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By her election may be truly read,
I honour him
But, 'pray you, tell me,
Even out of your report.
His only child. He had two sons, (if this be worth your bearing, Mark it,) the eldest of them at three years old, I'the swathing clothes the other, from their nursery Were stolen; and to this hour, no guess in knowledge Which way they went.
How long is this ago?
1 Gent. Some twenty years.
2 Gent. That a king's children should be so convey'd! So slackly guarded! and the search so slow,
That could not trace them!
Howsoe'er 'tis strange,
I do well believe you.
1 Gént. We must forbear: Here comes the queen, and princess.
SCENE II.-The same. Enter the Queen, Posthumus and Imogen.
Queen. No, be assur'd, you shall not find me, daugh
After the slander of most step-mothers,
Evil ey'd unto you: you are my prisoner, but
That lock up your restraint.-For you, Posthumus,
I will be known your advocate: marry, yet
Please your highness.
I will from hence to-day.
You know the peril :
I'll fetch a turn about the garden, pitying
Dissembling courtesy! How fine this tyrant
His rage can do on me: You must be gone;
Re-enter Queen. Queen. Be brief, I pray you: If the king come, I shall incur I know not How much of his displeasure:-Yet I'll move him
To walk this way: I never do him wrong,
Should we be taking leave As long 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,
How! how! another?-
[Putting on the ring. 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.
[Putting a bracelet on her arm O, the gods!
Enter Cymbeline and Lords.
Cym. Thou basest thing, avoid! hence, from my sight!
If, after this command, thou fraught the court
Post. The gods protect you And bless the good remainders of the court! I am gone. Imo. More sharp than this is.
There cannot be a pinch in death
O disloyal thing,
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.
Past grace? obedience? Imo. Past hope, and in despair; that way, past
Cym. That might'st have had the sole son of my
Imo. O bless', that I might not! I chose an eagle, And did avoid a puttoc.
Cym. Thou took'st a beggar; wouldst have made my throne
A seat for baseness.
A lustre to it.
No; I rather added
O thou vile one
It is your fault that I have lov'd Posthumus:
What!-art thou mad?
Imo. Almost, sir: heaven restore me!-Would I were A neat-herd's daughter! and my Leonatus Our neighbour shepherd's son !
Cym. Thou foolish thing ;They were again together: you have done
[To the Queen.
Not after our command. Away with her,
Queen. 'Beseech your patience :-Peace, Dear lady daughter, peace.-Sweet sovereign, Leave us to ourselves; and make yourself some comfort
Out of your best advice.
Fie!-you must give way:
Here is your servant.-How now, sir? what news?
No harën, I trust, is done?
I am very glad on't.
Imo. Your son's my father's friend; he takes his part.
To draw upon an exile!-O brave sir!-
This hath been Your faithful servant: I dare lay mine honour, He will remain so.
I humbly thank your highness.
[Exeunt. SCENE III-A public Place. Enter Cloten, and two Lords.
1 Lord. Sir, I would advise you to shift a shirt; the violence of action hath made you reek as a sacrifice. Where air comes out, air comes in: there's none abroad so wholesome as that you vent.