CYMBELINE

IA C T I. SCENE I.

Britain. The Garden behind Cymbeline's Palace.

Enter two Gentlemen.

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

No more obey the heaveus, than our courtiers; Still seem, as does the King's.

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, That late he married) hath referr'd herself Unto a poor, but worthy, gentleman:

wedded;

She's

Her husband banish'd; she imprison'd all
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
Glad at the thing they scowl`at.

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
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.

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,
Against the Romans, with Cassibelan;
Bud had his titles by Tenantius, whom
He serv'd with glory and admir'd 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 and fond of issue,) took such sorrow, That he quit being; and his gentle lady,

Big of this gentleman, our theme, deceas'd
As he was born. The King, he takes the babe
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,
As we do air, fast as 'twas minister'd; and
In his spring became a harvest: Liv'd in court,
(Which rare it is to do,) most prais'd, most lov❜d:
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.
Proclaims how she seteem'd him and his virtue;
By her election may be truly read,

What kind of man he is.

2. Gent. I honour bim

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
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 gentleman,

The Queen, and Princess.

[Exeunt.

་

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,
Your gaoler shall deliver you the keys

but

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. Please your Highness,
I will from hence to-day.

Queen. You know the peril :·

I'll fetch a turn about the garden, pitying

The pangs of barr'd affections; though the King Hath charg'd you should not speak together.

Imo. O

[Exit Queen.

Dissembling courtesy! How fine this tyrant
Can tickle where she wounds!

husband,

My dearest

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;
And I shall heie 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!

0, 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,

Re-enter Queen.

Queen. Be brief, I pray you:
If the King come, I shall incur I know not

How much of his displeasure:"

him

Yet I'll move,

[Aside.

[Exit

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 Cods; give ine but this I have,
And sear up my embracements from a next

With bonds of death! - Remaio, remain thon here

[Putting on the ring.