I am near to th’ place where they should meet, if Pisanio have mapp’d

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 her 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.