Our chariots and our horsemen be in readiness.

The powers that he already hath in Gallia

Will soon be drawn to head, from whence he moves

His war for Britain.

QUEEN

’Tis not sleepy business,

But must be looked to speedily and strongly.

CYMBELINE

Our expectation that it would be thus

Hath made us forward. But, my gentle queen,

Where is our daughter? She hath not appeared

Before the Roman, nor to us hath tendered

The duty of the day. She looks us like

A thing more made of malice than of duty.

We have noted it. Call her before us, for

We have been too slight in sufferance.

Exit one or more

QUEEN Royal Sir,

Since the exile of Posthumus most retired

Hath her life been, the cure ,whereof, my lord,

’Tis time must do. Beseech your majesty

Forbear sharp speeches to her. She’s a lady

So tender of rebukes that words are strokes,

And strokes death to her.

Enter a Messenger

CYMBELINE

Where is she, sir? How

Can her contempt be answered?

MESSENGER

Please you, sir,

Her chambers are all locked, and there’s no answer

That will be given to th’ loud’st of noise we make.

QUEEN

My lord, when last I went to visit her

She prayed me to excuse her keeping close,

Whereto constrained by her infirmity,

She should that duty leave unpaid to you

Which daily she was bound to proffer. This

She wished me to make known, but our great

court

Made me to blame in memory.

CYMBELINE

Her doors locked?

Not seen of late? Grant heavens that which I

Fear prove false.

Exit

QUEEN

on, I say, follow the King.

CLOTEN

That man of hers, Pisanio, her old servant,

I have not seen these two days.

QUEEN

Go, look after.

Exit Cloten

Pisanio, thou that stand’st so for Posthumus!

He hath a drug of mine. I pray his absence

Proceed by swallowing that, for he believes

It is a thing most precious. But for her,

Where is she gone? Haply despair hath seized her,

Or, winged with fervour of her love, she’s flown

To her desired Posthumus. Gone she is

To death or to dishonour, and my end

Can make good use of either. She being down,

I have the placing of the British crown.

Enter Cloten

How now, my son?

CLOTEN

’Tis certain she is fled.

Go in and cheer the King. He rages, none

Dare come about him.

QUEEN

All the better. May

This night forestall him of the coming day. Exit

CLOTEN

I love and hate her. For she’s fair and royal,

And that she hath all courtly parts more exquisite

Than lady, ladies, woman—from every one

The best she hath, and she, of all compounded,

Outsells them all—I love her therefore; but

Disdaining me, and throwing favours on

The low Posthumus, slanders so her judgement

That what’s else rare is choked; and in that point

I will conclude to hate her, nay, indeed,

To be revenged upon her. For when fools

Shall—

Enter Pisanio

Who is here? What, are you packing, sirrah?

Come hither. Ah, you precious pander! Villain,

Where is thy lady? In a word, or else

Thou art straightway with the fiends.

PISANIO

O good my lord!

CLOTEN

Where is thy lady?—or, by Jupiter,

I will not ask again. Close villain,

I’ll have this secret from thy tongue or rip

Thy heart to find it. Is she with Posthumus,

From whose so many weights of baseness cannot

A dram of worth be drawn?

PISANIO

Alas, my lord,

How can she be with him? When was she missed?

He is in Rome.

CLOTEN

Where is she, sir? Come nearer.

No farther halting. Satisfy me home

What is become of her.

PISANIO O my all-worthy lord!

CLOTEN All-worthy villain,

Discover where thy mistress is at once,

At the next word. No more of ‘worthy lord’.

Speak, or thy silence on the instant is

Thy condemnation and thy death.

PISANIO

Then, sir,

This paper is the history of my knowledge

Touching her flight.

He gives Cloten a letter

CLOTEN

Let’s see’t. I will pursue her

Even to Augustus’ throne.

PISANIO ⌈aside⌉

Or this or perish.

She’s far enough, and what he learns by this

May prove his travel, not her danger.

CLOTEN Hum!

PISANIO (aside)

I’ll write to my lord she’s dead. O Innogen,

Safe mayst thou wander, safe return again!

CLOTEN

Sirrah, is this letter true?

PISANIO

Sir, as I think.

CLOTEN It is Posthumus’ hand; I know’t. Sirrah, if thou wouldst not be a villain but do me true service, undergo those employments wherein I should have cause to use thee with a serious industry—that is, what villainy soe’er I bid thee do, to perform it directly and truly—I would think thee an honest man. Thou shouldst neither want my means for thy relief nor my voice for thy preferment.

PISANIO Well, my good lord.

CLOTEN Wilt thou serve me? For since patiently and constantly thou hast stuck to the bare fortune of that beggar Posthumus, thou canst not in the course of gratitude but be a diligent follower of mine. Wilt thou serve me? 121

PISANIO Sir, I will.

CLOTEN Give me thy hand. Here’s my purse. Hast any of thy late master’s garments in thy possession?

PISANIO I have, my lord, at my lodging the same suit he wore when he took leave of my lady and mistress.

CLOTEN The first service thou dost me, fetch that suit hither. Let it be thy first service. Go.

PISANIO I shall, my lord. Exit