My purpose would prove well. It cannot be

But that my master is abused. Some villain,

Ay, and singular in his art, hath done you both

This cursed injury.

INNOGEN Some Roman courtesan.

PISANIO No, on my life.

I’ll give but notice you are dead, and send him

Some bloody sign of it, for ’tis commanded

I should do so. You shall be missed at court,

And that will well confirm it.

INNOGEN

Why, good fellow,

What shall I do the while, where bide, how live,

Or in my life what comfort when I am

Dead to my husband?

PISANIO

If you’ll back to th’ court—

INNOGEN

No court, no father, nor no more ado

With that harsh, churlish, noble, simple nothing,

That Cloten, whose love suit hath been to me

As fearful as a siege.

PISANIO

If not at court,

Then not in Britain must you bide.

INNOGEN

Where then?

Hath Britain all the sun that shines? Day, night,

Are they not but in Britain? I‘th’ world’s volume

Our Britain seems as of it but not in’t,

In a great pool a swan’s nest. Prithee, think

There’s livers out of Britain.

PISANIO

I am most glad

You think of other place. Th‘ambassador,

Lucius the Roman, comes to Milford Haven

Tomorrow. Now if you could wear a mind

Dark as your fortune is, and but disguise

That which t’appear itself must not yet be

But by self-danger, you should tread a course

Pretty and full of view; yea, haply near

The residence of Posthumus; so nigh, at least,

That though his actions were not visible, yet

Report should render him hourly to your ear

As truly as he moves.

INNOGEN

O, for such means,

Though peril to my modesty, not death on’t,

I would adventure.

PISANIO

Well then, here’s the point:

You must forget to be a woman; change

Command into obedience, fear and niceness—

The handmaids of all women, or more truly

Woman it pretty self—into a waggish courage,

Ready in gibes, quick-answered, saucy and

As quarrelous as the weasel. Nay, you must

Forget that rarest treasure of your cheek,

Exposing it—but O, the harder heart!—

Alack, no remedy—to the greedy touch

Of common-kissing Titan, and forget

Your laboursome and dainty trims wherein

You made great Juno angry.

INNOGEN

Nay, be brief.

I see into thy end, and am almost

A man already.

PISANIO

First, make yourself but like one.

Forethinking this, I have already fit—

’Tis in my cloak-bag—doublet, hat, hose, all

That answer to them. Would you in their serving,

And with what imitation you can borrow

From youth of such a season, fore noble Lucius

Present yourself, desire his service, tell him

Wherein you’re happy—which will make him know

If that his head have ear in music—doubtless

With joy he will embrace you, for he’s honourable,

And, doubling that, most holy. Your means abroad—

You have me, rich, and I will never fail

Beginning nor supplyment.

INNOGEN

Thou art all the comfort

The gods will diet me with. Prithee away.

There’s more to be considered, but we’ll even

All that good time will give us. This attempt

I am soldier to, and will abide it with

A prince’s courage. Away, I prithee.

PISANIO

Well, madam, we must take a short farewell

Lest, being missed, 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-qualmed 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.

INNOGEN

Amen. I thank thee.

Exeunt severally

3.5 ⌈Flourish.⌉ Enter Cymbeline, the Queen, Cloten, Lucius, and lords

CYMBELINE (to Lucius)

Thus far, and so farewell.

LUCIUS Thanks, royal sir.

My emperor hath wrote I must from hence;

And am right sorry that I must report ye

My master’s enemy.

CYMBELINE

Our subjects, sir,

Will not endure his yoke, and for ourself

To show less sovereignty than they must needs

Appear unkinglike.

LUCIUS

So, sir, I desire of you

A conduct over land to Milford Haven.

(To the Queen) Madam, all joy befall your grace, ⌈to Cloten⌉ and you.

CYMBELINE

My lords, you are appointed for that office.

The due of honour in no point omit.

So farewell, noble Lucius.

LUCIUS

Your hand, my lord.

CLOTEN

Receive it friendly, but from this time forth

I wear it as your enemy.

LUCIUS

Sir, the event

Is yet to name the winner. Fare you well.

CYMBELINE

Leave not the worthy Lucius, good my lords,

Till he have crossed the Severn. Happiness.

Exeunt Lucius and lords

QUEEN

He goes hence frowning, but it honours us

That we have given him cause.

CLOTEN

’Tis all the better.

Your valiant Britons have their wishes in it.

CYMBELINE

Lucius hath wrote already to the Emperor

How it goes here. It fits us therefore ripely