CLOTEN.
Where is thy lady? or, by Jupiter—
I will not ask again. Close villain,
I’ll have this secret from thy heart, or rip
Thy heart to find it. Is she with Posthumus?
From whose so many weights of baseness cannot
A dram of worth be drawn.
PISANIO.
Alas, my lord,
How can she be with him? When was she miss’d?
He is in Rome.
CLOTEN.
Where is she, sir? Come nearer.
No farther halting! Satisfy me home
What is become of her.
PISANIO.
O my all-worthy lord!
CLOTEN.
All-worthy villain!
Discover where thy mistress is at once,
At the next word. No more of ‘worthy lord’!
Speak, or thy silence on the instant is
Thy condemnation and thy death.
PISANIO.
Then, sir,
This paper is the history of my knowledge
Touching her flight.
[Presenting a letter.]
CLOTEN.
Let’s see’t. I will pursue her
Even to Augustus’ throne.
PISANIO.
[Aside.] Or this or perish.
She’s far enough; and what he learns by this
May prove his travel, not her danger.
CLOTEN.
Humh!