CYMBELINE.

ACT THE FIRST.

SCENE I.

Britain.

The Garden of Cymbeline's Palace.

Enter Pisanio and Second Lord.

Pisanio. You do not meet a man, but frowns: our bloods

No more obey the heavens, than our courtiers;
Still seem, as does the king's.

2 Lord. But what's the matter?

Pisanio. Are you so fresh a stranger, to ask that?
His daughter, and the heir of his kingdom, whom
He purpos'd to his wife's sole son (a widow,
That late he married), hath referr'd herself
Unto a poor, but worthy gentleman: She's wedded;
Her husband banish'd—she imprison'd: all

Is outward sorrow; though, I think, the king
Be touch'd at very heart.

2 Lord. None but the king?
Pisanio. Not a courtier,

Although they wear their faces to the bent
Of the king's looks, hath a heart that is not
Glad at the thing they scowl at.

2 Lord. And why so?

Pisanio. He, that hath miss'd the princess, is a thing Too bad for bad report; and he, that hath her (I mean, that marry'd 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.

2 Lord. His name and birth?

Pisanio. His father

Was call'd Sicilius, who did join his honour
Against the Romans, with Cassi belan;
So gain'd the sur-addition, Leonatus:

He 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;
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 his 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.

2 Lord. I honour him

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

Pisanio. His only child.

me,

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 stolen; and, to this hour, no guess in knowledge
Which way they went.

2 Lord. How long is this ago?

Pisanio. Some twenty years.

2 Lord. That a king's children should be so convey'd!

So slackly guarded! And the search so slow,
That could not trace them!

Pisanio. Howsoe'er 'tis strange,

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

We must forbear: Here comes the gentleman,
The queen, and princess.

[Exit Second Lord.

Enter the Queen, Imogen, and Posthumus.

Queen. No, be assur'd, you shall not find me, daughter,

After the slander of most step-mothers,

Evil-ey'd unto you: you are 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. 'Please your highness,

I will from hence to-day.

Queen. You know the peril :—

I'll fetch a turn about the garden, pitying

The pangs of barr'd affections; though the king
Hath charged, you should not speak together. [Exit.
Imog. O,

Dissembling courtesy! How fine this tyrant

Can tickle where she wounds!—My dearest husband,

You must begone;

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.

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,
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!
Imog. Nay, stay a little:

[Aside.

[Exit.

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, 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

[Putting a Bracelet on her Arm.

Upon this fairest prisoner.
Imog. O, the gods !—

When shall we see again?

Enter Cymbeline and Two Lords.

Post. Alack, the king!

Cym. Thou basest thing! avoid—hence, from my sight!

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.

Imog. There cannot be a pinch in death

More sharp than this is.—

Pisanio, go, and see your lord on board.

Cym. O, disloyal thing,

[Exit.

[Exit PISANIO.

That shouldst repair my youth! thou heapest many

A year's age on me.

Imog. 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.

Cym. That mightst have had the sole son of my
queen!

Imog. O bless'd, that I might not!

Cym. Thou took'st a beggar; wouldst have made my throne

A seat for baseness.