2 Gent. But what's the matter? 1 Gent. His daughter, and the heir of 's 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; Is outward sorrow, though, I think, the king Be touch'd at very heart. 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 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! 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. His father 2 Gent. Two other sons, who, in the wars o' the time, Died with their swords in hand; for which their father What kind of man he is. I honour him, But, pray you, tell me, 2 Gent. Even out of your report. Is she sole child to the king? His only child. 1 Gent. I' the swathing clothes the other, from their nursery 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 't is 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 gentleman, the queen, and princess. SCENE II. The Same. Enter the QUEEN, POSTHUMUS, and IMOGEN. [Exeunt. 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 jailer shall deliver you the keys That lock up your restraint. For you, Posthumus, I will be known your advocate: marry, yet You lean'd unto his sentence, with what patience 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 [Exit QUEEN. Imo. O dissembling courtesy! How fine this tyrant Can tickle where she wounds! - My dearest husband, His rage can do on me. You must be gone; Of angry eyes; not comforted to live, Post. To be suspected of more tenderness My residence in Rome at one Philario's ; Known but by letter. Thither write, my queen, Queen. Re-enter QUEEN. Be brief, I pray you: If the king come, I shall incur I know not How much of his displeasure. [Aside.] Yet I'll move him Post. 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, And sear up my embracements from a next With bonds of death! - Remain, remain thou here [Exit. [Putting on the Ring. While sense can keep it on. And sweetest, fairest, Imo. When shall we see again? [Putting a Bracelet on her Arm. O, the gods! Enter CYMBELINE and Lords. Post. VI. Alack, the king! 433 Cym. Thou basest thing, avoid! hence, from my sight! If after this command thou fraught the court With thy unworthiness, thou diest. Away! Thou 'rt poison to my blood. Post. The gods protect you, And bless the good remainders of the court! I am gone. Imo. More sharp than this is. Cym. There cannot be a pinch in death O disloyal thing! That should'st repair my youth, thou heapest Harm not yourself with your vexation: I am senseless of your wrath; a touch more rare Cym. Past grace? obedience? [Exit. Cym. Thou took'st a beggar; would'st have made my throne A seat for baseness. Sir, Imo. It is your fault that I have lov'd Posthumus. Cym. What! art thou mad? Imo. Almost, Sir: heaven restore me! A neat-herd's daughter, and my Leonatus Our neighbour shepherd's son! Would I were |