Act III · Scene II
Another room in the palace.
Hover a speech to translate it — or press play to hear it performed.
Enter PISANIO, with a letter
PISANIO
How? of adultery? Wherefore write you notWhat monster's her accuser? Leonatus,O master! what a strange infectionIs fall'n into thy ear! What false Italian,As poisonous-tongued as handed, hath prevail'dOn thy too ready hearing? Disloyal! No:She's punish'd for her truth, and undergoes,More goddess-like than wife-like, such assaultsAs would take in some virtue. O my master!Thy mind to her is now as low as wereThy fortunes. How! that I should murder her?Upon the love and truth and vows which IHave made to thy command? I, her? her blood?If it be so to do good service, neverLet me be counted serviceable. How look I,That I should seem to lack humanityso much as this fact comes to?
Reading
PISANIO
'Do't: the letterthat I have sent her, by her own commandShall give thee opportunity.' O damn'd paper!Black as the ink that's on thee! Senseless bauble,Art thou a feodary for this act, and look'stSo virgin-like without? Lo, here she comes.I am ignorant in what I am commanded.
Enter IMOGEN
IMOGEN
How now, Pisanio!
PISANIO
Madam, here is a letter from my lord.
IMOGEN
Who? thy lord? that is my lord, Leonatus!O, learn'd indeed were that astronomerThat knew the stars as I his characters;He'ld lay the future open. You good gods,Let what is here contain'd relish of love,Of my lord's health, of his content, yet notThat we two are asunder; let that grieve him:Some griefs are med'cinable; that is one of them,For it doth physic love: of his content,All but in that! Good wax, thy leave. Blest beYou bees that make these locks of counsel! LoversAnd men in dangerous bonds pray not alike:Though forfeiters you cast in prison, yetYou clasp young Cupid's tables. Good news, gods!
Reads
IMOGEN
'Justice, and your father's wrath, should he take mein his dominion, could not be so cruel to me, asyou, O the dearest of creatures, would even renew mewith your eyes. Take notice that I am in Cambria,at Milford-Haven: what your own love will out ofthis advise you, follow. So he wishes you allhappiness, that remains loyal to his vow, and your,increasing in love,LEONATUS POSTHUMUS.'O, for a horse with wings! Hear'st thou, Pisanio?He is at Milford-Haven: read, and tell meHow far 'tis thither. If one of mean affairsMay plod it in a week, why may not IGlide thither in a day? Then, true Pisanio,--Who long'st, like me, to see thy lord; who long'st,--let me bate,-but not like me--yet long'st,But in a fainter kind:--O, not like me;For mine's beyond beyond--say, and speak thick;Love's counsellor should fill the bores of hearing,To the smothering of the sense--how far it isTo this same blessed Milford: and by the wayTell me how Wales was made so happy asTo inherit such a haven: but first of all,How we may steal from hence, and for the gapThat we shall make in time, from our hence-goingAnd our return, to excuse: but first, how get hence:Why should excuse be born or e'er begot?We'll talk of that hereafter. Prithee, speak,How many score of miles may we well ride'Twixt hour and hour?
PISANIO
One score 'twixt sun and sun,Madam, 's enough for you:
Aside
PISANIO
and too much too.
IMOGEN
Why, one that rode to's execution, man,Could never go so slow: I have heard ofriding wagers,Where horses have been nimbler than the sandsThat run i' the clock's behalf. But this is foolery:Go bid my woman feign a sickness; sayShe'll home to her father: and provide me presentlyA riding-suit, no costlier than would fitA franklin's housewife.
PISANIO
Madam, you're best consider.
IMOGEN
I see before me, man: nor here, nor here,Nor what ensues, but have a fog in them,That I cannot look through. Away, I prithee;Do as I bid thee: there's no more to say,Accessible is none but Milford way.
Exeunt