Bear to my closet; fare thee well, Pifanio,

Think on my words.

Pif. And fhall do:

[Exeunt Queen and Ladies.

But when to my good Lord I prove untrue,

I'll choak my felf; there's all I'll do for You. [Exit.

Imo.

SCENE changes to Imogen's Apartments.

A

Enter Imogen alone.

Father cruel, and a Stepdame false, A foolish fuitor to a wedded lady, That hath her husband banish'd-O, that husband! My fupream Crown of grief, and those repeated Vexations of it had I been thief-ftoln,

As my two brothers, happy! (9) but most miferable
Is the defire, that's glorious. Blefs'd be thofe,
How mean foe'er, that have their honeft wills,
Which feafons comfort. Who may this be? fie!

Enter Pifanio, and Iachimo.

Pif. Madam, a noble Gentleman of Rome Comes from my Lord with letters.

Iach. Change you, Madam?

The worthy Leonatus is in fafety,
And greets your Highness dearly.
Imo. Thanks, good Sir,
You're kindly welcome.:

(9)

but most miferable

Is the Defire, that's glorious.] Tho' This connects perfectly well both with what goes before, and what follows, yet it is obfcure enough to deferve a fhort Comment. "Her Husband, he fays, proves her fupream Grief. She had been happy, had she been ftoln as her Bro"thers were: but now She is most miserable, as all thofe are, who have

Senfe of Worth and Honour fuperiour to the Vulgar: For This occafions them infinite Vexations, with the worthlefs and envious Part of "Mankind. Had She not had fo refin'd a Tafte, as to be only con"ténted with the fuperiour Merits of a Pofthumus; but could have ta"ken up with a Cloten; She might have efcap'd all these Vexations. "This Elegance of Tafte, that always difcovers an Excellence, and "chufes it, She calls with the utmoft Stretch of the Sublime, "Defire that's glorious.

the

Mr. Warburton,

[afide.

Iach. All of her, that is out of door, moft rich!
If the be furnish'd with a mind fo rare,
She is alone th' Arabian bird; and I
Have loft the wager. Boldness be
my friend!
Arm me, Audacity, from head to foot:
Or, like the Parthian, I fhall flying fight,
Rather directly flye.

He is one of the

moft infinitely tyed. value your trust.

Imogen reads.

nobleft note, to whofe kindnesses I am Reflect upon him accordingly, as you

So far I read aloud :

But even the very middle of my heart

Leonatus.

Is warm'd by th' reft, and takes it thankfully..
You are as welcome, worthy Sir, as I

Have words to bid you; and fhall find it fo,
In all that I can do.

Iach. Thanks, faireft Lady.

What! are men mad? hath Nature given them eyes
To fee this vaulted arch, and the rich crop
Of fea and land, which can diftinguish 'twixt
The fiery orbs above, (10) and the twinn'd ftones
Upon th' unnumber'd beach? and can we not
Partition make with fpectacles fo precious
"Twixt fair and foul?

(10)

and the twinn'd Stones

Upon the number'd Beach.] I have no Idea, in what Sense the Beach, or Shore, fhould be call'd number'd. I have ventur'd, against all the Copies, to fubftitute

Upon th'unnumber'd Beach.

i. e. the infinite, extenfive Beach, if we are to understand the Epithet as coupled to That Word. But I rather think, the Poet intended an Hpallage, like That in the Beginning of Ovid's Metamorphofes :

(In nova fert Animus mutatas dicere formas

Corpora,)

And then we are to understand the Paffage thus; and the infinite Num ber of twinn'd Stones upon the Beach. The Poet has given them the fame Epithet before, in his Lear.

The murm'ring Surge,

That on th' unnumber'd idle Pebbles chafes,

Cannot be beard fo far.

Imo. What makes your admiration?

Iach. It cannot be i'th' eye; (for apes and monkeys, 'Twixt two fuch fhe's, would chatter this way, and Contemn with mowes the other:) Nor i'th' judgment; (For Ideots, in this cafe of Favour, would Be wifely definite :) Nor i' th' appetite: (Slutt'ry, to fuch neat excellence oppos'd, (11) Should make defire vomit emptiness, Not fo allur'd to feed.)

Imo. What is the matter, trow?
Iach. The cloyed will,

That fatiate, yet unfatisfy'd defire, (that tub,
Both fill'd and running;) ravening first the lamb,
Longs after for the garbage-

Imo. What, dear Sir,

Thus raps you? are you wel?

