Come, Ile to my Chamber: would there had
beene some hurt done
2 I wish not so, vnlesse it had bin the fall of an Asse,
which is no great hurt
Clot. You'l go with vs?
1 Ile attend your Lordship
Clot. Nay come, let's go together
2 Well my Lord.
Exeunt.
Scena Quarta.
Enter Imogen, and Pisanio.
Imo. I would thou grew'st vnto the shores o'th' Hauen,
And questioned'st euery Saile: if he should write,
And I not haue it, 'twere a Paper lost
As offer'd mercy is: What was the last
That he spake to thee?
Pisa. It was his Queene, his Queene
Imo. Then wau'd his Handkerchiefe?
Pisa. And kist it, Madam
Imo. Senselesse Linnen, happier therein then I:
And that was all?
Pisa. No Madam: for so long
As he could make me with his eye, or eare,
Distinguish him from others, he did keepe
The Decke, with Gloue, or Hat, or Handkerchife,
Still wauing, as the fits and stirres of's mind
Could best expresse how slow his Soule sayl'd on,
How swift his Ship
Imo. Thou should'st haue made him
As little as a Crow, or lesse, ere left
To after-eye him
Pisa. Madam, so I did
Imo. I would haue broke mine eye-strings;
Crack'd them, but to looke vpon him, till the diminution
Of space, had pointed him sharpe as my Needle:
Nay, followed him, till he had melted from
The smalnesse of a Gnat, to ayre: and then
Haue turn'd mine eye, and wept. But good Pisanio,
When shall we heare from him
Pisa.
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