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That kill'd thy daughter:-villain-like, I lie;
A sacrilegious thief, to do't:-the temple
Be villainy less than 'twas!-O Imogen!
Peace, my lord! hear, hear!—
Post. Shall's have a play of this? Thou scornful
There lie thy part.
[Striking her: she falls.
O, gentlemen! help,
Mine, and your mistress.-O, my lord Posthumus!
Cym. If this be so, the gods do mean to strike me
To death with mortal joy.
How fares my mistress?
Imo. O! get thee from my sight;
Thou gav'st me poison: dangerous fellow, hence!
Breathe not where princes are.
The tune of Imogen!
The gods throw stones of sulphur on me, if
It poison'd me.
I left out one thing which the queen confess'd,
Have, said she, given his mistress that confection
As I would serve a rat.
What's this, Cornelius ?
Do their due functions.-Have you ta'en of it?
There was our error.
This is, sure, Fidele.
Imo. Why did you throw your wedded lady from
Think, that you are upon a rock; and now
Throw me again.
Till the tree die!
Hang there like fruit, my soul,
How now! my flesh, my child?
What! mak'st thou me a dullard in this act?
Wilt thou not speak to me?
Your blessing, sir.
Bel. Though you did love this youth, I blame ye
Cym. O! she was naught; and 'long of her it was, That we meet here so strangely: but her son
Is gone, we know not how, nor where.
Now fear is from me, I'll speak troth.
Upon my lady's missing, came to me
With his sword drawn; foam'd at the mouth, and
If I discover'd not which way she was gone,
It was my instant death. By accident,
I farther know not.
I slew him there.
Let me end the story.
Marry, the gods forefend!
I would not thy good deeds should from my lips
I have spoke it, and I did it.
Cym. He was a prince.
Gui. A most uncivil one. The wrongs he did me
5 I am SORRY for thee:] The folio, 1623, has sorrow for "sorry," which last was substituted in the folio, 1632, and from thence it was transferred to the other folios.
This is better than the man he slew,
As well descended as thyself; and hath
More of thee merited, than a band of Clotens
They were not born for bondage.
[To the Guard.
Why, old soldier,
Wilt thou undo the worth thou art unpaid for,
By tasting of our wrath?
As good as we ?
How of descent
In that he spake too far.
We will die all three:
Cym. And thou shalt die for't.
Gui. And our good his.
Your danger's ours.
Have at it, then, by leave.
Thou hadst, great king, a subject, who was call'd
Assum'd this age: indeed, a banish'd man;
I know not how, a traitor.
Take him hence.
Not too hot:
The whole world shall not save him.
First pay me for the nursing of thy sons;
And let it be confiscate all, so soon
As I have receiv'd it.
Nursing of my sons?
Bel. I am too blunt, and saucy; here's
Then, spare not the old father. Mighty sir,
How! my issue?
Bel. So sure as you your father's. I, old Morgan, Am that Belarius whom you sometime banish'd: Your pleasure was my mere offence, my punishment Itself, and all my treason; that I suffer'd
Was all the harm I did. These gentle princes
Having receiv'd the punishment before,
The more of you 'twas felt, the more it shap'd
Thou weep'st, and speak'st.
* Your pleasure was my MERE offence,] The meaning of "mere" in this place is evident, viz. the mere offence I committed was what your pleasure considered a crime: the first folio having misprinted it neere, it became near in the later folios, and some editors would substitute dear.