Iach. Thanks, Madam, well-Befeech you, Sir,

[To Pifanio,

Defire my man's abode, where I did leave him;

He's ftrange, and peevish.

Pif. I was going, Sir,

To give him welcome.

Imo. Continues well my Lord

His health, beseech you?

Iach. Well, Madam.

Imo. Is he difpos'd to mirth? I hope, he is.
Iach. Exceeding pleafant; none a Stranger there
So merry, and fo gamefome; he is call'd

The Britaine Reveller.

Imo. When he was here,

He did incline to sadness, and oft times
Not knowing why.

Iach. I never faw him fad.

There is a Frenchman his companion, one,

(11) Should make Defire vomit ev'n Emptiness.] None of the old Books acknowledge this Monofyllable, ev'n; and therefore I have cafhier'd it. Mr. Pope inferted it; and thought, no doubt, he was doing eminent Service to the Verfe. He did not know, or obferve, that the Poet intended here to make Defire a trifyllable; as he perpetually almoft extends fire and hour, in Scanfion, to two Syllables.

An

An eminent Monfieur, that, it feems, much loves
A Gallian girl at home. He furnaces

The thick fighs from him; whiles the jolly Britain,
(Your Lord, I mean,) laughs from's free lungs, cries
Oh!

Can my fides hold, to think, that man, who knows
By history, report, or his own proof,

What woman is, yea, what the cannot chufe

But muft be, will his free hours languish out
For affur'd bondage?

Imo. Will my Lord fay fo?

Iach. Ay, Madam, with his eyes in flood with laughter. It is a recreation to be by,

man

And hear him mock the Frenchman: but heav'n knows,
Some men are much to blame.

Imo. Not he, I hope.

Iach. Not he. But yet heav'n's Bounty tow'rds him
might

Be us'd more thankfully. In himself, 'tis much;
In you, whom I count his, beyond all talents;
Whilft I am bound to wonder, I am bound

To pity too.

Imo. What do you pity, Sir?

Iach. Two creatures heartily.

Imo. Am I one, Sir?

You look on me; what wreck difcern you in me,

Deferves your pity?

Iach. Lamentable! what!

To hide me from the radiant Sun, and folace

I'th' dungeon by a snuff?

Imo. I pray you, Sir,

Deliver with more opennefs your answers

To my demands.

Why do you pity me?

Iach. That others do,

I was about to fay, enjoy your-but

It is an office of the Gods to venge it,

Not mine to fpeak on't.

Imo. You do seem to know

Something of me, or what concerns me; pray you, (Since doubting things go ill, often hurts more

Than

Than to be fure they do; for certainties.
Or are past remedies, or timely knowing,
The remedy then born;) difcover to me
What both you spur and stop.

Iach. Had I this cheek

To bath my lips upon; this hand, whofe touch,
Whose ev'ry, touch would force the feeler's foul
To th' oath of loyalty, this object, which
Takes pris'ner the wild motion of mine eye,
Fixing it only here; fhould I, (damn'd then,)
Slaver with lips, as common as the stairs
That mount the Capitol, join gripes with hands
Made hard with hourly falfhood, as with labour;
Then glad my felf by peeping in an eye,
Bafe and unluftrous as the fmoaky light
That's fed with ftinking tallow; it were fit,
That all the plagues of hell fhould at one time
Encounter fuch revolt.

Imo. My Lord, I fear,

Has forgot Britain.

lach. And himself. Not I,

Inclin'd to this intelligence, pronounce

The beggary of his Change; but 'tis your graces,
That from my muteft confcience, to my tongue,
Charms this report out.

Imo. Let me hear no more.

Iach. O dearest foul! your caufe doth ftrike my heart With pity, that doth make me fick. A Lady

So fair, and faftned to an empery,

Would make the great'ft King double! to be partner'd With tomboys, hir'd with that felf-exhibition

Which your own coffers yield!

tures,

-with diseas'd ven

That play with all infirmities for gold,

Which rottennefs lends nature! fuch boyl'd stuff,
As well might poifon Poifon! Be reveng'd;

Or fhe, that bore you, was no Queen, and you
Recoil from your great Stock.

Imo. Reveng'd!

How fhould I be reveng'd, if this be true?

(As