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!
PISANIO.
[Aside.] I’ll write to my lord she’s dead. O Imogen,
Safe mayst thou wander, safe return again!
CLOTEN.
Sirrah, is this letter true?
PISANIO.
Sir, as I think.
CLOTEN.
It is Posthumus’ hand; I know’t. Sirrah, if thou wouldst not be a villain, but do me true service, undergo those employments wherein I should have cause to use thee with a serious industry—that is, what villainy soe’er I bid thee do, to perform it directly and truly—I would think thee an honest man; thou shouldst neither want my means for thy relief nor my voice for thy preferment.