That most desir'd the match; But not a courtier, 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, Endows a man but he. 2 Gent. You speak him far.2 1 Gent. I do extend him, sir, within himself; Crush him together, rather than unfold His measure duly.3 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 father (Then old and fond of issue) took such sorrow, 2 i. e. You praise him extensively. 3 My praise, however extensive, is within his merit. 4 The father of Cymbeline. To his protection; calls him Posthumus; What kind of man he is. I honour him 2 Gent. 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, 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 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. 5 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, Posthúmus, After the slander of most step-mothers, Post. I will from hence to-day. Queen. Please your highness, You know the peril : I'll fetch a turn about the garden, pitying [Exit Queen. Imo. 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; Post. Than doth become a man! I will remain 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. 6 How! how! another? You gentle gods, give me but this I have, - [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 Upon this fairest prisoner. [Putting a Bracelet on her Arm. 6 Close up. Imo. When shall we see again? Post. O, the gods! Enter CYMBELINE and Lords. Alack, the king! Cym. Thou basest thing, avoid! hence, from my sight! 7 If, after this command, thou fraught the court Post. The gods protect you! And bless the good remainders of the court! I am gone. Imo. [Exit. There cannot be a pinch in death More sharp than this is. Сут. O disloyal thing, 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 rare 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 sole son of my queen! Imo. O bless'd, that I might not! I chose an eagle, And did avoid a puttock.9 Cym. Thou took'st a beggar; would'st have made my throne |