Cymbeline

Act 4, Scene I

Enter CLOTEN

CLOTEN

I am near to the place where they should meet, if

Pisanio have mapped it truly. How fit his garments

serve me! Why should his mistress, who was made by

him that made the tailor, not be fit too? the

rather--saving reverence of the word--for 'tis said

a woman's fitness comes by fits. Therein I must

play the workman. I dare speak it to myself--for it

is not vain-glory for a man and his glass to confer

in his own chamber--I mean, the lines of my body are

as well drawn as his; no less young, more strong,

not beneath him in fortunes, beyond him in the

advantage of the time, above him in birth, alike

conversant in general services, and more remarkable

in single oppositions: yet this imperceiverant

thing loves him in my despite. What mortality is!

Posthumus, thy head, which now is growing upon thy

shoulders, shall within this hour be off; thy

mistress enforced; thy garments cut to pieces before

thy face: and all this done, spurn her home to her

father; who may haply be a little angry for my so

rough usage; but my mother, having power of his

testiness, shall turn all into my commendations. My

horse is tied up safe: out, sword, and to a sore

purpose! Fortune, put them into my hand! This is

the very description of their meeting-place; and

the fellow dares not deceive me.