How? of adultery? Wherefore write you not
What monsters her accuse? Leonatus!
O master, what a strange infection
Is fall’n into thy ear! What false Italian
(As poisonous-tongu’d as handed) hath prevail’d
On thy too ready hearing? Disloyal? No.
She’s punish’d for her truth, and undergoes,
More goddess-like than wife-like, such assaults
As would take in some virtue. O my master,
Thy mind to her is now as low as were
Thy fortunes. How? that I should murder her?
Upon the love, and truth, and vows, which I
Have made to thy command? I, her? Her blood?
If it be so to do good service, never
Let me be counted serviceable. How look I
That I should seem to lack humanity
So much as this fact comes to?
What? For adultery? Why don't you write what monsters accuse her? Leonatus! Oh master, what a strange poison has entered your ear! What false Italian, as poisonous in tongue as in hand, has persuaded your too-willing ear? Disloyal? No way. She's being punished for her loyalty and endures attacks that would damage anyone's virtue, more like a goddess than a wife. Oh my master, your mind toward her has dropped to the level of your fortune. What? That I should murder her? Based on the loyalty and truth and promises I've made to obey your commands? Me kill her? Shed her blood? If this is what good service means, never count me as someone loyal to you. How do I look like I would lack so much humanity as to do this deed?
Adultery? Why don't you tell me what creature is accusing her of that? Leonatus! Oh master, some poison has gotten into your head! What lying Italian, as poisonous when he speaks as when he acts, has convinced your too-trusting ears? Unfaithful? Never. She's actually being punished for being faithful, and she's handling assaults that would break anyone else's virtue—more like a goddess than a wife. Oh my lord, your opinion of her has sunk down to wherever your luck went. Murder her? You want me to murder her based on the loyalty and honor and vows I've made to follow your orders? Me kill her? Get blood on my hands? If that's what being loyal means, don't ever call me faithful again. How can I possibly look like someone who'd do something this inhuman?
u believe lies about her she's loyal not disloyal u want me to murder her thats not loyalty thats inhuman
‘Do’t. The letter
That I have sent her, by her own command
Shall give thee opportunity.’ O damn’d paper,
Black as the ink that’s on thee! Senseless bauble,
Art thou a fedary for this act, and look’st
So virgin-like without? Lo, here she comes.
'Do it. The letter I have sent her, by her own command, will give you the opportunity.' O damned paper, black as the ink on you! Senseless object, are you a partner in this deed, and you look so innocent on the outside? Here she comes.
'Do it. The letter I sent her will give you your chance.' Oh, cursed paper, as black as the ink written on you! You stupid thing, are you helping with this crime while looking innocent? Here she is.
damn this paper black as ink stupid & evil looks innocent but it's helping murder here she comes
This scene is structurally clever: Posthumus's letter contains two commands written for different audiences. The explicit command to Pisanio is murder. The implicit command to Imogen (in the fabricated letter within the letter) is trust and obedience — come to Milford Haven. The scene performs what happens when these two documents intersect. Pisanio is horrified by what he reads. Imogen is overjoyed by what she reads. They are reading the same letter with opposite comprehensions. This is the play's central mechanism: information, for different characters, means opposite things.
I am ignorant in what I am commanded.
I don't understand what I'm being ordered to do.
I don't know what you're asking me to do.
i don't get it what do you want me to do
How now, Pisanio?
How now, Pisanio?
how now, pisanio?
how now, pisanio?...
Madam, here is a letter from my lord.
My lady, I have a letter from your husband.
Madam, I've got a letter from your husband.
letter from ur husband
Who? thy lord? That is my lord, Leonatus?
O, learn’d indeed were that astronomer
That knew the stars as I his characters;
He’d lay the future open. You good gods,
Let what is here contain’d relish of love,
Of my lord’s health, of his content; yet not
That we two are asunder; let that grieve him!
Some griefs are med’cinable; that is one of them,
For it doth physic love: of his content,
All but in that. Good wax, thy leave. Blest be
You bees that make these locks of counsel! Lovers
And men in dangerous bonds pray not alike;
Though forfeiters you cast in prison, yet
You clasp young Cupid’s tables. Good news, gods!
