SCENE III. A room in Cymbeline's palace. Cymbeline  Shakespeare homepage  |  Cymbeline  | Act 4, Scene 3 

 Previous scene  |  Next scene  SCENE III. A room in Cymbeline's palace. 

 Enter CYMBELINE, Lords, PISANIO, and Attendants  CYMBELINE  Again; and bring me word how 'tis with her. 



 Exit an Attendant  A fever with the absence of her son, 

 A madness, of which her life's in danger. Heavens, 

 How deeply you at once do touch me! Imogen, 

 The great part of my comfort, gone; my queen 

 Upon a desperate bed, and in a time 

 When fearful wars point at me; her son gone, 

 So needful for this present: it strikes me, past 

 The hope of comfort. But for thee, fellow, 

 Who needs must know of her departure and 

 Dost seem so ignorant, we'll enforce it from thee 

 By a sharp torture. 

 PISANIO  Sir, my life is yours; 

 I humbly set it at your will; but, for my mistress, 

 I nothing know where she remains, why gone, 

 Nor when she purposes return. Beseech your highness, 

 Hold me your loyal servant. 

 First Lord  Good my liege, 

 The day that she was missing he was here: 

 I dare be bound he's true and shall perform 

 All parts of his subjection loyally. For Cloten, 

 There wants no diligence in seeking him, 

 And will, no doubt, be found. 

 CYMBELINE  The time is troublesome. 



 To PISANIO  We'll slip you for a season; but our jealousy 

 Does yet depend. 

 First Lord  So please your majesty, 

 The Roman legions, all from Gallia drawn, 

 Are landed on your coast, with a supply 

 Of Roman gentlemen, by the senate sent. 

 CYMBELINE  Now for the counsel of my son and queen! 

 I am amazed with matter. 

 First Lord  Good my liege, 

 Your preparation can affront no less 

 Than what you hear of: come more, for more 

 you're ready: 

 The want is but to put those powers in motion 

 That long to move. 

 CYMBELINE  I thank you. Let's withdraw; 

 And meet the time as it seeks us. We fear not 

 What can from Italy annoy us; but 

 We grieve at chances here. Away! 



 Exeunt all but PISANIO  PISANIO  I heard no letter from my master since 

 I wrote him Imogen was slain: 'tis strange: 

 Nor hear I from my mistress who did promise 

 To yield me often tidings: neither know I 

 What is betid to Cloten; but remain 

 Perplex'd in all. The heavens still must work. 

 Wherein I am false I am honest; not true, to be true. 

 These present wars shall find I love my country, 

 Even to the note o' the king, or I'll fall in them. 

 All other doubts, by time let them be clear'd: 

 Fortune brings in some boats that are not steer'd. 



 Exit  Shakespeare homepage  |  Cymbeline  | Act 4, Scene 3 

 Previous scene  |  Next scene 