Cymbeline

1 Enter Cloten alone.
2 CLOTEN.
3 I am near to th’ place where they should meet, if Pisanio have mapp’d
4 it truly. How fit his garments serve me! Why should his mistress, who
5 was made by him that made the tailor, not be fit too? The rather,
6 saving reverence of the word, for ’tis said a woman’s fitness comes by
7 fits. Therein I must play the workman. I dare speak it to myself, for
8 it is not vain-glory for a man and his glass to confer in his own
9 chamber; I mean, the lines of my body are as well drawn as his; no less
10 young, more strong, not beneath him in fortunes, beyond him in the
11 advantage of the time, above him in birth, alike conversant in general
12 services, and more remarkable in single oppositions. Yet this
13 imperceiverant thing loves him in my despite. What mortality is!
14 Posthumus, thy head, which now is growing upon thy shoulders, shall
15 within this hour be off; thy mistress enforced; thy garments cut to
16 pieces before her face; and all this done, spurn her home to her
17 father, who may, haply, be a little angry for my so rough usage; but my
18 mother, having power of his testiness, shall turn all into my
19 commendations. My horse is tied up safe. Out, sword, and to a sore
20 purpose! Fortune, put them into my hand. This is the very description
21 of their meeting-place; and the fellow dares not deceive me.
22 [_Exit._]