Lucius hath wrote already to the emperor
How it goes here. It fits us therefore ripely
Our chariots and our
horsemen be in readiness:
The powers that he already hath in Gallia
Will soon be drawn to head, from
whence he moves
His war for Britain.
'Tis not sleepy business;
But must be look'd to speedily and strongly.
Our expectation that it would be thus
Hath made us forward. But, my gentle queen,
Where is our daughter?
She hath not appear'd
Before the Roman, nor to us hath tender'd
The duty of the day: she looks us like
thing more made of malice than of duty:
We have noted it. Call her before us; for
We have been too slight
Exit an Attendant
Since the exile of Posthumus, most retired
Hath her life been; the cure whereof, my lord,
time must do. Beseech your majesty,
Forbear sharp speeches to her: she's a lady
So tender of rebukes
that words are strokes
And strokes death to her.
Where is she, sir? How
Can her contempt be answer'd?
Please you, sir,
Her chambers are all lock'd; and there's no answer
That will be given to the loudest noise
My lord, when last I went to visit her,
She pray'd me to excuse her keeping close,
by her infirmity,
She should that duty leave unpaid to you,
Which daily she was bound to proffer: this
wish'd me to make known; but our great court
Made me to blame in memory.
Her doors lock'd?
Not seen of late? Grant, heavens, that which I fear
Son, I say, follow the king.
That man of hers, Pisanio, her old servant,
have not seen these two days.
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