PISANIO.
But to win time
To lose so bad employment, in the which
I have consider’d of a course. Good lady,
Hear me with patience.
IMOGEN.
Talk thy tongue weary, speak.
I have heard I am a strumpet, and mine ear,
Therein false struck, can take no greater wound,
Nor tent to bottom that. But speak.
PISANIO.
Then, madam,
I thought you would not back again.
IMOGEN.
Most like,
Bringing me here to kill me.
PISANIO.
Not so, neither;
But if I were as wise as honest, then
My purpose would prove well. It cannot be
But that my master is abus’d. Some villain,
Ay, and singular in his art, hath done you both
This cursed injury.
IMOGEN.
Some Roman courtezan!
PISANIO.
No, on my life!
I’ll give but notice you are dead, and send him
Some bloody sign of it, for ’tis commanded
I should do so. You shall be miss’d at court,
And that will well confirm it.
IMOGEN.
Why, good fellow,
What shall I do the while? Where bide? How live?
Or in my life what comfort, when I am
Dead to my husband?
PISANIO.
If you’ll back to th’ court—
IMOGEN.
No court, no father, nor no more ado
With that harsh, noble, simple nothing,
That Cloten, whose love-suit hath been to me
As fearful as a siege.