YoU do not meet a man, but frowns: our bloods No more obey the heavens, than our courtiers; Still seem, as does the king's. 2 Gent. But what's the matter? 1 Gent. His daughter, and the heir of his kingo: w d He 'd to his wife's sole son (a widow, #. married,) hath referr'd herself Unto a poor but worthy gentleman: She's wedded; Her husband banish'd; she imprison'd : all ls outward sorrow; though, I think, the king Be touch'd at very heart. 2 Gent. 1 Gent. He, that hath

queen, That most desir'd the match: But not a courtier, Although they wear their faces to the bent Of the king's looks, hath a heart that is not Glad at the thing they scowl at.

2 Gent. And why so?

1 Gent. He that hathmiss'd the princess, is a thing Too bad for bad report: And he that hath her, (I mean, that married her, alack, good man!— And therefore banish'd) is a creature such As, to seek through the regions of the earth For one his like, there would be something failing In him that should compare. I do not think So fair an outward, and such stuff within, Endows a man but he.

2 Gent. You speak him far.”

1 Gent. I do extend him, sir, within himself; Crush him together, rather than unfold

None but the king? lost her, too: so is the

(1) Inclination, natural disposition.

(2) i. e. You praise him extensively.

(3) My praise, however extensive, is within his merit. vol. in

His measure duly.”
2 Gent. What's his name, and birth 2
1 Gent. I cannot delve him to the root: His father
Was call'd Sicilius, who did join his honour,
Against the Romans, with Cassibelan;
But had his titles by Tenantius, whom
He serv'd with glory and admir'd success:
So gain'd the sur-addition, Leonatus:
And had, besides this gentleman in question,
Two other sons, who, in the wars o'the time,
Died with their swords in hand; for which their

atner o old and fond of issue,) took such sorrow, at he quit being; and his gentle lady,

Big of this gentleman, our theme, deceas'd
As he was born. The king, he takes the babe
To his protection; calls him Posthumus;
Breeds him, and makes him of his bed-chamber
Puts him to all the learnings that his sime
Could make him the receiver of; which he took,
As we do air, fast as 'twas minister'd ; and
In his spring became a harvest: Liv'd in court,
(Which rare it is to do,) most prais'd, most lov'd
A sample to the youngest; to the more mature,
A glass that feated; them; and to the graver,
A child that guided dotards: to his mistress,
For whom he now is banish'd, her own price
Proclaims how she esteem'd him and his virtue;
By her election may be truly read,
What kind of man he is.
E 2 Gent. f #. him Il

ven out of your report. ut, 'pray you, tell me, Is she sole child to É. king? pray y

1 Gent. His only child He had two sons (if this be worth your hearing, Mark it,) the eldest of them at three years old, I'the swathing clothes the other, from their nursery Werestolen: and tothis hour, noguessinknowledge Which way they went.

2 Gent. How long is this ago? 1 Gent. Some twenty years.

(4) The father of Cymbeline. (5) Formed their manners.

2 Gent. That aking's children should be so convey'd : So slackly guarded ! And the search so slow, That could not trace them! 1 Gent. Howsoe'er’tis strange, Qr that the negligence may well be laugh'd at, Yet is it true, sir, Gent. I do well believe you. 1 Gent. We must forbear: Herecomes the queen, and princess. [Exeunt.

SCENTE II.-The same. Enter the Queen, Posthumus, and Imogen. *

Queen. No, be assur’d, you shall not find me, daughter,

After the slander of most step-mothers,
Evil-ey'd unto you; you are my prisoner, but
Your gaoler shall ão, you the keys
That lock up your restraint. For you, Posthumus,
So soon as I can win the offended king,
I will be known your advocate: marry, yet
The fire of rage is in him; and 'twere good,
You lean'd unto his sentence, with what patience
Your wisdom may inform you.

Post. Please your highness, I will from hence to-day.

Queen. You know the peril:— I'll fetch a turn about the garden, pitying The pangs of barr'd affections; though the king Hath charg'd you should not speak together.

[Exit Queen.

do ! How fine th

issembling cou ! How fine this tyrant Can tickle *...". wounds!—My dearest hus

band,

I something fear my father's wrath; but nothing
(Always reserv'd my holy duty,) what
His rage can do on me: You must be gone;
And I shall here abide the hourly shot
Of angry eyes; not comforted to live,
But that there is this jewel in the world,
That I may see again.

Post. My o ! my mistress!
O. lady, weep no more; lest I give cause
To be suspected of more tenderness
Than doth become a man! I will remain
The loyal'st husband that did e'er plight troth.
§ residence in Rome at one Philario's;

ho to my father was a friend, to me Known but by letter; thither write, my queen, And with mine eyes I'll drink the words you send, Though ink be made of gall.

Re-enter Queen. Be brief, I pray you: If the . come, I shall incur I know not How much of his displeasure:–Yet I'll move him [Aside. To walk this way: I never do him wrong, But he does buy my injuries, to be friends; Pays dear for my offences. [Erit. Post. Should we be taking leave As long a term as yet we have to live, The loathness to depart would grow: Adieu! Imo. Nay, stay a little: Were you but riding forth to air yourself, Such parting were too petty. Look here, love; This diamond was my o take it, heart; But keep it till you woo another wife, When Imogen is dead.

Post. Hyw! how ! another?— (1) Close up. (2) Sensation. (3) Fill. (4) A more exquisite feling (5) Only.

You gentle gods, give me but this I have,
And sear up my embracements from a next
With bonds of death !—Remain thou here
[Putting on the ring.
While sense? cankeep it on! And sweetest, fairest,
As I my poor self did exchange for you,
To your so infinite loss; so, in our trifles
I still win of you: For my sake, wear this;
It is a o of love; I'll place it
Upon this fairest prisoner.
[Putting a braceleton her arm.
Imo. - !
When shall we see again?
Enter Cymbeline and Lords.

Post. Alack, the king!
Cym. Thou basest thing, avoid! hence, from my
sight!

If, after this command, thou fraught the court
With thy unworthiness, thou diest: Away!
Thou art poison to my blood.

Post. The gods protect you!
And bless the good remainders of the court!
I am gone. o

Imo. There cannot be a pinch in dea More sharp than this is.

Cym. O disloyal thing, That should'st repair my youth: thou heapest A year's age on me !

Imo. I beseech you, sir, Harm not yourself with your vexation; I Am senseless of your wrath; a touch more rare" Subdues all pangs, all fears.

Past grace? obedience. Imo. Past hope, and in despair; that way, past