Imogen

I would thou grew'st unto the shores o' the haven,

And questionedst every sail: if he should write,

And I not have it, 'twere a paper lost,

As offered mercy is. What was the last

That he spake to thee?

Pisanio

It was his queen, his queen!

Imogen

Then waved his handkerchief?

Pisanio

And kissed 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 this 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 sailed 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 eye-strings; cracked 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 turned mine eye and wept. But, good Pisanio,

When shall we hear from him?

Pisanio

Be assured, madam,

With his next vantage.

Imogen

I did not take my leave of him, but had

Most pretty things to say: ere I could tell him

How I would think on him at certain hours

Such thoughts and such, or I could make him swear

The shes of Italy should not betray

Mine interest and his honour, or have charged him,

At the sixth hour of morn, at noon, at midnight,

To encounter me with orisons, for then

I am in heaven for him; or ere I could

Give him that parting kiss which I had set

Betwixt two charming words, comes in my father

And like the tyrannous breathing of the north

Shakes all our buds from growing. Enter a Lady.

Lady

The queen, madam,

Desires your highness' company.

Imogen

Those things I bid you do, get them dispatched.

I will attend the queen.

Pisanio

Madam, I shall. Exeunt.