SCENE I-Britain. The garden behind Cymbeline's palace. Enter Two Gentlemen.
His measure duly.3 2 Gent. What's his name, and birth? 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,4 whom He serv'd with glory and admir'd success:
You do not meet a man, but frowns: our bloods! So gain'd the sur-addition, Leonatus:
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 king- dom, whom
He purpos'd to his wife's sole son (a widow, That late he married,) hath referr'd herself' Unto a poor but worthy gentleman: She's wedded; Her husband banish'd; she imprison'd: all Is outward sorrow; though, I think, the king Be touch'd at very heart.
1 Gent. He, that hath lost her, too: so is the 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.
1 Gent. He that hath miss'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 dike, 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.
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 father
(Then old and fond of issue,) took such sorrow, That 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 time 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.
2 Gent. That a king's children should be so con- || You gentle gods, give me but this I have, vey'd!
So slackly guarded! And the search so slow, That could not trace them! 1 Gent.
Howsoe'er 'tis strange, Or that the negligence may well be laugh'd at, Yet is it true, sir. 2 Gent.
1 Gent. We must forbear: Here comes the queen, and princess.
SCENE 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 deliver 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.
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. 0, Dissembling courtesy! How fine this tyrant Can tickle where she 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 queen! 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. My residence in Rome at one Philario's; Who 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.
Queen. Be brief, I pray you: If the king 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. [Exit. 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 mother's: take it, heart; But keep it till you woo another wife, When Imogen is dead. Post.
And sear up my embracements from a next With bonds of death!-Remain thou here
[Putting on the ring. While sense2 can keep 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 manacle of love; I'll place it Upon this fairest prisoner.
[Putting a bracelet on her arm. O, the gods!
Out of your best advice.8 Cym.
How! how! another?-A drop of blood a day; and, being aged,
(2) Sensation. (4) A more exquisite ferling
(6) A kite. 8) Consideration.
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