Good morrow fairest, Sister your sweet hand. Still I swear love you. This is no answer. To leave you in your madness, 'twere my sin, I will not. Do you call me Fool? You sin against Obedience, which you owe your Father, for The Contract you pretend with that base Wretch, One, bred of Alms, and fostered with cold dishes, With scraps of the Court: It is no Contract, none; And though it be allowed in meaner parties (Yet who then he more mean) to knit their souls (On whom there is no more dependency But Brats and Beggary) in selfe-figur'd knot, Yet you are curbed from that enlargement, by The consequence of the Crown, and must not foil The precious note of it; with a base Slave, A Hilding for a Livery, a Squires Cloth, A Pantler; not so eminent. The South-Fog rot him. His Garments? Now the devil. His Garment? You have abused me: His meanest Garment? I will inform your Father. I'll bereueng'd: His meanest Garment? Well. There be many Caesars, Ere such another Julius : Britain's a world By it self, and we will nothing pay For wearing our own Noses. Come, there's no more Tribute to be paid: our Kingdom is stronger then it was at that time: and (as I said) there is no more such Caesars, other of them may have crooked Noses, but to owe such strait Arms, none. We have yet many among us, can gripe as hard as Cassibulan, I do not say I am one: but I have a hand. Why Tribute? Why should we pay Tribute? If Caesar can hide the Sun from us with a Blanket, or put the Moon in his pocket, we will pay him Tribute for light: else Sir, no more Tribute, pray you now. His Majesty bids you welcome. Make pa stime with us, a day, or two, or longer: if you seek us of terwards in other terms, you shall find us in our Salt-water-Girdle: if you beat us out of it, it is yours: if you fallen in the adventure, our Crows shall fare the better for you: and there's and end. Receive it friendly: but from this time forth I wear it as your Enemy. It's all the better, Your valiant Britain's have their wishes in it. That man of hers, Pisanio, her old Servant I have not seen these two days. It's certain she is fled: Go in and cheer the King, he rages, none Dare come about him. Where is she Sir? Come nearer: No farther halting: satisfy me home, What is become of her? Sirrah, is this Letter true? It is Posthumus hand, I know't. Sirrah, if thou wouldst not be a Villain, but do me true service: under go those Employments wherein I should have cause to use thee with a serious industry, that is, what villainy soere I bid thee do to perform it, directly and truly, I would think thee and honest man: thou shouldst neither want my means for thy relief, nor my voice for thy prefer meant. Wilt thou serve me? For since patiently and constantly thou hast stuck to the bore Fortune of that Beggar Posthumus, thou canst not in the course of grati tude, but be a diligent follower of mine. Wilt thou serve me? Soft, what are you That fly me thus? Some villaine-Mountainers? I have herd of such. What Slave art thou? Thou art a Robber, A Lawbreaker, a Villain: yield thee Thief. Thou Villain base, Knowest me not by my Clothes? Thou injurious Thief, Hear but my name, and tremble. To thy further fear, Nay, to thy mere Confusion, thou shalt know I am Son to the Queen. Art not afeard? Die the death: When I have slain thee with my proper hand, I'll follow those that even now fled hence: And on the Gates of Luds-Towne set your heads: Yield Rustic Mountaineer. Winning will put any man into courage: if I could get this foolish Imogen, I should have Gold enough: it's all most morning, is't not? I am near to the place where they should meet, if Pisanio have mapped it truly. How fit his Garments serve me? Why should his Mistress who was made by him that made the Taylor, not be fit too? The rather (saving reverence of the Word) for it's said a Woman's fitness comes by fits: therein I must play the Workman, I dare speak it to my self, for it is not Vainglory for a man, and his Glass, to confer in his own Chamber; I mean, the Lines of my body are as well drawn as his; no less young, more strong, not beneath him in Fortune's, be yond him in the advantage of the time, above him in Birth, alike conversant in general services, and more re markable in single oppositions; yet this imperseverant Thing loves him in my despite. What Mortality is? Posthumus, thy head (which now is growing upon thy shoulders) shall within this hour be off, thy Mistress in forced, thy Garments cut to pieces before thy face: and all this done, spurn her home to her Father, who may (happily) be a little angry for my so rough usage: but my Mother having power of his testiness, shall turn all in to my commendations. My Horse is tied up safe, out Sword, and to a soar purpose: Fortune put them into my hand: This is the very description of their meeting place and the Fellow dares not deceive me. I love, and hate her: for she's Fair and Royal, And that she hath all courtly parts more exquisite Then Lady, Ladies, Woman, from every one The best she hath, and she of all compounded Out-selles them all. I love her therefore, but Disdaining me, and throwing Favours on The low Posthumus, slanders so her judgement, That what's else rare, is choked: and in that point I will conclude to hate her, nay indeed, To be revenged upon her. For, when Fools shall— Who is here? What, are you packing sirrah? Come hither: Ah you precious Pandar, Villain, Where is thy Lady? In a word, or else Thou art straightway with the Fiends. Where is thy Lady? Or, by Jupiter, I will not ask again. Close Villain, I'll have this Secret from thy heart, or rip Thy heart to find it. Is she with Posthumus ? From whose so many weights of baseness, cannot A dram of worth be drawn. Allworthy Villain, Discover where thy Mistress is, at once, At the next word: no more of worthy Lord: Speak, or thy silence on the instant, is Thy condemnation, and thy death. Let's see't: I will pursue her Even to Augustus Throne. Humh. Give me thy hand, here's my purse. Hast any of thy late Master's Garments in thy possession? The first service thou dost me, fetch that Suit hither, let it be thy first service, go. Meet thee at Milfordhaven: (I forgotten to ask him one thing, I'll remember't anon:) even there, thou villain Posthumus will I kill thee. I would these Gar ments were come. She said upon a time (the bitterness of it, I now belch from my heart) that she held the very Garment of Posthumus, in more respect, then my Noble and natural person; together with the adornment of my Qualities. With that Suit upon my back will I ra uish her: first kill him, and in her eyes; there shall she see my valour, which will then be a torment to his contempt. He on the ground, my speech of insulment ended on his dead body, and when my Lust hath dined (which as I say, to vex her, I will execute in the Clothes that she so praised:) to the Court I'll knock her back, foot her home again. She hath despised me reioycingly, and I'll be merry in my Revenge. Be those the Garments? How long is't since she went to Milfordhaven? Bring this Apparel to my Chamber, that is the second thing that I have commanded thee. The third is, that thou wilt be a voluntary Mute to my design. Be but duteous, and true preferment shall render it self to thee. My Revenge is now at Milford, would I had wings to follow it. Come, and be true. I cannot find those Runagates, that Villain Hath mocked me. I am faint. Thou precious Varlet, My Taylor made them not. Cloten, thou Villain.