That kill'd thy daughter:-villain-like, I lie;
That caus'd a lesser villain than myself,

A sacrilegious thief, to do't:-the temple
Of virtue was she:-yea, and she herself
Spit, and throw stones, cast mire upon me; set
The dogs o' the street to bay me: every villain
Be call'd, Posthumus Leonatus, and

Be villainy less than 'twas!-O Imogen!
My queen, my life, my wife! O Imogen,
Imogen, Imogen!

Imo.

Peace, my lord! hear, hear!—

Post. Shall's have a play of this? Thou scornful

page,

There lie thy part.

Pis.

[Striking her: she falls.

O, gentlemen! help,

Mine, and your mistress.-O, my lord Posthumus!
You ne'er kill'd Imogen till now.-Help, help!-

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.

Pis. Lady,

The tune of Imogen!

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.
Cym. New matter still?

Imo.

Cor.

It poison'd me.

O gods!

I left out one thing which the queen confess'd,
Which must approve thee honest: if Pisanio

Have, said she, given his mistress that confection
Which I gave him for a cordial, she is serv'd

As I would serve a rat.

Cym.

What's this, Cornelius ?
Cor. The queen, sir, very oft importun'd me
To temper poisons for her; still pretending
The satisfaction of her knowledge, only
In killing creatures vile, as cats and dogs
Of no esteem: I, dreading that her purpose
Was of more danger, did compound for her
A certain stuff, which, being ta'en, would cease
The present power of life; but, in short time,
All offices of nature should again

Do their due functions.-Have you ta'en of it?
Imo. Most like I did, for I was dead.
Bel.

There was our error.

Gui.

This is, sure, Fidele.

My boys,

Imo. Why did you throw your wedded lady from

you?

Think, that you are upon a rock; and now

Throw me again.

Post.

Till the tree die!

Cym.

[Embracing him.

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?

Imo.

Your blessing, sir.

[Kneeling.

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.

Pis.

Now fear is from me, I'll speak troth.

Upon my lady's missing, came to me

My lord,

Lord Cloten,

With his sword drawn; foam'd at the mouth, and

swore,

If I discover'd not which way she was gone,

It was my instant death. By accident,
I had a feigned letter of my master's
Then in my pocket, which directed him
To seek her on the mountains near to Milford;
Where, in a frenzy, in my master's garments,
Which he inforc'd from me, away he posts
With unchaste purpose, and with oath to violate
My lady's honour: what became of him,

I farther know not.

Gui.

I slew him there.

Cym.

Let me end the story.

Marry, the gods forefend!

I would not thy good deeds should from my lips
Pluck a hard sentence: pr'ythee, valiant youth,
Deny't again.

Gui.

I have spoke it, and I did it.

Cym. He was a prince.

Gui. A most uncivil one. The wrongs he did me
Were nothing prince-like; for he did provoke me
With language that would make me spurn the sea,
If it could so roar to me. I cut off's head;
And am right glad, he is not standing here
To tell this tale of mine.

Cym.
I am sorry for thee':
By thine own tongue thou art condemn'd, and must

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
Had ever scar for.-Let his arms alone;

They were not born for bondage.

Cym.

[To the Guard.

Why, old soldier,

Wilt thou undo the worth thou art unpaid for,

By tasting of our wrath?

As good as we ?

Arv.

How of descent

In that he spake too far.

We will die all three:

Cym. And thou shalt die for't.
Bel.
But I will prove that two on's are as good
As I have given out him.-My sons, I must
For mine own part unfold a dangerous speech,
Though, haply, well for you.

Arv.

Gui. And our good his.

Bel.

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.

Cym.

Take him hence.

Not too hot:

The whole world shall not save him.

Bel.

First pay me for the nursing of thy sons;

And let it be confiscate all, so soon

As I have receiv'd it.

Cym.

Nursing of my sons?

my

knee:

Bel. I am too blunt, and saucy; here's
Ere I arise, I will prefer my sons;

Then, spare not the old father. Mighty sir,
These two young gentlemen, that call me father,
And think they are my sons, are none of mine:
They are the issue of your loins, my liege,
And blood of your begetting.

Cym.

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
(For such, and so they are) these twenty years
Have I train'd up; those arts they have, as I
Could put into them: my breeding was, sir, as
Your highness knows. Their nurse, Euriphile,
Whom for the theft I wedded, stole these children
Upon my banishment: I mov'd her to't;

Having receiv'd the punishment before,
For that which I did then: beaten for loyalty
Excited me to treason. Their dear loss,

The more of you 'twas felt, the more it shap'd
Unto my end of stealing them. But, gracious sir,
Here are your sons again; and I must lose
Two of the sweet'st companions in the world.-
The benediction of these covering heavens
Fall on their heads like dew! for they are worthy
To inlay heaven with stars.

Cym.

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.

VOL. VIII.

S