PISANIO.
My lord your son drew on my master.

QUEEN.
Ha! No harm, I trust, is done?

PISANIO.
There might have been,
But that my master rather play'd than fought
And had no help of anger. They were parted
By gentlemen at hand.

QUEEN.
I am very glad on't.

IMOGEN.
Your son's my father's friend; he takes his part
To draw upon an exile. O brave sir!
I would they were in Afric both together;
Myself by with a needle, that I might prick
The goer-back. Why came you from your master?

PISANIO.
On his command. He would not suffer me
To bring him to the haven; left these notes
Of what commands I should be subject to,
When't pleas'd you to employ me.

QUEEN.
This hath been