I prithee call me. Sleep hath seized me wholly.

⌈Exit Helen⌉

To your protection I commend me, gods.

From fairies and the tempters of the night

Guard me, beseech ye.

She sleeps.

Giacomo comes from the trunk

GIACOMO

The crickets sing, and man’s o‘er-laboured sense

Repairs itself by rest. Our Tarquin thus

Did softly press the rushes ere he wakened

The chastity he wounded. Cytherea,

How bravely thou becom’st thy bed! Fresh lily,

And whiter than the sheets! That I might touch,

But kiss, one kiss! Rubies unparagoned,

How dearly they do‘t! ’Tis her breathing that

Perfumes the chamber thus. The flame o‘th’ taper

Bows toward her, and would underpeep her lids,

To see th’enclosed lights, now canopied

Under these windows, white and azure-laced

With blue of heaven’s own tinct. But my design-

To note the chamber. I will write all down.

He writes in his tables

Such and such pictures, there the window, such

Th‘adornment of her bed, the arras, figures,

Why, such and such; and the contents o’th’ story.

Ah, but some natural notes about her body

Above ten thousand meaner movables

Would testify t’enrich mine inventory.

O sleep, thou ape of death, lie dull upon her,

And be her sense but as a monument

Thus in a chapel lying. Come off, come off;

As slippery as the Gordian knot was hard.

He takes the bracelet from her arm

‘Tis mine, and this will witness outwardly,

As strongly as the conscience does within,

To th’ madding of her lord. On her left breast

A mole, cinque-spotted, like the crimson drops

I’th’ bottom of a cowslip. Here’s a voucher

Stronger than ever law could make. This secret

Will force him think I have picked the lock and

ta’en

The treasure of her honour. No more. To what end?

Why should I write this down that’s riveted,

Screwed to my memory? She hath been reading late,

The tale of Tereus. Here the leaf’s turned down

Where Philomel gave up. I have enough.

To th’ trunk again, and shut the spring of it.

Swift, swift, you dragons of the night, that dawning

May bare the raven’s eye! I lodge in fear.

Though this’ a heavenly angel, hell is here.

Clock strikes

One, two, three. Time, time!

Exit into the trunk. ⌈The bed and trunk are removed⌉

2.3 Enter Cloten and the two Lords

FIRST LORD Your lordship is the most patient man in loss, the most coldest that ever turned up ace.

CLOTEN It would make any man cold to lose.

FIRST LORD But not every man patient after the noble temper of your lordship. You are most hot and furious when you win.

CLOTEN Winning will put any man into courage. If I could get this foolish Innogen I should have gold enough. It’s almost morning, is’t not?

FIRST LORD Day, my lord.

CLOTEN I would this music would come. I am advised to give her music o’ mornings; they say it will penetrate.

Enter Musicians

Come on, tune. If you can penetrate her with your fingering, so; we’ll try with tongue too. If none will do, let her remain; but I’ll never give o’er. First, a very excellent good-conceited thing; after, a wonderful sweet air with admirable rich words to it; and then let her consider.

⌈Music⌉

⌈MUSICIAN⌉ (sings)

Hark, hark, the lark at heaven gate sings,

And Phoebus gins arise,

His steeds to water at those springs

On chaticed flowers that lies,

And winking Mary-buds begin to ope their golden eyes;

With everything that pretty is, my lady sweet, arise,

Arise, arise!

CLOTEN So, get you gone. If this penetrate I will consider your music the better; if it do not, it is a vice in her ears which horse hairs and calves’ guts nor the voice of unpaved eunuch to boot can never amend.

Exeunt Musicians

Enter Cymbeline and the Queen

SECOND LORD Here comes the King.

CLOTEN I am glad I was up so late, for that’s the reason I was up so early. He cannot choose but take this service I have done fatherly. Good morrow to your majesty, and to my gracious mother.

CYMBELINE

Attend you here the door of our stern daughter?

Will she not forth?

CLOTEN I have assailed her with musics, but she vouchsafes no notice.

CYMBELINE

The exile of her minion is too new.

She hath not yet forgot him. Some more time

Must wear the print of his remembrance out,

And then she’s yours.

QUEEN (to Cloten) You are most bound to th’ King,

Who lets go by no vantages that may

Prefer you to his daughter. Frame yourself

To orderly solicits, and be friended

With aptness of the season. Make denials

Increase your services; so seem as if

You were inspired to do those duties which

You tender to her; that you in all obey her,

Save when command to your dismission tends,

And therein you are senseless.

CLOTEN

Senseless? Not so.

Enter a Messenger

MESSENGER (to Cymbeline)

So like you, sir, ambassadors from Rome;

The one is Caius Lucius.

CYMBELINE

A worthy fellow,

Albeit he comes on angry purpose now:

But that’s no fault of his. We must receive him

According to the honour of his sender,

And towards himself, his goodness forespent on us,

We must extend our notice. Our dear son,