¶Clotten I am near to th' place where they should meet 2220if Pisanio have mapped 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 2225speak it to myself, for it is not vainglory 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 2230birth, alike conversant in general services, and more ¶remarkable in single oppositions, yet this imperseverant ¶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 2235enforced, thy garments cut to pieces before thy 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, 2240sword, 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.