Cym. My Lords, you are appointed for that Office:
The due of Honor, in no point omit:
So farewell Noble Lucius
Luc. Your hand, my Lord
Clot. Receiue it friendly: but from this time forth
I weare it as your Enemy
Luc. Sir, the Euent
Is yet to name the winner. Fare you well
Cym. Leaue not the worthy Lucius, good my Lords
Till he haue crost the Seuern. Happines.
Exit Lucius, &c
Qu. He goes hence frowning: but it honours vs
That we haue giuen him cause
Clot. 'Tis all the better,
Your valiant Britaines haue their wishes in it
Cym. Lucius hath wrote already to the Emperor
How it goes heere. It fits vs therefore ripely
Our Chariots, and our Horsemen be in readinesse:
The Powres that he already hath in Gallia
Will soone be drawne to head, from whence he moues
His warre for Britaine
Qu. 'Tis not sleepy businesse,
But must be look'd too speedily, and strongly
Cym. Our expectation that it would be thus
Hath made vs forward. But my gentle Queene,
Where is our Daughter? She hath not appear'd
Before the Roman, nor to vs hath tender'd
The duty of the day. She looke vs like
A thing more made of malice, then of duty,
We haue noted it. Call her before vs, for
We haue beene too slight in sufferance