CLOTEN.
‘His garment’! Now the devil—
IMOGEN.
To Dorothy my woman hie thee presently.
CLOTEN.
‘His garment’!
IMOGEN.
I am sprited with a fool;
Frighted, and ang’red worse. Go bid my woman
Search for a jewel that too casually
Hath left mine arm. It was thy master’s; shrew me,
If I would lose it for a revenue
Of any king’s in Europe! I do think
I saw’t this morning; confident I am
Last night ’twas on mine arm; I kiss’d it.
I hope it be not gone to tell my lord
That I kiss aught but he.
PISANIO.
’Twill not be lost.
IMOGEN.
I hope so. Go and search.
[Exit Pisanio.]
CLOTEN.
You have abus’d me.
‘His meanest garment’!
IMOGEN.
Ay, I said so, sir.
If you will make ’t an action, call witness to ’t.
CLOTEN.
I will inform your father.