By external swelling: but she looks like sleep,
As she would catch another Antony

In her strong toil of grace.

Dol.

Here, on her breast,

There is a vent of blood and something blown:

The like is on her arm.

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First Guard. This is an aspic's trail: and these fig-leaves Have slime upon them, such as the aspic leaves

Upon the caves of Nile.

Cas.

Most probable

That so she died; for her physician tells me
She hath pursued conclusions infinite

Of easy ways to die.

Take up her bed;

And bear her women from the monument:

She shall be buried by her Antony:

No grave upon the earth shall clip in it

A pair so famous. High events as these

Strike those that make them; and their story is
No less in pity than his glory which

Brought them to be lamented. Our army shall
In solemn show attend this funeral;

And then to Rome. Come, Dolabella, see
High order in this great solemnity.

360

[Exeunt.

SCENE I. Britain. The garden of Cymbeline's palace.

Enter two Gentlemen.

First Gent. You do not meet a man but frowns: our bloods

No more obey the heavens than our courtiers

Still seem as does the king.

But what's the matter?

First Gent. His daughter, and the heir of's kingdom,

He purposed 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.

Sec. Gent.

None but the king?

First Gent. He that hath lost her too; so is the queen, That most desired 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
Glad at the thing they scowl at.

Sec. Gent.

And why so?

First 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.

Sec. Gent.

You speak him far.

First Gent. I do extend him, sir, within himself, Crush him together rather than unfold

His measure duly.

Sec. Gent. What's his name and birth?

First Gent. I cannot delve him to the root: his father

Was call'd Sicilius, who did join his honour

Against the Romans with Cassibelan,

But had his titles by Tenantius whom

He served with glory and admired success,

So gain'd the sur-addition Leonatus;

And 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 an i fond of issue, took such sorrow
That he quit being, and his gentle lady,

Big of this gentleman our theme, deceased
As he was born. The king he takes the babe

To his protection, calls him Posthumus Leonatus,
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's spring became a harvest, lived in court-
Which rare it is to do-most praised, most loved,
A sample to the youngest, to the more mature
A glass that feated them, and to the graver
A child that guided dotards; to his mistress,
For whom he now is banish'd, her own price

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20

Proclaims how she esteem'd him and his virtue;
By her election may be truly read

What kind of man he is.

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

First 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 stol'n, and to this hour no guess in knowledge
Which way they went.

Sec. Gent.

How long is this ago?

First Gent. Some twenty years.

60

Sec. Gent. That a king's children should be so convey'd, So slackiy guarded, and the search so slow,

That could not trace them!

First Gent.

Howsoe'er 'tis strange,

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

Sec. Gent.

I do well believe you.

First Gent. We must forbear: here comes the gentleman, The queen, and princess.

[Exeunt. 69

Enter the QUEEN, POSTHUMUS, and IMOGEN.

Queen. No, be assured you shall not find me, daughter, After the slander of most stepmothers,

Evil-eyed unto you: you're 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.

I will from hence to-day.

Queen.

Please your highness,

You know the peril

80

[Exit.

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.

Imo.

Dissembling courtesy! How fine this tyrant

Can tickle where she wounds! My dearest husband,
I something fear my father's wrath; but nothing-
Always reserved my holy duty-what

His rage can do on me: you must be gone;

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.

Queen.

Re-enter QUEEN.

Be brief, I pray you:

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100

If the king come, I shall incur I know not

How much of his displeasure. [Aside] 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!

Imo. Nay, stay a little:

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

[Exit.

110

With bonds of death! [Putting on the ring.] Remain,

remain thou here

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.

Imo.

When shall we see again?

120

[Putting a bracelet upon her arm. Ŏ the gods!

Enter CYMBELINE and Lords.