Act I, Scene 6

The same. Another room in the palace.

[Enter IMOGEN]

• Imogen. A father cruel, and a step-dame false;
  A foolish suitor to a wedded lady,
  That hath her husband banish'd;—O, that husband!
  My supreme crown of grief! and those repeated 605
  Vexations of it! Had I been thief-stol'n,
  As my two brothers, happy! but most miserable
  Is the desire that's glorious: blest be those,
  How mean soe'er, that have their honest wills,
  Which seasons comfort. Who may this be? Fie! 610

[Enter PISANIO and IACHIMO]

• Pisanio. Madam, a noble gentleman of Rome,
  Comes from my lord with letters.

• Iachimo. Change you, madam?
  The worthy Leonatus is in safety 615
  And greets your highness dearly.

[Presents a letter]

• Imogen. Thanks, good sir:
  You're kindly welcome.

• Iachimo. [Aside] All of her that is out of door most rich! 620
  If she be furnish'd with a mind so rare,
  She is alone the Arabian bird, and I
  Have lost the wager. Boldness be my friend!
  Arm me, audacity, from head to foot!
  Or, like the Parthian, I shall flying fight; 625
  Rather directly fly.

• Imogen. [Reads] 'He is one of the noblest note, to whose
  kindnesses I am most infinitely tied. Reflect upon
  him accordingly, as you value your trust—
  LEONATUS.' 630
  So far I read aloud:
  But even the very middle of my heart
  Is warm'd by the rest, and takes it thankfully.
  You are as welcome, worthy sir, as I
  Have words to bid you, and shall find it so 635
  In all that I can do.

• Iachimo. Thanks, fairest lady.
  What, are men mad? Hath nature given them eyes
  To see this vaulted arch, and the rich crop
  Of sea and land, which can distinguish 'twixt 640
  The fiery orbs above and the twinn'd stones
  Upon the number'd beach? and can we not
  Partition make with spectacles so precious
  'Twixt fair and foul?

• Imogen. What makes your admiration? 645

• Iachimo. It cannot be i' the eye, for apes and monkeys
  'Twixt two such shes would chatter this way and
  Contemn with mows the other; nor i' the judgment,
  For idiots in this case of favour would
  Be wisely definite; nor i' the appetite; 650
  Sluttery to such neat excellence opposed
  Should make desire vomit emptiness,
  Not so allured to feed.

• Imogen. What is the matter, trow?

• Iachimo. The cloyed will, 655
  That satiate yet unsatisfied desire, that tub
  Both fill'd and running, ravening first the lamb
  Longs after for the garbage.

• Imogen. What, dear sir,
  Thus raps you? Are you well? 660

• Iachimo. Thanks, madam; well.
  [To PISANIO]
  Beseech you, sir, desire
  My man's abode where I did leave him: he
  Is strange and peevish. 665

• Pisanio. I was going, sir,
  To give him welcome.

[Exit]

• Imogen. Continues well my lord? His health, beseech you?

• Iachimo. Well, madam. 670

• Imogen. Is he disposed to mirth? I hope he is.

• Iachimo. Exceeding pleasant; none a stranger there
  So merry and so gamesome: he is call'd
  The Briton reveller.

• Imogen. When he was here, 675
  He did incline to sadness, and oft-times
  Not knowing why.

• Iachimo. I never saw him sad.
  There is a Frenchman his companion, one
  An eminent monsieur, that, it seems, much loves 680
  A Gallian girl at home; he furnaces
  The thick sighs from him, whiles the jolly Briton—
  Your lord, I mean—laughs from's free lungs, cries 'O,
  Can my sides hold, to think that man, who knows
  By history, report, or his own proof, 685
  What woman is, yea, what she cannot choose
  But must be, will his free hours languish for
  Assured bondage?'

• Imogen. Will my lord say so?

• Iachimo. Ay, madam, with his eyes in flood with laughter: 690
  It is a recreation to be by
  And hear him mock the Frenchman. But, heavens know,
  Some men are much to blame.

• Imogen. Not he, I hope.

• Iachimo. Not he: but yet heaven's bounty towards him might 695
  Be used more thankfully. In himself, 'tis much;
  In you, which I account his beyond all talents,
  Whilst I am bound to wonder, I am bound
  To pity too.

• Imogen. What do you pity, sir? 700

• Iachimo. Two creatures heartily.

• Imogen. Am I one, sir?
  You look on me: what wreck discern you in me
  Deserves your pity?

• Iachimo. Lamentable! What, 705
  To hide me from the radiant sun and solace
  I' the dungeon by a snuff?

• Imogen. I pray you, sir,
  Deliver with more openness your answers
  To my demands. Why do you pity me? 710

• Iachimo. That others do—
  I was about to say—enjoy your—But
  It is an office of the gods to venge it,
  Not mine to speak on 't.

• Imogen. You do seem to know 715
  Something of me, or what concerns me: pray you,—
  Since doubling things go ill often hurts more
  Than to be sure they do; for certainties
  Either are past remedies, or, timely knowing,
  The remedy then born—discover to me 720
  What both you spur and stop.

