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| SCENE III. A room in Cymbeline's palace. |
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Enter CYMBELINE, Lords, PISANIO, and Attendants
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| CYMBELINE |
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Again; and bring me word how 'tis with her.
Exit an Attendant
A fever with the absence of her son,
A madness, of which her life's in danger. Heavens,
How deeply you at once do touch me! Imogen,
5 The great part of my comfort, gone; my queen
Upon a desperate bed, and in a time
When fearful wars point at me; her son gone,
So needful for this present: it strikes me, past
The hope of comfort. But for thee, fellow,
10 Who needs must know of her departure and
Dost seem so ignorant, we'll enforce it from thee
By a sharp torture.
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| PISANIO |
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Sir, my life is yours;
I humbly set it at your will; but, for my mistress,
15 I nothing know where she remains, why gone,
Nor when she purposes return. Beseech your highness,
Hold me your loyal servant.
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| First Lord |
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Good my liege,
The day that she was missing he was here:
20 I dare be bound he's true and shall perform
All parts of his subjection loyally. For Cloten,
There wants no diligence in seeking him,
And will, no doubt, be found.
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| CYMBELINE |
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The time is troublesome.
To PISANIO
25 We'll slip you for a season; but our jealousy
Does yet depend.
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| First Lord |
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So please your majesty,
The Roman legions, all from Gallia drawn,
Are landed on your coast, with a supply
30 Of Roman gentlemen, by the senate sent.
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| CYMBELINE |
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Now for the counsel of my son and queen!
I am amazed with matter.
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| First Lord |
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Good my liege,
Your preparation can affront no less
35 Than what you hear of: come more, for more
you're ready:
The want is but to put those powers in motion
That long to move.
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| CYMBELINE |
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I thank you. Let's withdraw;
40 And meet the time as it seeks us. We fear not
What can from Italy annoy us; but
We grieve at chances here. Away!
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Exeunt all but PISANIO
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| PISANIO |
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I heard no letter from my master since
I wrote him Imogen was slain: 'tis strange:
45 Nor hear I from my mistress who did promise
To yield me often tidings: neither know I
What is betid to Cloten; but remain
Perplex'd in all. The heavens still must work.
Wherein I am false I am honest; not true, to be true.
50 These present wars shall find I love my country,
Even to the note o' the king, or I'll fall in them.
All other doubts, by time let them be clear'd:
Fortune brings in some boats that are not steer'd.
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Exit
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