PISANIO

My Lord your Son, drew on my Master. There might have been, But that my Master rather played, then fought, And had no help of Anger: they were parted By Gentlemen, at hand. On his command: he would not suffer me To bring him to the Haven: left these Notes Of what commands I should be subject too, When't pleased you to employ me. I humbly thank your Highness. It was his Queen, his Queen. And kissed it, Madam. No Madam: for so long As he could make me with his eye, or ear, Distinguish him from others, he did keep The Deck, with Glove, or Hat, or Handkerchife, Still waving, as the fits and stirs of's mind Could best express how slow his Soul sailed on, How swift his Ship. Madam, so I did. Be assured Madam, With his next vantage. Madam, I shall. And shall do: But when to my good Lord, I prove untrue, I'll choke my self: there's all I'll do for you. Madam, a Noble Gentleman of Room, Comes from my Lord with Letters. I was going Sir, To give him welcome. Madam, you're best consider. Alas good Lady. Good Madam, hear me. No, on my life: I'll give but notice you are dead, and send him Some bloody sign of it. For it's commanded I should do so: you shall be missed at Court, And that will well confirm it. I herd no Letter from my Master, since I wrote him Imogen was slain. It's strange: Nor hear I from my Mistress, who did promise To yield me often tidings. Neither know I What is betide to Cloten, but remain Perplexed in all. The Heavens still must work: Wherein I am false, I am honest: not true, to be true. These present wars shall find I love my Country, Even to the note of the King, or I'll fallen in them: All other doubts, by time let them be cleared, Fortune brings in some Boats, that are not steered. He hath been searched among the dead, & living; But no trace of him. It is my Mistress: Since she is living, let the time run on, To good, or bade. Wake my Mistress. How fares my Mistress? My Lord, Now fear is from me, I'll speak troth. Lord Cloten Upon my Ladies missing, came to me With his Sword drawn, foamed at the mouth, and swore If I discovered not which way she was gone, It was my instant death. By accident, I had a feigned Letter of my Master's Then in my pocket, which directed him To seek her on the Mountains near to Milford, Where in a frenzy, in my Master's Garments (Which he enforced from me) away he posts With unchaste purpose, and with oath to violate My Ladies honour, what became of him, I further know not. It'll not be lost. How? of Adultery? Wherefore write you not What Monsters her accuse? Leonatus: O Master, what a strange infection Is fallen into thy ear? What false Italian, (As poisonous tongued, as handed) hath prevailed On thy too ready hearing? Disloyal? No. She's punished for her Truth; and undergoes More Goddess-like, then Wifelike; such Assaults As would take in some Virtue. O my Master, Thy mind to her, is now as low, as were Thy Fortune's. How? That I should murder her, Upon the Love, and Truth, and Vows; which I Have made to thy command? I her? Her blood? If it be so, to go do odd service, never Let me be counted serviceable. How look I, That I should seem to lack humanity, So much as this Fact comes to? Doo't: The Letter. That I have sent her, by her own command, Shall give thee opportunity. O damned paper, Black as the Ink that's on thee: senseless bauble, Art thou a Foedarie for this Act; and lookest So Virginlike without? Lo her she comes. I am ignorant in what I am commanded. Madam, here is a Letter from my Lord. One score betwixt Sun, and Sun, Madam's enough for you: and too much too. Please you read, And you shall find me (wretched man) a thing The most disdained of Fortune. THy Mistress (Pisanio) hath played the Strumpet in my Bed: the Testimonies whereof, lies bleeding in me. I speak not out of weak Surmises, but from proof as strong as my grief, and as certain as I expect my Revenge. That , thou (Pisanio) must act for me, if thy Faith be not tainted with the breach of hers; let thine own hands take away her life: I shall give thee opportunity at Milford Haven. She hath my Letter for the purpose; where, if thou fear to strike, and to make me certain it is done, thou art the Pander to her dishonour, and equally to me disloyal. Hence vile Instrument, Thou shalt not damn my hand. O gracious Lady: Since I received command to do this business, I have not slept one wink. I'll wake mine eyeballs first. But to win time To lose so bade employment, in the which I have considered of a course: good Lady Hear me with patience. Then Madam, I thought you would not back again. 