Act 2 - Scene 2
Imogen's bedchamber in Cymbeline's palace:
a trunk in one corner of it.
IMOGEN in bed, reading; a Lady attending
Who's there? my woman Helen?
Please you, madam
What hour is it?
Almost midnight, madam.
I have read three hours then: mine eyes are weak:
Fold down the leaf where I have left: to bed:
away the taper, leave it burning;
And if thou canst awake by four o' the clock,
I prithee, call me. Sleep
hath seized me wholly
To your protection I commend me, gods.
From fairies and the tempters of the night
Guard me, beseech
Sleeps. IACHIMO comes from the trunk
The crickets sing, and man's o'er-labour'd sense
Repairs itself by rest. Our Tarquin thus
Did softly press
the rushes, ere he waken'd
The chastity he wounded. Cytherea,
How bravely thou becomest thy bed,
And whiter than the sheets! That I might touch!
But kiss; one kiss! Rubies unparagon'd,
dearly they do't! 'Tis her breathing that
Perfumes the chamber thus: the flame o' the taper
her, and would under-peep her lids,
To see the enclosed lights, now canopied
Under these windows, white
and azure laced
With blue of heaven's own tinct. But my design,
To note the chamber: I will write all down:
and such pictures; there the window; such
The adornment of her bed; the arras; figures,
Why, such and
such; and the contents o' the story.
Ah, but some natural notes about her body,
Above ten thousand meaner
Would testify, to enrich mine inventory.
O sleep, thou ape of death, lie dull upon her!
her sense but as a monument,
Thus in a chapel lying! Come off, come off:
Taking off her bracelet
As slippery as the Gordian knot was hard!
'Tis mine; and this will witness outwardly,
As strongly as the
conscience does within,
To the madding of her lord. On her left breast
A mole cinque-spotted, like the
I' the bottom of a cowslip: here's a voucher,
Stronger than ever law could make: this secret
force him think I have pick'd the lock and ta'en
The treasure of her honour. No more. To what end?
should I write this down, that's riveted,
Screw'd to my memory? She hath been reading late
The tale of
Tereus; here the leaf's turn'd down
Where Philomel gave up. I have enough:
To the trunk again, and shut
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