« ZurückWeiter »
And why so?
First Gent. He that hath miss'd the princess is a thing
As, to seek through the regions of the earth.
You speak him far.
First Gent. I do extend him, sir, within himself; Crush him together, rather than unfold
His measure duly.
What's his name and birth?
First Gent. I cannot delve him to the root: his father
Died with their swords in hand; for which their father
And in's spring became a harvest: liv'd in court
Proclaims how she esteem'd him and his virtue;
What kind of man he is.
I honour him
First Gent. Some twenty years.
Sec. Gent. That a king's children should be so con
How long is this ago?
So slackly guarded! and the search so slow,
That could not trace them!
Howsoe'er 'tis strange,
Or that the negligence may well be laugh'd at,
Yet is it true, sir.
I do well believe you.
First Gent. We must forbear: here comes the gentle
The queen, and princess.
Enter the Queen, POSTHUMUS, and IMOGEN.
Queen. No, be assur'd you shall not find me, daughter, After the slander of most stepmothers,
Evil-ey'd unto you: you're my prisoner, but
Your gaoler shall deliver you the keys
That lock up your restraint.-For you, Posthumus,
I will be known your advocate: marry, yet
The fire of rage is in him; and 'twere good
Please your highness,
I will from hence to-day.
You know the peril.—
Dissembling courtesy! How fine this tyrant
Of angry eyes; not comforted to live,
Imo. Nay, stay a little :
Were you but riding forth to air yourself,
Be brief, I pray you:
If the king come, I shall incur I know not
To walk this way: I never do him wrong,
But keep it till you woo another wife,
When Imogen is dead.
[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;
Upon this fairest prisoner. [Putting a bracelet upon her arm.
When shall we see again?
Alack, the king!
Enter CYMBELINE and Lords.
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.
Imo. There cannot be a pinch in death More sharp than this is.
O disloyal thing,
I am senseless of your wrath; a touch more rare
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 bless'd, that I might not! I chose an eagle, And did avoid a puttock.
Cym. Thou took'st a beggar; wouldst have made my
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:
Almost the sum he pays.
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 !
Thou foolish thing!
They were again together: you have done
Queen. Beseech your patience.-Peace,
[Exeunt Cymbeline and Lords. Fie! you must give way.
Here is your servant.-How now, sir! What news?
No harm, I trust, is done?
There might have been,
But that my master rather play'd than fought,