FIRST LORD. Sir, I would advise you to shift a shirt; the violence of action hath made you reek as a sacrifice. Where air comes out, air comes in; there’s none abroad so wholesome as that you vent. CLOTEN. If my shirt were bloody, then to shift it. Have I hurt him? SECOND LORD. [_Aside._] No, faith; not so much as his patience. FIRST LORD. Hurt him! His body’s a passable carcass if he be not hurt. It is a throughfare for steel if it be not hurt. SECOND LORD. [_Aside._] His steel was in debt; it went o’ th’ backside the town. CLOTEN. The villain would not stand me. SECOND LORD. [_Aside._] No; but he fled forward still, toward your face. FIRST LORD. Stand you? You have land enough of your own; but he added to your having, gave you some ground. SECOND LORD. [_Aside._] As many inches as you have oceans. Puppies! CLOTEN. I would they had not come between us. SECOND LORD. [_Aside._] So would I, till you had measur’d how long a fool you were upon the ground. CLOTEN. And that she should love this fellow, and refuse me! SECOND LORD. [_Aside._] If it be a sin to make a true election, she is damn’d. FIRST LORD. Sir, as I told you always, her beauty and her brain go not together; she’s a good sign, but I have seen small reflection of her wit. SECOND LORD. [_Aside._] She shines not upon fools, lest the reflection should hurt her. CLOTEN. Come, I’ll to my chamber. Would there had been some hurt done! SECOND LORD. [_Aside._] I wish not so; unless it had been the fall of an ass, which is no great hurt. CLOTEN. You’ll go with us? FIRST LORD. I’ll attend your lordship. CLOTEN. Nay, come, let’s go together. SECOND LORD. Well, my lord. [_Exeunt._] SCENE IV. Britain. Cymbeline’s palace. Enter Imogen and Pisanio. IMOGEN. I would thou grew’st unto the shores o’ th’ haven, And questioned’st every sail; if he should write, And I not have it, ’twere a paper lost, As offer’d mercy is. What was the last That he spake to thee? PISANIO. It was: his queen, his queen! IMOGEN. Then wav’d his handkerchief? PISANIO. And kiss’d it, madam. IMOGEN. Senseless linen, happier therein than I! And that was all? PISANIO. No, madam; for so long As he could make me with his eye, or ear Distinguish him from others, he did keep The deck, with glove, or hat, or handkerchief, Still waving, as the fits and stirs of’s mind Could best express how slow his soul sail’d on, How swift his ship. IMOGEN. Thou shouldst have made him As little as a crow, or less, ere left To after-eye him. PISANIO. Madam, so I did. IMOGEN. I would have broke mine eyestrings, crack’d them but To look upon him, till the diminution Of space had pointed him sharp as my needle; Nay, followed him till he had melted from The smallness of a gnat to air, and then Have turn’d mine eye and wept. But, good Pisanio, When shall we hear from him? PISANIO. Be assur’d, madam, With his next vantage.