Another room
in the palace.[Enter PISANIO, with a letter]
PISANIO
How? of adultery? Wherefore write you not
What monster’s her accuser? Leonatus,
O master! what a strange infection
Is fall’n into thy ear! What false Italian,
As poisonous-tongued as handed, hath prevail’d
On thy too ready hearing? Disloyal! No:
She’s punish’d for her truth, and undergoes,
More goddess-like than wife-like, such assaults
As would take in some virtue. O my master!
Thy mind to her is now as low as were
Thy fortunes. How! that I should murder her?
Upon the love and truth and vows which I
Have made to thy command? I, her? her blood?
If it be so to do good service, never
Let me be counted serviceable. How look I,
That I should seem to lack humanity
so much as this fact comes to?
[Reading]
‘Do’t: the letter
that I have sent her, by her own command
Shall give thee opportunity.’ O damn’d paper!
Black as the ink that’s on thee! Senseless bauble,
Art thou a feodary for this act, and look’st
So virgin-like without? Lo, here she comes.
I am ignorant in what I am commanded.
[Enter IMOGEN]
IMOGEN How now, Pisanio!
PISANIO Madam, here is a letter from my lord.
IMOGEN [Reads]
‘Justice, and your father’s wrath, should he take me
in his dominion, could not be so cruel to me, as
you, O the dearest of creatures, would even renew me
with your eyes. Take notice that I am in Cambria,
at Milford-Haven: what your own love will out of
this advise you, follow. So he wishes you all
happiness, that remains loyal to his vow, and your,
increasing in love,
LEONATUS POSTHUMUS.’
O, for a horse with wings! Hear’st thou, Pisanio?
He is at Milford-Haven: read, and tell me
How far ’tis thither. If one of mean affairs
May plod it in a week, why may not I
Glide thither in a day? Prithee, speak,
How many score of miles may we well ride
‘Twixt hour and hour?
PISANIO One score ‘twixt sun and sun,
Madam, ‘s enough for you:
[Aside]
and too much too.
IMOGEN Why, one that rode to’s execution, man,
Could never go so slow: But this is foolery:
Go bid my woman feign a sickness; say
She’ll home to her father: and provide me presently
A riding-suit, no costlier than would fit
A franklin’s housewife.
PISANIO Madam, you’re best consider.
IMOGEN I see before me, man: nor here, nor here,
Nor what ensues, but have a fog in them,
That I cannot look through. Away, I prithee;
Do as I bid thee: there’s no more to say,
Accessible is none but Milford way.
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