« ZurückWeiter »
The pangs of barr'd affections; though the king
Hath charg'd you should not speak together.
Dissembling courtesy! How fine this tyrant
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 loyalst 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. 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,
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;
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 up my embracements from a next
With bonds of death !-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.
[Putting a bracelet on her arm. Imo. O, the gods ! When shall we see again?
Enter CYMBELIne and Lords.
Post. Alack, the king !
Cym. Thou basest thing, avoid ! hence, from my
If, after this command, thou fraught the court
With thy unworthiness, thou diest : Away!
Thou art poison to my blood.
Post. The gods protect you !
And bless the good remainders of the court!
I am gone.
[Exit. Imo. There cannot be a pinch in death More sharp than this is.
Cym. O disloyal thing,
That should'st repair my youth; thou heapest
A year's age on me!
Imo. I besecch you, sir,
Harm not yourself with your vexation; I
Am senseless of your wrath; a touch more rare
Subdues all pangs, all fears.
Cym. Past grace? obedience?
Imo. Past hope, and in despair; that way, past grace.
Cym. That might'st 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; would'st have made my
throne A seat for baseness.
Imo. No: I rather added A lustre to it.
Cym. O thou vile one !
It is your fault that I have lov'd Posthumus;
You bred him as my play-fellow; 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
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, And pen her up.
Queen. 'Beseech your patience:--Peace, Dear lady daughter, peace;-Sweet sovereign, Leave us to ourselves; and make yourself some com
Out of your best advice.
Cym. Nay, let her languish
A drop of blood a-day; and, being aged,
Die of this folly!
Queen. Fye!-you must give way:
Here is your servant.—How now, sir? What news ?
Pis. My lord, your son, drew on my master.
No harm, I trust, is done?
Pis. 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.
Queen. I am very glad on't.
Imo. Your son's my father's friend; he takes his
To draw upon an exile !-O brave sir ! -
I would they were in Afric both together;
Myself by with a needle, that I might prick
The goer back. Why came you from your master?
Pis. On his command: He would not suffer me
To bring him to the haven: left these notes
Of what commands I should be subject to,
When it pleas’d you to employ me.
Queen. This hath been
Your faithful servant: I dare lay mine honour,
He will remain so.
Pis. I humbly thank your highness.
Queen. Pray, walk a while.
Imo. About some half hour hence,
I pray you, speak with me : you shall, at least,
Go see my lord aboard: for this time, leave me.
SCENE III.- A public Place.
Enter Cloten, and two Lords. i 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.
Clo. If my shirt were bloody, then to shift it-Have I hurt him? 2 Lord. No, faith; not so much as his patience.
[Aside. i Lord. Hurt him ? his body's a passable carcass, if he be not hurt : it is a thoroughfare for steel, if it be not hurt.
2 Lord. His steel was in debt; it went o’the backside the town.