Were not in fault, for fhe was beautiful : Enter Lucius, Tachimo, and other Roman Prisoners, Thou com'ft not, Caius, now for tribute; that Luc. Confider, Sir, the chance of war; the day We should not, when the blood was cool, have threatned -And fo much For my peculiar care. This one thing only So feat, fo nurfe-like; let his virtue join With my requeft, which I'll make bold your Highness Cym. I've furely feen him; His favour is familiar to me. Boy, thou haft look'd thyself into my grace, The The nobleft ta'en. Imo. I humbly thank your Highness. Luc. I do not bid thee beg my life, good lad, And yet I know thou wilt. Imo. No, no, alack, There's other work in hand; I see a thing Luc. The boy difdains me, He leaves me, fcorns me: briefly die their joys, Cym. What wouldst thou, boy? I love thee more and more: think more and more, Than I to your Highness, who being born your vaffal Cym. Wherefore eye'ft him fo? Imo. I tell you, Sir, in private, if you please To give me hearing. Cym. Ay, with all my heart, And lend my best attention. What's thy name? Cym. Thou'rt my good youth, my page, I'll be thy master: walk with me, fpeak freely. [Cymbeline and Imogen go afide, Bel. Is not this Boy reviv'd from death? Arv. One fand Another doth not more resemble, than Guid. Ev'n the fame dead thing alive. Bel. Peace, peace, fee more; he eyes us not, forbear, Creatures may be alike: were't he, I'm fure He would have spoke t' us. Guid. But we faw him dead. VOL. VIII. E c Since Since the is living, let the time run on, To good, or bad. Cym. Come, ftand thou by our fide. Make thy demand aloud, Sir, ftep you forth, [To Iachimo. Give answer to this boy, and do it freely, Or by our greatness and the grace of it Which is our honour, bitter torture fhall Winnow the truth from falfhood. On, fpeak to him. Imo. My boon is, that this gentleman may render Of whom he had this ring. Poft. What's that to him? Cym. That diamond upon your finger, fay How came it yours? lach. Thou'lt torture me to leave unspoken, that Which to be spoke would torture thee. Cym. How? me? Iach. I'm glad to be conftrain'd to utter what Torments me to conceal. By villainy 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. Will you hear more? Cym. All that Belongs to this. lach. That paragon, thy daughter, For whom my heart drops blood, and my falfe fpirits Quail to remember-give me leave, I faint [Swor Cym. My daughter, what of her? renew thy ftrength; T'ad rather thou fhouldft live while nature will, Than die ere I hear more: ftrive, man, and speak. Jack. Upon a time, (unhappy was the clock Those which I heav'd to head :) the good Poftbumus- Hearing us praise our loves of Italy -fitting fadly, For beauty, that made barren the fwell'd boaft Of him that best could fpeak; for ftature, laming Loves woman for; befides, that hook of wiving, Cym. I ftand on fire. Come to the matter. Iach. All too foon I fhall, Unless thou wouldst grieve quickly. This Pofthumus, His mistress' picture; which by his tongue made, Cym. Nay, nay, to th' purpofe. Tach. Your daughter's chastity; there it begins: In fuit the place of's bed, and win this ring, Than I did truly find her, stakes this ring, E e 2 That That I return'd with fimular proof enough T o make the noble Leonatus mad, By wounding his belief in her renown, With tokens thus, and thus; averring notes Poft. Ay, fo thou doft, That's due to all the villains paft, in being, That all th' abhorred things o'th' earth amend, Be villainy less than 'twas. Oh Imogen! Imo. Peace, my Lord, hear, hear Poft. Shall's have a play of this? thou fcornful page, There lye thy part. Pif. Oh gentlemen, oh, help, [Striking ber, fhe falls. Mine and your miftrefs-Oh, my Lord Pofthumus? You ne'er kill'd Imogen 'till now-help, help, Mine honour'd Lady Cym. Does the world go round? Poft. How come these ftaggers on me? Pif. Wake, my mistress! Cym. If this be fo, the Gods do mean to ftrike me To death with mortal joy. Pif. |