Your husband? That's my husband, Leonatus? Oh, I wish I were an astronomer who could read the stars the way I read his handwriting! Then I could see the future. You good gods, let whatever this contains have the flavor of love, news of my husband's health, of his happiness. But not that we're separated—let that grieve him! Some pains can be cured. That's one of them because it actually helps love grow. For his happiness, everything but that separation. Thank you, wax. Blessed be you bees who make these sealed letters! Lovers and men in prison don't pray the same way. Though you lock up prisoners, yet you protect the love letters of young couples. Good news, gods, send good news!
Your husband? You mean my husband, Leonatus? I wish I were an astronomer who could read stars like I read his handwriting! Then I could predict the future. You gods, please let whatever this letter says be full of love and news about his health and his happiness. Just not that we're far apart—let that upset him! Some problems can actually get better. That one does, because being apart actually helps love grow. So good news about everything except our separation. Thank you, wax seal. Bless you, bees, for making these love-mail seals! People in love and people in prison don't pray the same. Even though you trap prisoners, you protect the letters between young lovers. Gods, send good news!
letter from leonatus hope its good news if we're apart that means he misses me thats ok love can grow
Pisanio does not refuse Posthumus outright. Instead, he agrees to help Imogen reach Milford Haven — where Posthumus supposedly waits. Pisanio is choosing a form of obedience that saves Imogen's life. He will take her to the location Posthumus named, but with the plan that once there, in safety, the truth will come out. This is not heroic defiance; it's a servant finding a way to obey orders while undermining their intent. The play suggests that moral action often looks like compliance. Pisanio is not loud or brave; he is quiet and clever.
_Justice and your father’s wrath, should he take me in his dominion,
could not be so cruel to me as you, O the dearest of creatures, would
even renew me with your eyes. Take notice that I am in Cambria, at
Milford Haven. What your own love will out of this advise you, follow.
So he wishes you all happiness that remains loyal to his vow, and your
increasing in love.
LEONATUS POSTHUMUS._
O for a horse with wings! Hear’st thou, Pisanio?
He is at Milford Haven. Read, and tell me
How far ’tis thither. If one of mean affairs
May plod it in a week, why may not I
Glide thither in a day? Then, true Pisanio,
Who long’st like me to see thy lord, who long’st
(O, let me ’bate!) but not like me, yet long’st,
But in a fainter kind. O, not like me,
For mine’s beyond beyond: say, and speak thick,
(Love’s counsellor should fill the bores of hearing
To th’ smothering of the sense) how far it is
To this same blessed Milford. And by th’ way
Tell me how Wales was made so happy as
T’ inherit such a haven. But first of all,
How we may steal from hence; and for the gap
That we shall make in time from our hence-going
And our return, to excuse. But first, how get hence.
Why should excuse be born or ere begot?
We’ll talk of that hereafter. Prithee speak,
How many score of miles may we well rid
’Twixt hour and hour?
Justice and your father's wrath, should he control you in his domain, could not be as cruel to me as you, O the dearest of creatures, could be— just seeing your eyes again would restore me. Notice that I am in Wales, at Milford Haven. Whatever your own love advises you to do, follow. So he wishes you all happiness, he who remains faithful to his vow, and your love continues to grow. LEONATUS POSTHUMUS. Oh for a horse with wings! Do you hear me, Pisanio? He is at Milford Haven. Tell me— How far is it from here? If someone of modest means Can walk it in a week, why can't I Ride there in a day? Then, true Pisanio, You long like me to see your lord, you long— (Oh, let me correct myself!) but not like me, and yet you long, But less intensely. Oh, not like me— For my longing goes beyond all measure: speak, and speak fully, (Love's counselor should fill the channels of hearing Until it drowns out all other sensation) how far it is To this blessed Milford. And by the way Tell me how Wales became fortunate enough as To possess such a harbor. But first of all, How we can escape from here; and for the time gap That we'll create from our departure And our return, what excuse to give. But first, how do we leave? Why should we make excuses before the deed is done? We'll discuss that later. Please speak: How many score of miles can we reasonably travel Between one hour and the next?
