1 Gent. You do not meet a man, but frowns: our bloods No more obey the heavens, than our courtiers; 2 Gent. But what's the matter? 1 Gent. His daughter, and the heir of his kingdom, whom He purpos'd to his wife's sole son, (a widow, Is outward sorrow; though, I think, the king 2 Gent. None but the king? 1 Gent. He, that hath lost her, too: so is the queen, That most desir'd the match: But not a courtier, Although they wear their faces to the bent B Of the king's looks, hath a heart that is not 2 Gent. 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 2 Gent. You speak him far. 1 Gent. I do extend him, sir, within himself; Crush him together, rather than unfold His measure duly. 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, father (Then old and fond of issue,) took such sorrow, 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, In his spring became a harvest: Liv'd in court, What kind of man he is. 2 Gent. I honour him Even out of your report. But, 'pray you, 1 Gent. His only child. tell me, He had two sons, (if this be worth your hearing, Which way they went. 2 Gent. How long is this ago? 1 Gent. Some twenty years. 2 Gent. That a king's children should be so convey'd! So slackly guarded! And the search so slow, That could not trace them! 1 Gent. Howsoe'er 'tis strange, Or that the negligence may well be laugh'd at, Yet is it true, sir. 2 Gent. I do well believe you. 1 Gent. We must forbear: Here comes the tleman, The queen, and princess. gen [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, Post. I will from hence to-day. Queen. Please your highness, You know the peril: I'll fetch a turn about the garden, pitying Imo. [Erit Queen. Dissembling courtesy! How fine this tyrant Can tickle where she wounds!-My dearest hus band, 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; Of angry eyes; not comforted to live, Post. Than doth become a man! I will remain Known but by letter: thither write, my queen, Re-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 [Aside. To walk this way: I never do him wrong, [Exit. Post. Should we be taking leave As long a term as yet we have to live, The loathness to depart would grow: Adieu! |