Enter Attendant.
CYMBELINE.
Where is she, sir? How
Can her contempt be answer’d?
ATTENDANT.
Please you, sir,
Her chambers are all lock’d, and there’s no answer
That will be given to th’ loud of noise we make.
QUEEN.
My lord, when last I went to visit her,
She pray’d me to excuse her keeping close;
Whereto constrain’d by her infirmity
She should that duty leave unpaid to you
Which daily she was bound to proffer. This
She wish’d me to make known; but our great court
Made me to blame in memory.
CYMBELINE.
Her doors lock’d?
Not seen of late? Grant, heavens, that which I fear
Prove false!
[Exit.]
QUEEN.
Son, I say, follow the King.
CLOTEN.
That man of hers, Pisanio, her old servant,
I have not seen these two days.
QUEEN.
Go, look after.
[Exit Cloten.]