Act I · Scene III
A room in Cymbeline's palace.
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Enter IMOGEN and PISANIO
IMOGEN
I would thou grew'st unto the shores o' the haven,And question'dst every sail: if he should writeAnd not have it, 'twere a paper lost,As offer'd mercy is. What was the lastThat he spake to thee?
PISANIO
It was his queen, his queen!
IMOGEN
Then waved his handkerchief?
PISANIO
And kiss'd it, madam.
IMOGEN
Senseless Linen! happier therein than I!And that was all?
PISANIO
No, madam; for so longAs he could make me with this eye or earDistinguish him from others, he did keepThe deck, with glove, or hat, or handkerchief,Still waving, as the fits and stirs of 's mindCould best express how slow his soul sail'd on,How swift his ship.
IMOGEN
Thou shouldst have made himAs little as a crow, or less, ere leftTo after-eye him.
PISANIO
Madam, so I did.
IMOGEN
I would have broke mine eye-strings; crack'd them, butTo look upon him, till the diminutionOf space had pointed him sharp as my needle,Nay, follow'd him, till he had melted fromThe smallness of a gnat to air, and thenHave turn'd mine eye and wept. But, good Pisanio,When shall we hear from him?
PISANIO
Be assured, madam,With his next vantage.
IMOGEN
I did not take my leave of him, but hadMost pretty things to say: ere I could tell himHow I would think on him at certain hoursSuch thoughts and such, or I could make him swearThe shes of Italy should not betrayMine interest and his honour, or have charged him,At the sixth hour of morn, at noon, at midnight,To encounter me with orisons, for thenI am in heaven for him; or ere I couldGive him that parting kiss which I had setBetwixt two charming words, comes in my fatherAnd like the tyrannous breathing of the northShakes all our buds from growing.
Enter a Lady
Lady
The queen, madam,Desires your highness' company.
IMOGEN
Those things I bid you do, get them dispatch'd.I will attend the queen.
PISANIO
Madam, I shall.
Exeunt