In solem show, attend this funeral; On her dead mistress; tremblingly she stood, Cas. O noble weakness!- Dol. Here, on her breast, There is a vent of blood, and something blown: The like is on her arm. 1 Guard. This is an aspic's trail: and these leaves Have slime upon them, such as the aspic leaves Cæs. Most probable, That so she died; for her physician tells me, (1) Graceful appearance. (3) Enfold. [Exeunt. This play keeps curiosity always busy, and the passions always interested. The continual hurry of the action, the variety of incidents, and the quick fig-succession of one personage to another, call the mind forward without intermission, from the first act to the last. But the power of delighting is derived principally from the frequent changes of the scene; for, except the feminine arts, some of which are too low, which distinguish Cleopatra, no character is very strongly discriminated. Upton, who did not easily miss what he desired to find, has discovered that the language of Antony is, with great skill and learning, made pompous and superb, according to his real practice. But I think his diction not distinguishable from that of others: the most tumid speech in the play is that which Cæsar makes to Octavia. The events, of which the principal are described according to history, are produced without any art of connection or care of disposition. JOHNSON. ACT I. SCENE I-Britain. The garden behind Cym- You do not meet a man but frowns: our bloods' He purpos'd to his wife's sole son (a widow, 2 Gent. His measure duly." (Then old and fond of issue,) took such sorrow, (3) My praise, however extensive, is within his merit. 2 Gent. I honour him Even out of your report. 1 Gent. How long is this ago? 1 Gent. Some twenty years. (4) The father of Cymbeline. 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'r 'tis strange, Or that the negligence may well be laugh'd at, Yet is it true, sir. 2 Gent. I do well believe you. 1 Gent. We must forbear: Here comes the queen, and princess. [Exeunt. 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, That lock up your restraint. For you, Posthumus, I will be known your advocate: marry, yet You lean'd unto his sentence, with what patience Post. I will from hence to-day. Queen. Please your highness, 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. Imo. [Exit Queen. O, Dissembling courtesy! How fine this tyrant Can tickle where she wounds!-My dearest husband, 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; 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. Re-enter Queen. Queen. To walk this way: I never do him wrong, Were you but riding forth to air yourself, Such parting were too petty. Look here, love; Post. And sear up' my embracements from a next With bonds of death!-Remain thou here How! how! another?-A drop of blood a day; Nay, let her languish and, being aged, |