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CYMBELINE.

ACT I.

SCENE I. Britain. The garden of Cymbeline's

palace.

Enter two Gentlemen.

First Gent. You do not meet a

frowns: our bloods

man but

No more obey the heavens than our courtiers
Still seem as does the king.

Sec. Gent.

But what's the matter?

First Gent. His daughter, and the heir of's kingdom, whom

He purposed 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 imprisca'd: all

Is outward sorrow; though I think the king
Be touch'd at very heart.

Sec, Gent.

ΙΟ

None but the king? First Gent. He that hath lost her too; so is the

queen,

That most desired 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.

Sec. Gent.

And why so? First 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 like, there would be something failing

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In him that should compare. I do not think
So fair an outward* and such stuff within
Endows a man but he.

Sec. Gent.

You speak him far.

*Outside.

First Gent. I do extend him, sir, within himself,

Crush him together rather than unfold

His measure duly.

Sec. Gent.

What's his name and birth?

First Gent. I cannot delve him to the root: his father

Was call'd Sicilius, who did join his honour
Against the Romans with Cassibelan,

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But had his titles by Tenantius whom

He served with glory and admired success,
So gain'd the sur-addition* Leonatus;

*Title.

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, deceased

As he was born. The king he takes the babe

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To his protection, calls him Posthumus Leonatus,
Breeds him and makes him of his bed-chamber,
Puts to him 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 's spring became a harvest, lived in court-
Which rare it is to do-most praised, most loved,
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 †Made them fine.
What kind of man he is.

Sec. Gent.

I honour him

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Even out of your report. But, pray you, tell me, Is she sole child to the king?

First 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 nur

sery

Were stol'n, and to this hour no guess in knowledge

Which way they went.

Sec. Gent.

How long is this ago?

First Gent. Some twenty years.

Sec. Gent.

convey'd,

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That a king's children should be so

So slackly guarded, and the search so slow,
That could not trace them!

First Gent.

Howsoe'er 'tis strange,

Or that the negligence may well be laugh'd at,

Yet is it true, sir.

Sec. Gent.

First Gent.

gentleman,

I do well believe you.

We must forbear: here comes the

The queen, and princess.

[Exeunt.

Enter the QUEEN, POSTHUMUS, and IMOGEN.

Queen.

No, be assured you shall not find me,

daughter,

After the slander of most stepmothers,

Evil-eyed unto you: you're my prisoner, but
Your gaoler shall deliver you the keys

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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.

I will from hence to-day.

Please your highness,

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

[Exit. 0

Imo. 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 reserved 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

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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.

Re-enter QUEEN.

Be brief, I pray you: ΙΟΙ

If the king come, I shall incur I know not
How much of his displeasure. [Aside] Yet I'll

move him

To walk this way: I never do him wrong,
But he does buy my injuries, to be friends;
Pays dear for my offences.

Post.

[Exit.

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.

How, how! another?

You gentle gods, give me but this I have,

And sear up my embracements from a next

IIO

With bonds of death! [Putting on the ring.] Remain, remain thou here

While sense 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.

Imo.

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[Putting a bracelet upon her arm. O the gods!

When shall we see again?

Post.

Enter CYMBELINE and Lords.

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'rt poison to my blood.

Post.

And bless the good remainders of the court!

I am gone.

Imo.

The gods protect you!

[Exit.

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There cannot be a pinch in death

More sharp than this is.

Cym.

O disloyal thing,

That shouldst repair my youth, thou heap'st

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.

Cym.

Past grace? obedience?

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

grace.

Cym. That mightst have had the sole son of my queen!

Imo. O blest, that I might not! I chose an eagle,

And did avoid a puttock.*

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Cym. Thou took'st a beggar; wouldst have made my throne

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It is your fault that I have loved Posthumus:

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