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But to win time
Talk thy tongue weary; speak :
Then, madam, I thought you would not back again. Imo.
Not so, neither:
Imo. Some Roman courtezan.
No, on my life.
Why, good fellow,
back to the court, Imo. No court, no father; nor no more ado With that harsh, noble, simple, nothing:
That Cloten, whose love-suit hath been to me
If not at court,
Where then? Hath Britain all the sun that shines? Day, night, Are they not but in Britain? I'the world's volume Our Britain seems as of it, but not in it; In a great pool, a swan's nest; Prythee, think There's livers out of Britain. Pis.
I am most glad
could wear a mind
O, for such means !
Well then, here's the point :
# The sull.
Nay, be brief:
First, make yourself but like one.
know, If that his head have ear in musick), doubtless, With joy he will embrace you; for he's honourable, And, doubling that, most holy. Your means abroad You have met, rich; and I will never fail Begioning, nor supplyment. Imo.
Thou art all the comfort The gods will diet me with. Pr’ythee, away: There's more to be consider'd; but we'll even All that good time will give us : This attempt I'm soldier tot, and will abide it with A prince's courage. Away, I pr’ythee.
Pis. Well, madam, we must take a short farewell: Lest, being miss'd, 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 stomach-qualm'd at land, a dram of this Will drive away distemper.-To some shade, And fit you to your manhood: May the gods Direct you to the best ! Imo.
Amen: I thank thee.
• i. e. Wherein you are accomplished.
+ As for your subsistence abroad, you may rely on me.
| Equal to.
Aroom in Cymbeline's palace.
Enter Cymbeline, Queen, Cloten, Lucius, and
Thanks, royal sir. My emperor hath wrote;
must from hence;
Our subjects, sir,
So, sir, I desire of you
Cym. My lords, you are appointed for that of.
The due of honour in no point omit:
Your hand, my lord.
Sir, the event Is yet to pame the winner; Fare you well. Cym. Leave not the worthy Lucius, good my
lords, Till he have cross'd the Severn.-Happiness !
[Ereunt Lucius, and Lords. Queen. He goes hence frowning: but it honours
us, That we have given him cause. clo.
'Tis all the better; Your valiant Britons have their wishes in it.
Cym. Lucius hath wrote already to the emperor How it goes here. It fits us therefore, ripely, Our chariots and our horsemen be in readiness: The powers that he already hath in Gallia Will soon be drawn to head, from whence he moves His war for Britain. Queen.
'Tis not sleepy business; But must be look'd to speedily, and strongly.
Cym. Our expectation that it would be thus,
[Exit an Attendant. Queen.
Royal sir, Since the exile of Posthumus, most retir'd Hath her life been; the cure whereof, my lord, 'Tis time must do. 'Beseech your majesty, Forbear sharp speeches to her: she's a lady So tender of rebukes, that words are strokes, And strokes death to her.
Re-enter an Attendant.
Where is she, sir? How Can her contempt be answer'd ? Atten.
Please you, sir, Her chambers are all lock'd; and there's no answer That will be given to the loud'st of noise we make.
Queen. My lord, when last I went to visit her, She pray'd me to excuse her keeping close; Whereto constrain'd by her infirmity, She should that duty leave unpaid to you, Which daily she was bound to proffer: this She wish'd me to make known; but our great court Made me to blame in memory. Cym.
Her doors lock'd ?