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Dark as your fortune is, and but disguise
Imo. Oh, for such means !
Pis. Well then, here's the point :
mind to do with the concealment of person, which is here advised ? On the contrary, her mind was to continue unchanged, in order to support her change of fortune. Shakespeare wrote,
- Now, if you could wear a mein. Or according to the French orthography, from whence I prefume arose the corruption :
Now, if you could wear a mine. WARBURTON. To wear a dark mind, is to carry a mind impenetrable to the search of others. Darkness applied to the mind is secrecy, applied to the fortune is obscurity. The next lines are obscure, You must, says Pisanio, disgnise that greatness, which, to appear hereafter in its proper form, cannot yet appear without gre danger to itself. JOHNSON,
s full of view;-) With opportunities of examining your affairs with your own eyes. JOHNSON. 6 Though peril to my modesty, --] I read,
nay, you must
Forget that rarest treasure of your cheek ;
Imo. Nay, be brief :
Pif. First, make yourself but like one.
Imo. Thou art all the comfort
distress on the cruelty of Pofthumus. Dr. WARRURTON proposes to read, the harder hap!
-- JOHNSON. which you'll make him know,] This is HANMER'S reading. The common books have it,
which will make him know. Mr. THEOBALD, in one of his long notes, endeavours to prove, that it should be,
which will make him fo. He is followed by Dr. WARBURTON. Johnson.
All that good time -will give us. -] We'll make our work even with our time; we'll do what time will allow.
All that good time will give us.
1 This attempt I am soldier to, and will abide it with A prince's courage. Away, I pr’ythee.
Pis. Well, madam, we must take a short farewell ; Left, being miss’d, 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-qualm’d 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!
1:20. Amen: I thank thee, (Exeunt, severally.
Enter Cymbeline, Queen, "Cloten, Lucius, and Lords.
Cvm. Thus far ; and so farewell.
L:16. Thanks, royal Sir.
Cym. Our subjects, Sir,
Luc. So, Sir: I desire of you
Cym. My lords, you are appointed for that office;
I am foldier 10, -] i. e. I have inlisted and bound myself to it. WAR BURTON
The due of honour in no point omit:
Luc. Your hand, my lord.
Clot. Receive it friendly: but from this time forth
Luc. The event
well. Cym. Leave not the worthy Lucius, good my lords, Till he have croft the Severn. - Happiness!
[Exit Lucius, &c. Queen. He goes hence frowning: but it honours us, That we have given him cause.
Ciot. Tis all the better;
Cym. Lucius hath wrote already to the emperor
here. It fits us therefore, ripely,
Queen. 'Tis not sleepy business ;
must be look'd to speedily, and strongly,
Cym. Our expectation that it should be thus,
Queen. Royal Sir,
Re-enter the Servant.
Cym. Where is she, Sir? How Can her contempt be answer'd ?
Serv. Please you, Sir, Her chambers are all lock'd; and there's no answer That will be given to the loud noise we make.
Queen. My lord, when last I went to visit her, She pray'd me to excuse her keeping close; Whereto constrain’d by her infirmity, She should that duty leave unpaid to you, Which daily she was bound to proffer : this She wish'd me to make known; but our great court Made me to blame in memory.
Cym. Her doors lock'd ? Not seen of late ? grant heavens, that, which I fear, Prove false !
[Exit. Queen. Son, I say, follow the king.
Clot. That man of hers, Pifanio, her old servant, I have not seen these two days.
[Exit. Queen. Go, look after Pisanio, that stands fo 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 feiz’d her; Or, wing'd with fervor of her love, she's flown To her defir'd Posthumus : gone fhe 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.
How now, my son ?
Clot. 'Tis certain, she is fled.