1 Gent. He, that hath lost her, too: so is the queen, That most desir'd the match: But not a courtier, 2 Gen. And why so? 1 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. 2 Gent. You speak him far. 1 Gent. I do extend him, sir, within himself; Crush him together, rather than unfold His measure duly t. 2 Gent. What's his name, and birth? 1 Gent. I cannot delve him to the root: His father Was call'd Sicilius, who did join his honour, Died with their swords in hand; for which their fa ther (Then old and fond of issue), took such sorrow, Big of this gentleman, our theme, deceas'd i. e. You praise him extensively. + My praise, howeverextensive, is within his merit. The father of Cymbeline. Breeds him, and makes him of his bed-chamber: What kind of man he is. 2 Gent. I honour him Even out of your report. But, 'pray you, tell me, Is she sole child to the king? 1 Gent. His only child. He had two sons (if this be worth your hearing, 2 Gent. How long is this ago? 1 Gent. Some twenty years. 2 Gent. That a king's children should be so con. vey'd ! So slackly guarded! And the search so slow, 1 Gent. Howsoe'er 'tis strange, Or that the negligence may well be laugh'd at, 2 Gent. I do well believe you. 1 Gent. We must forbear: Here comes the queen, and princess. * Formed their manners. [Exeunt SCENE II. The same. Enter the Queen, Posthumus, and Imogen. 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 That lock up your restraint. For you, Posthumus, I will be known your advocate: marry, yet Post. I will from hence to-day. Queen. Please your highness, You know the peril : I'll fetch a turn about the garden, pitying The pangs of barr'd affections; though the king Imo. [Erit Queen. Dissembling courtesy! How fine this tyrant band, I something fear my father's wrath; but nothing His rage can do on me: You must be gone; Post. My queen! my mistress! O, lady, weep no more; lest I give cause Than doth become a man! I will remain Known but by letter: thither write, my queen, And with mine eyes I'll drink the words you send, Though ink be made of gail. Queen. Re-enter Queen. Be brief, I pray you! If the king come, I shall incur I know not To walk this way: I never do him wrong, Post. [Aside. [Exit. Should we be taking leave As long a term as yet we have to live, The loathness to depart would grow: Adieu! Were you but riding forth to air yourself, When Imogen is dead. Post. How! how! another? You gentle gods, give me but this I have, [Putting on the ring. While senset 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. • Close up. + Sensation. Cym. Thou basest thing, avoid! hence, from my sight! If, after this command, thou fraught* the court Post. The gods protect you! That should'st repair my youth: thou heapest Imo. I beseech you, sir, Harm not yourself with your vexation; I Am senseless of your wrath; a touch more raret 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 soleț 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. A lustre to it. * Fill. No; I rather added + A more exquisite feeling. |