Your father's anger couldn't hurt me as much as you could, my love, if you just let me see your eyes again. I'm in Wales now, at Milford Haven. Do whatever your heart tells you. Follow. He wishes you all the best—he's keeping faith with you, and he loves you more every day. LEONATUS POSTHUMUS. I wish I had a horse with wings! Pisanio, are you listening? He's at Milford Haven. Tell me— How far away is that? If some regular person Can take a week to walk there, why can't I Get there in one day riding? Listen, Pisanio, You want to see your lord like I do—well, not exactly like me, (okay, let me be fair) but not the way I do, though you do want to, Just not as desperately. Not like me— I'm desperate beyond anything: please speak freely, (you're supposed to be love's advisor, so tell me everything) how far To this wonderful Milford. And tell me How Wales got so lucky as To have such an amazing harbor. But most importantly, How can we get away from here, and what explanation for the time Between when we leave And come back? Actually, how do we even leave first? Why am I worrying about explanations when we haven't even gone yet? We can talk about that later. Just tell me: How many miles can we realistically cover Every hour?
his love is mad for you just seeing you restores him im at milford haven wait for me im coming i gotta get to you asap pisanio listen hes at milford haven how far is that if people walk it in a week i can ride in a day you wanna see your lord too but not desperate like me im desperate tell me the distance how did wales get lucky how do we escape what do we say about the time im overthinking this just tell me miles per hour
One score ’twixt sun and sun,
Madam, ’s enough for you, and too much too.
Twenty miles between sunrise and sunset, madam, is enough for you to attempt, and it's already too much.
Look, twenty miles a day is honestly plenty for you to manage, and that's probably still too much.
20 miles a day is all you should do. probably too much anyway.
Why, one that rode to’s execution, man,
Could never go so slow. I have heard of riding wagers
Where horses have been nimbler than the sands
That run i’ th’ clock’s behalf. But this is fool’ry.
Go bid my woman feign a sickness; say
She’ll home to her father; and provide me presently
A riding suit, no costlier than would fit
A franklin’s huswife.
Come on, a man riding to his own execution could never move that slowly. I have heard of racing bets where horses ran faster than the sand that trickles through an hourglass. But this is foolish talk. Go and tell my maid to pretend she is ill, and to say she is going home to her father; and get me right away a riding outfit, no more expensive than would suit the wife of a small farmer.
Twenty miles a day? A guy on his way to be hanged would go faster than that! I've heard of horse races where the horses beat the sand in an hourglass. Anyway, enough nonsense. Tell my maid to fake being sick and say she's heading home to her dad. And get me a riding outfit right now, something plain, like a farmer's wife would wear.
20 miles a day?? a guy going to his execution would ride faster ok whatever tell my maid to fake sick get me a plain riding outfit asap
Madam, you’re best consider.
Madam, you should think this through more carefully.
You should really think about this.
u should think first
I see before me, man. Nor here, nor here,
Nor what ensues, but have a fog in them
That I cannot look through. Away, I prithee;
Do as I bid thee. There’s no more to say.
Accessible is none but Milford way.
I can see what's right in front of me, but not there, not there, not what comes next. Everything is foggy and I can't see through it. Please, go do what I asked. There's nothing more to say. The only way to reach him is through Milford.
I can see what's right in front of me, but I can't see the future—everything ahead is just fog. Go, please, do what I'm asking you. We're done talking. The only way to get to him is through Milford.
cant see the future do what i asked milford is the only way
The Reckoning
This is the mechanism of the plot. Posthumus has written two letters — one ordering Imogen's death, one (fabricated) professing love and summoning her to Wales. Pisanio receives the murder order and cannot bear it. He will play the role of accomplice to the second letter while secretly planning to save her life. The scene is structurally brilliant: Imogen's joy and urgency push against Pisanio's horror. She cannot read the true content of the situation (that her husband wants her dead); she can only read the lie that summons her to him. The scene establishes that Pisanio's loyalty to Imogen will override his loyalty to Posthumus.
If this happened today…
A man receives a text from his friend ordering him to kill the friend's wife. The same text contains instructions to his wife that the friend is in California and wants to see her. The wife is overjoyed to hear from her husband and wants to go immediately. The man receiving the orders cannot kill the wife, so he lies — he tells the wife he'll help her reach California while secretly planning to keep her safe.