• Iachimo. Had I this cheek
  To bathe my lips upon; this hand, whose touch,
  Whose every touch, would force the feeler's soul
  To the oath of loyalty; this object, which 725
  Takes prisoner the wild motion of mine eye,
  Fixing it only here; should I, damn'd then,
  Slaver with lips as common as the stairs
  That mount the Capitol; join gripes with hands
  Made hard with hourly falsehood—falsehood, as 730
  With labour; then by-peeping in an eye
  Base and unlustrous as the smoky light
  That's fed with stinking tallow; it were fit
  That all the plagues of hell should at one time
  Encounter such revolt. 735

• Imogen. My lord, I fear,
  Has forgot Britain.

• Iachimo. And himself. Not I,
  Inclined to this intelligence, pronounce
  The beggary of his change; but 'tis your graces 740
  That from pay mutest conscience to my tongue
  Charms this report out.

• Imogen. Let me hear no more.

• Iachimo. O dearest soul! your cause doth strike my heart
  With pity, that doth make me sick. A lady 745
  So fair, and fasten'd to an empery,
  Would make the great'st king double,—to be partner'd
  With tomboys hired with that self-exhibition
  Which your own coffers yield! with diseased ventures
  That play with all infirmities for gold 750
  Which rottenness can lend nature! such boil'd stuff
  As well might poison poison! Be revenged;
  Or she that bore you was no queen, and you
  Recoil from your great stock.

• Imogen. Revenged! 755
  How should I be revenged? If this be true,—
  As I have such a heart that both mine ears
  Must not in haste abuse—if it be true,
  How should I be revenged?

• Iachimo. Should he make me 760
  Live, like Diana's priest, betwixt cold sheets,
  Whiles he is vaulting variable ramps,
  In your despite, upon your purse? Revenge it.
  I dedicate myself to your sweet pleasure,
  More noble than that runagate to your bed, 765
  And will continue fast to your affection,
  Still close as sure.

• Imogen. What, ho, Pisanio!

• Iachimo. Let me my service tender on your lips.

• Imogen. Away! I do condemn mine ears that have 770
  So long attended thee. If thou wert honourable,
  Thou wouldst have told this tale for virtue, not
  For such an end thou seek'st,—as base as strange.
  Thou wrong'st a gentleman, who is as far
  From thy report as thou from honour, and 775
  Solicit'st here a lady that disdains
  Thee and the devil alike. What ho, Pisanio!
  The king my father shall be made acquainted
  Of thy assault: if he shall think it fit,
  A saucy stranger in his court to mart 780
  As in a Romish stew and to expound
  His beastly mind to us, he hath a court
  He little cares for and a daughter who
  He not respects at all. What, ho, Pisanio!

• Iachimo. O happy Leonatus! I may say 785
  The credit that thy lady hath of thee
  Deserves thy trust, and thy most perfect goodness
  Her assured credit. Blessed live you long!
  A lady to the worthiest sir that ever
  Country call'd his! and you his mistress, only 790
  For the most worthiest fit! Give me your pardon.
  I have spoke this, to know if your affiance
  Were deeply rooted; and shall make your lord,
  That which he is, new o'er: and he is one
  The truest manner'd; such a holy witch 795
  That he enchants societies into him;
  Half all men's hearts are his.

• Imogen. You make amends.

• Iachimo. He sits 'mongst men like a descended god:
  He hath a kind of honour sets him off, 800
  More than a mortal seeming. Be not angry,
  Most mighty princess, that I have adventured
  To try your taking a false report; which hath
  Honour'd with confirmation your great judgment
  In the election of a sir so rare, 805
  Which you know cannot err: the love I bear him
  Made me to fan you thus, but the gods made you,
  Unlike all others, chaffless. Pray, your pardon.

• Imogen. All's well, sir: take my power i' the court
  for yours. 810

• Iachimo. My humble thanks. I had almost forgot
  To entreat your grace but in a small request,
  And yet of moment to, for it concerns
  Your lord; myself and other noble friends,
  Are partners in the business. 815

• Imogen. Pray, what is't?

• Iachimo. Some dozen Romans of us and your lord—
  The best feather of our wing—have mingled sums
  To buy a present for the emperor
  Which I, the factor for the rest, have done 820
  In France: 'tis plate of rare device, and jewels
  Of rich and exquisite form; their values great;
  And I am something curious, being strange,
  To have them in safe stowage: may it please you
  To take them in protection? 825

• Imogen. Willingly;
  And pawn mine honour for their safety: since
  My lord hath interest in them, I will keep them
  In my bedchamber.

• Iachimo. They are in a trunk, 830
  Attended by my men: I will make bold
  To send them to you, only for this night;
  I must aboard to-morrow.

• Imogen. O, no, no.

• Iachimo. Yes, I beseech; or I shall short my word 835
  By lengthening my return. From Gallia
  I cross'd the seas on purpose and on promise
  To see your grace.

• Imogen. I thank you for your pains:
  But not away to-morrow! 840

• Iachimo. O, I must, madam:
  Therefore I shall beseech you, if you please
  To greet your lord with writing, do't to-night:
  I have outstood my time; which is material
  To the tender of our present. 845

• Imogen. I will write.
  Send your trunk to me; it shall safe be kept,
  And truly yielded you. You're very welcome.

[Exeunt]