520 Give answer to this boy, and do it freely; Imo. My boon is, that this gentleman may render Of whom he had this ring. Post. What's that to him? Cym. That diamond upon your finger, say, How came it your's? [Aside. lach. Thou'lt torture me to leave unspoken that Which, to be spoke, would torture thee., Cym. How me? 530 Iach. I am glad to be constrain'd to utter that which Torments me to conceal. By villany. I got this ring; 'twas Leonatus' jewel, Whom thou didst banish; and (which more may grieve thee, As it doth me) a nobler sir ne'er liv'd 'Twixt sky and ground. Wilt thou hear more, my lord? Cym. All that belongs to this. lach. That paragon, thy daughter For whom my heart drops blood, and my false spirits Quail to remember-Give me leave; I faint. 540 Cym. My daughter! what of her? Renew thy strength : I had rather thou shouldst live while nature will, Than die ere I hear more: strive, man, and speak. lach. Upon a time (unhappy was the clock For beauty that made barren the swell'd boast Loves woman for; besides, that hook of wiving, Cym. I stand on fire: Come to the matter. lach. All too soon I shall, 550 560 Unless thou wouldst grieve quickly. This Post humus (Most like a noble lord in love, and one That had a royal lover), took his hint ; His mistress' picture; which by his tongue being made, Were crack'd of kitchen trulls, or his description 570 Prov'd us unspeaking sots. Cym. Nay, nay, to the purpose. lach. Your daughter's chastity-there it begins. He He spake of her, as Dian had hot dreams, And she alone were cold: Whereat, I, wretch ! In suit the place of his bed, and win this ring 580 Than I did truly find her, stakes this ring; With tokens thus, and thus; averring notes Post. Ay, so thou do'st,. Mij Whereupon→→→→ 590 600 [Coming forward. Italian Italian fiend!-Ah me, most credulous fool, Egregious murderer, thief, any thing That's due to all the villains past, in being, To come!-0, give me cord, or knife, or poison, That all the abhorred things o' the earth amend, Be villany less than 'twas !-O Imogen! Imo. Peace, my lord; hear, hear 610 620 Post. Shall's have a play of this? Thou scornful page, There lie thy part. Pis. O, gentlemen, help [Striking her, she falls. Mine, and your mistress-O, my lord Posthumus! You ne'er kill'd Imogen 'till now :-Help, help! Mine honour'd lady! Cym. Does the world go round? Post. How come these staggers on me? Pis. Wake, my mistress! 630 Cym. If this be so, the gods do mean to strike me To death with mortal joy. Pis. How fares my mistress? Imo. O, get thee from my sight; Thou gav'st me poison: dangerous fellow, hence! Breathe not where princes are. Cym. The tune of Imogen! Pis. Lady, the gods throw stones of sulphur on me, if That box I gave you was not thought by me A precious thing; I had it from the queen. Imo. It poison'd me. Cor. O gods! I left out one thing which the queen confess'd, Cym. What's this, Cornelius? Cor. The queen, sir, very oft importun'd me Do their due functions.-Have you ta'en of it? Bel. My boys, There was our error. 640 650 669 |