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 abused. Some Villain, I, and singular in his Art, hath done you both This cursed injury. If you'll back to the Court. If not at Court, Then not in Britain must you bide. I am most glad You think of other place: the Ambassador, Lucius the Roman comes to Milfordhaven To morrow. Now, if you could wear a mind Dark, as your Fortune is, and but disguise That which appear it self, must not yet be, But by selfe-danger, you should tread a course Pretty, and full of view: yea, happily, near The residence of Posthumus ; so nigh (at least) That though his Actions were not visible, yet Report should render him hourly to your ear, As truly as he moves. Well then, here's the point: You must forget to be a Woman: change Command, into obedience. Fear, and Niceness (The Handmaidens of all Women, or more truly Woman it pretty self) into a waggish courage, Ready in gybes, quicke-answer'd, saucy, and As quarrellous as the Weasel: Nay, you must Forget that rarest Treasure of your Cheek, Exposing it (but o the harder heart, Alack no remedy) to the greedy touch Of common-kissing Titan: and forget Your laboursome and dainty Trimmes, wherein You made great Juno angry. First, make your self but Like one, Forthinking this. I have already fit (It's in my Cloak-bag) Doublet, Hat, Hose, all That answer to them: Would you in their serving, (And with what imitation you can borrow From youth of such a season) before Noble Lucius Present your self, desire his service: tell him Wherein you're happy; which will make him know, If that his head have ear in Music, doubtless With joy he will embrace you: for he's Honourable, And doubling that, most holy. Your means abroad: You have me rich, and I will never fail Beginning, nor supplement. Well Madam, we must take a short farewell, Least being missed, I be suspected of Your carriage from the Court. My Noble Mistress, Here is a box, I had it from the Queen, What's in't is precious: If you are sick at Sea, Or Stomacke-qualm'd at Land, a Dram of this Will driven away distemper. To some shade, And fit you to your Manhood: may the Gods Direct you to the best. O, good my Lord. Alas, my Lord, How can she be with him? When was she missed? He is in Room O, my allworthy Lord. Then Sir: This Paper is the history of my knowledge Touching her flight. Or this, or perish. She's far enough, and what he learns by this, May prove his travel, not her danger. I'll write to my Lord she's dead: O Imogen, Safe mayest thou wander, safe return again. Sir, as I think. Well, my good Lord. Sir, I will. I shall my Lord. I, my Noble Lord. She can scarce be there yet. Thou biddest me to my lose: for true to thee, Were to prove false, which I will never be To him that is most true. To Milford go And find not her, whom thou pursuest. Flow, flow You Heavenly blessings on her: This Fools speed Be crossed with slowness; Labour be his me de. Sir, my life is yours, I humbly set it at your will: But for my Mistress, I nothing know where she remains: why gone, Nor when she purposes return. Beseech your Highness, Hold me your loyal Servant. O Gentlemen, help, Mine' and your Mistress: O my Lord Posthumus, You never killed Imogen till now: help, help, Mine honoured Lady. What shall I needs to draw my Sword, the Paper Hath cut her throat already? No, it's Slander, Whose edge is sharper then the Sword, whose tongue Out-venomes all the Worms of Nyle, whose breath Rides on the posting winds, and does belie All corners of the World. Kings, Queens, and States, Maids, Matrons, nay the Secrets of the Grave This viperous slander enters. What cheer, Madam? I have (my Lord) at my Lodging, the same Suit he wore, when he took leave of my Lady & Mi stress. Lady, the Gods throw stones of sulphur on me, if That box I gave you, was not thought by me A precious thing, I had it from the Queen.