Lady

How! my good name? or to report of you
What I shall think is good?–The princess!

Enter IMOGEN

CLOTEN

Good morrow, fairest: sister, your sweet hand.

Exit Lady

IMOGEN

Good morrow, sir. You lay out too much pains
For purchasing but trouble; the thanks I give
Is telling you that I am poor of thanks
And scarce can spare them.

CLOTEN

Still, I swear I love you.

IMOGEN

If you but said so, 'twere as deep with me:
If you swear still, your recompense is still
That I regard it not.

CLOTEN

This is no answer.

IMOGEN

But that you shall not say I yield being silent,
I would not speak. I pray you, spare me: 'faith,
I shall unfold equal discourtesy
To your best kindness: one of your great knowing
Should learn, being taught, forbearance.

CLOTEN

To leave you in your madness, 'twere my sin:
I will not.

IMOGEN

Fools are not mad folks.

CLOTEN

Do you call me fool?

IMOGEN

As I am mad, I do:
If you'll be patient, I'll no more be mad;
That cures us both. I am much sorry, sir,
You put me to forget a lady's manners,
By being so verbal: and learn now, for all,
That I, which know my heart, do here pronounce,
By the very truth of it, I care not for you,
And am so near the lack of charity–
To accuse myself–I hate you; which I had rather
You felt than make't my boast.

CLOTEN

You sin against
Obedience, which you owe your father. For
The contract you pretend with that base wretch,
One bred of alms and foster'd with cold dishes,
With scraps o' the court, it is no contract, none:
And though it