I[Gent.] He that hath lost her too: so is the Queene, That most desir'd the Match. But not a Courtier, Although they weare their faces to the bent

Of the Kings lookes, hath a heart that is not
Glad at the thing, they scowle at.
Gent. And why so?

20

Gent. He that hath miss'd the Princesse, is a thing Too bad, for bad report: and he that hath her, (I meane, that married her, alacke good man,

.And therefore banish'd) is

Creature, such,

As to seeke through the Regions of the Earth

For one, his like; there would be something failing
In him, that should compare. I do not thinke,

So faire an Outward,1 and such stuffe Within 1 outside dowes a marr, but hee:.

31

[Gent.] You speake him farre.2 2 praise him highly iGent. I do extend him (Sir) within himselfe, Crush him together, rather then unfold

His measure duly.

2 [Gent.] What's his name, and Birth?

[Gent.] I cannot delve him to the roote: His Father

Was call'd Sicillius, who did joyne his Honor
Against the Romanes, with Cassibulan,

But had his Titles by Tenantius, whom

40

He serv'd with Glory, and admir'd Successe:

So gain'd the Sur-addition, Leonatus.

And had (besides this Gentleman in question)

Two other Sonnes, who in the Warres o'th'time

Dy'de with their Swords in hand. For which, their Father
Then old, and fond of yssue, tooke such sorrow
That he quit Being; and his gentle Lady

39. Cassibulan: Cassibelan, and so throughout-2-4F.

Bigge of this Gentleman (our Theame) deceast
As he was borne. The King he takes the Babe
To his protection, cals him Posthumus Leonatus, 50
Breedes 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 tooke
As we do ayre, fast as 'twas ministred,

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 yongest: to th' more Mature,
A glasse that feated1 them: and to the graver, 1fashioned
A Childe that guided Dotards. To his Mistris,
(For whom he now is banish'd) her owne price 60
Proclaimes how she esteem'd him; and his Vertue
By her election may be truly read, what kind of man he is.
2 [Gent.] I honor him, even out of your report.
But pray you tell me, is she sole childe to❜th'King?
[Gent.] His onely childe:

He had two Sonnes (if this be worth your hearing,
Marke it) the eldest of them, at three yeares
old
I'th'swathing cloathes, the other from their Nursery
Were stolne, and to this houre, no ghesse in knowledge
Which way they went.

2 [Gent.] How long is this ago?

1[Gent.] Some twenty yeares.

70

2 [Gent.] That a Kings Children should be so convey'd, I

So slackely guarded, and the search so slow
That could not trace them.

1[Gent.] Howsoere, 'tis strange,

Or that the negligence may well be laugh'd at:
Yet is it true Sir.

62-5. 4 11. ending read, him, me, child-RowE, JOHNSON.

2 [Gent.] I do well beleeve you.

[Gent.] We must forbeare. Heere comes the Gen

Qn. No, be assur'd you shall not finde me(Daughter) After the slander of most Step-Mothers,

Evill-ey'd unto you. You're my Prisoner, but
Your Gaoler shall deliver you the keyes

That locke up your restraint. For you Posthumus,
So soone as I can win th'offended King,

I will be knowne your Advocate: marry yet
The fire of Rage is in him, and 'twere good

You lean'd unto his Sentence, with what patience
Your wisedome may informe

you.

Post. 'Please your Highnesse,

I will from hence to day.

Qu. You know the perill:

Ile fetch a turne about the Garden, pittying

90

The pangs of barr'd Affections, though the King 98 Hath charg'd you should not speake together.

Exit

Imo. O dissembling Curtesie! How fine this Tyrant Can tickle where she wounds? My deerest Husband, I something feare my Fathers wrath, but nothing (Alwayes reserv'd my holy duty) what His rage can do on me. You must be gone, And I shall heere abide the hourely shot

Of

angry eyes: not comforted to live, But that there is this Jewell in the world,

82. Scena Secunda: out-ROWE.

99-100. new 1. at Dissembling-CAPELL.

84. 2. misprint IF.

That I may see againe.

Post. My Queene, my Mistris:

O Lady, weepe no more, least I give cause
To be suspected of more tendernesse

Then doth become a man. I will remaine

The loyall'st husband, that did ere plight troth.
My residence in Rome, at one Filorio's

Who, to my Father was a Friend, to me

IIO

Knowne but by Letter; thither write (my Queene) And with mine eyes, Ile drinke the words you send, Though Inke be made of Gall.

Enter Queene.

Qu. Be briefe, I pray you:

If the King come, I shall incurre, I know not

120

How much of his displeasure: [Aside] yet Ile move him

To walke this way: I never do him wrong,

But he do's buy my Injuries, to be Friends:
Payes deere for my offences.

Post. Should we be taking leave

As long a terme as yet we have to live,

The loathnesse to depart, would grow: Adieu.
Imo. Nay, stay a little:

Were you but riding forth to ayre your selfe,

Such parting were too petty.

[Exit.]

Looke heere (Love)

This Diamond was my Mothers; take it (Heart)

But keepe it till you woo another Wife,

When Imogen is dead.

Post. How, how? Another?

You gentle Gods, give me but this I have,

And seare up my embracements from a next,

130

With bonds of death. [Putting on the ring.] Remaine, remaine thou heere, |

114. Filorio's: Philario's-RowE.

While sense can keepe it on: And sweetest, fairest,
As I (my poore selfe) did exchange for you
To your so infinite losse; so in our trifles
I still winne of you. For my sake weare this,
It is a Manacle of Love, Ile place it

Upon this fayrest Prisoner.

140

[Putting a bracelet upon ber arm.]

Imo. O the Gods!

When shall we see againe?

Enter Cymbeline, and Lords.

Post. Alacke, the King.

Cym. Thou basest thing, avoyd hence, from my sight:

If after this command thou fraught the Court

With thy unworthinesse, thou dyest. Away,
Thou'rt poyson to my blood.

150

Post. The Gods protect you,

And blesse the good Remainders of the Court:

Exit.

I am gone.

Imo. There cannot be a pinch in death

More sharpe then this is.

Cym. O disloyall thing,

That should'st repayre my youth, thou heap'st

A yeares age on mee.

Imo. I beseech you Sir,

Harme not your selfe with your vexation,

I am senselesse of your Wrath; a Touch more rare

Subdues all pangs, all feares.

Cym. Past Grace? Obedience?

160

Imo. Past hope, and in dispaire, that way past Grace. Cym. That might'st have had

The sole Sonne of my Queene.

167-8, I 1.-ROWE.