Sec. Gent.

And why so?

First Gent. He that hath miss'd the princess is a thing Too bad for bad report: and he that hath her (I mean, that married her,-alack, good man!— And therefore banish'd) is a creature such As, to seek through the regions of the earth For one his like, there would be something failing In him that should compare :-I do not think So fair an outward, and such stuff within, Endows a man but he.

Sec. Gent.

You speak him far.

First Gent. I do extend him, sir, within himself; Crush him together, rather than unfold

His measure duly.

Sec. Gent.

What's his name and birth?

First Gent. I cannot delve him to the root: his father

Was call'd Sicilius, who did join his honour,
Against the Romans, with Cassibelan;
But had his titles by Tenantius, whom
He serv'd with glory and admir'd success,—
So gain'd the sur-addition Leonatus:
And had, besides this gentleman in question,

Two other sons, who, in the wars o' the time,

Died with their swords in hand; for which their father
(Then old and fond of issue) took such sorrow,
That he quit being; and his gentle lady,
Big of this gentleman, our theme, deceas'd
As he was born. The king he takes the babe

To his protection; calls him Posthumus Leonatus ;(2)
Breeds him, and makes him of his bed-chamber:
Puts to him all the learnings that his time
Could make him the receiver of; which he took,
As we do air, fast as 'twas minister'd;
And in's spring became a harvest: liv'd in court
(Which rare it is to do) most prais'd, most lov'd:
A sample to the youngest; to the more mature
A glass that feated them; and to the graver
A child that guided dotards: to his mistress,
For whom he now is banish'd,-her own price

Proclaims how she esteem'd him and his virtue;
By her election may be truly read

Even out of your report. But, pray you, tell me,
Is she sole child to the king?

First Gent.

His only child.

He had two sons,-if this be worth your hearing,
Mark it, the eldest of them at three years old,
I' the swathing-clothes the other, from their nursery
Were stol'n; and to this hour no guess in knowledge
Which way they went.

Sec. Gent.

How long is this ago?

First Gent. Some twenty years.

Sec. Gent. That a king's children should be so con

vey'd!

So slackly guarded! and the search so slow,

That could not trace them!

First Gent.

Howsoe'er 'tis strange,

Or that the negligence may well be laugh'd at,

Yet is it true, sir.

Sec. Gent.

I do well believe you.

First Gent. We must forbear: here comes the gentle

man,

The queen, and princess.

Enter the Queen, POSTHUMUS, and IMOGEN.

[Exeunt.

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,
So soon as I can win the offended king,

I will be known your advocate: marry, yet
The fire of rage is in him; and 'twere good

You lean'd unto his sentence with what patience
Your wisdom may inform you.

Post.

I will from hence to-day.

Please your highness,

Queen.

You know the peril.—

I'll fetch a turn about the garden, pitying
The pangs of barr'd affections; though the king
Hath charg'd you should not speak together.

Imo.

Dissembling courtesy! How fine this tyrant

[Exit.

Can tickle where she wounds!-My dearest husband,
I something fear my father's wrath; but nothing
(Always reserv'd my holy duty) what

His rage can do on me: you must be gone;
And I shall here abide the hourly shot

Of

angry eyes; not comforted to live, But that there is this jewel in the world, That I may see again.

Post.

My queen! my mistress!
O lady, weep no more, lest I give cause
To be suspected of more tenderness

Than doth become a man! I will remain
The loyal'st husband that did e'er plight troth:
My residence in Rome at one Philario's;
Who to my father was a friend, to me

Known but by letter: thither write, my queen,
And with mine eyes I'll drink the words you send,
Though ink be made of gall.

Queen.

Re-enter Queen.

Be brief, I pray you:

If the king come, I shall incur I know not

How much of his displeasure.—[Aside.] Yet I'll move him
To walk this way: I never do him wrong,

But he does buy my injuries, to be friends;
Pays dear for my offences.

Post.

Should we be taking leave

As long a 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,
Such parting were too petty. Look here, love;
This diamond was my mother's: take it, heart;

[Exit.

But keep it till you woo another wife,

When Imogen is dead.

Post.

How, how! another?

You gentle gods, give me but this I have,

And sear(3) up my embracements from a next

With bonds of death!-Remain, remain thou here

[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.

Imo.

When shall we see again?

Post.

[Putting a bracelet upon her arm. O the gods!

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.

Post.

The gods protect you!

[Exit.

And bless the good remainders of the court!

I am gone.

Imo. There cannot be a pinch in death More sharp than this is.

That shouldst repair my youth, thou heapest(5)
A year's age on me!

Imo.

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?

Cym. 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

It is your fault that I have lov'd Posthumus:
You bred him as my playfellow; and he is
A man worth any woman; overbuys me
Almost the sum he pays.

Cym.

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!

Re-enter Queen.

They were again together: you have done
Not after our command. Away with her,

And pen

her up.

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.

Cym.

Nay, let her languish

[Exeunt Cymbeline and Lords.

A drop of blood a day; and, being agèd,

Die of this folly!

Queen.

Fie! you must give way.

Enter PISANIO.

Here is your servant.-How now, sir! What news?

Pis. My lord your son drew on my master.

Queen.

No harm, I trust, is done?

Pis.

Ha!

There might have been,

But that my master rather play'd than fought,
And had no help of anger: they were parted
By gentlemen at hand.