Cloten

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