QUEEN. Weeps she still, say’st thou? Dost thou think in time She will not quench, and let instructions enter Where folly now possesses? Do thou work. When thou shalt bring me word she loves my son, I’ll tell thee on the instant thou art then As great as is thy master; greater, for His fortunes all lie speechless, and his name Is at last gasp. Return he cannot, nor Continue where he is. To shift his being Is to exchange one misery with another, And every day that comes comes to decay A day’s work in him. What shalt thou expect To be depender on a thing that leans, Who cannot be new built, nor has no friends So much as but to prop him? [_The Queen drops the box. Pisanio takes it up._] Thou tak’st up Thou know’st not what; but take it for thy labour. It is a thing I made, which hath the King Five times redeem’d from death. I do not know What is more cordial. Nay, I prithee take it; It is an earnest of a further good That I mean to thee. Tell thy mistress how The case stands with her; do’t as from thyself. Think what a chance thou changest on; but think Thou hast thy mistress still; to boot, my son, Who shall take notice of thee. I’ll move the King To any shape of thy preferment, such As thou’lt desire; and then myself, I chiefly, That set thee on to this desert, am bound To load thy merit richly. Call my women. Think on my words. [_Exit Pisanio._] A sly and constant knave, Not to be shak’d; the agent for his master, And the remembrancer of her to hold The hand-fast to her lord. I have given him that Which, if he take, shall quite unpeople her Of liegers for her sweet; and which she after, Except she bend her humour, shall be assur’d To taste of too. Enter Pisanio and Ladies. So, so. Well done, well done. The violets, cowslips, and the primroses, Bear to my closet. Fare thee well, Pisanio; Think on my words. [_Exeunt Queen and Ladies._] PISANIO. And shall do. But when to my good lord I prove untrue I’ll choke myself: there’s all I’ll do for you. [_Exit._] SCENE VII. Britain. The palace. Enter Imogen alone. IMOGEN. A father cruel and a step-dame false; A foolish suitor to a wedded lady That hath her husband banish’d. O, that husband! My supreme crown of grief! and those repeated Vexations of it! Had I been thief-stol’n, As my two brothers, happy! but most miserable Is the desire that’s glorious. Blessed be those, How mean soe’er, that have their honest wills, Which seasons comfort. Who may this be? Fie! Enter Pisanio and Iachimo. PISANIO. Madam, a noble gentleman of Rome Comes from my lord with letters. IACHIMO. Change you, madam? The worthy Leonatus is in safety, And greets your Highness dearly. [_Presents a letter._] IMOGEN. Thanks, good sir. You’re kindly welcome.