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Cor. Your Daughter, whom she bore in hand to love
With such integrity, she did confess,
Was as a scorpion to her fight; whose life,
But that her fight prevented it, she had
Ta'en off by poison.

Cym. O most delicate fiend!
Who is't can read a woman? is there more ?

Cor. More, Sir, and worfe. She did confess, she had
For you a mortal mineral ; which, being took,
Should by the minute feed on life, and ling’ring
By inches waste you. In which time the purpos'd,
By watching, weeping, tendance, kissing, to
O’ercome you with her shew: yes, and in time,
(When she had fitted you with her craft,) to work
Her son into th' adoption of the Crown:
But failing of her end by his strange absence,
Grew shameless, desperate ; opend, in defpight
Of heav'n and men, her purposes : repented,
The ills she hatch'd were not effected : so,
Despairing, dy'd.

Gym. Heard you all this, her Women ?
Lady. We did, so please your Highness.

Cym. Mine eyes
Were not in fault, for she was beautiful:
Mine ears, that heard her flattery; nor my heart,
That thought her like her Seeming. It had been vicious
To have miftrufted her. Yet, oh my daughter !
That it was folly in me, thou may't say,
And prove it in thy feeling. Heav'n mend all!

Enter Lucius, Iachimo, and other Roman prisoners;

Leonatus bebind, and Imogen.

Thou com'ft not, Caius, now for Tribute; That
The Britons have raz'd out, though with the lofs
Of many a bold one; whose kinsmen have made fuit,
That their good souls may be appeas'd with slaughter
Of you their Captives, which ourself have granted.
So, think of your estate.
Luc. Consider, Sir, the chance of war; the day


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Was yours by accident: had it gone with us,
We mould not, when the blood was cold, have threatned
Our Prisoners with the sword. But since the Gods
Will have it thus, that nothing but our lives
May be call'd ransom, let it come. Sufficeth,
A Roman with a Roman's heart can suffer.
Auguftus lives to think on't. And so much
For my peculiar care. This one thing only
I will intreat: my boy, a Briton born,
Let him be ransom'd; never master had
A page so kind, fo duteous, diligent,
So tender over his occafions, true,
So feat, fo nurse-like; let his virtue join
With my request, which, I'll make bold, your Highness
Cannot deny: he hath done no Briton harm,
Though he hath serv'd a Roman. Save him, Sir,
And spare no blood befide.

Cym. I've surely seen him;
His favour is familiar to me. Boy,
Thou hast look'd thyself into my grace,
And art mine own. I know not why, nor wherefore,
To say, “ live, boy:" ne'er thank thy master, live;
And ask of Cymbeline what boon thou wilt,
Fitting my bounty, and thy ftate, I'll give it:
Yea, though thou do demand a prisoner,
The nobleft ta’en.

Imo. I humbly thank your Highness.

Luc. I do not bid thee beg my life, good lad;
And yet, I know, thou wilt.

Imo. No, no, alack,
There's other work in hand ; J fee a thing
Bitter to me, as death; your life, good master,
Must Thuffle for itfelf.

Luc. The boy disdains me,
He leaves me, scorns me: briefly die their joys,
That place them on the truth of girls and boys!
Why stands he fo perplext?

Cym. What wouldst thou, boy?
I love thee more and more: think more and more,


What's best to ask. Know'it him thou look’it on ? speak; Wilt have him live? is he thy kin? thy friend?

Imo. He is a Roman; no more kin to me,
Than I to your Highness : who, being born your vaffal,
Am fomething nearer.

Cym. Wherefore eye'ft him fo?
Imo. I'll tell you, Sir, in private, if you please
To give me hearing.

Cym. Ay, with all my heart,
And lend my beft attention. What's thy name?

Imo. Fidele, Sir.

Cym. Thou art my good youth, my page; I'll be thy mafter : walk with me, speak freely.

[Cymbel. and Imo. walk apide. Bel. Is not this boy reviv'd from death?

Arv. One fand another (29)
Not more resembles, than he th' fweet rofy lad,
Who dy'd and was Fidele. What think you !

Guid. The same dead thing alive.

Bel. Peace, peace, see more; he eyes us not; forbear,
Creatures may be alike: were't he, I'm sure,
He would have spoke t’us.

Guid. But we faw him dead.
Bel. Be Glent: let's fee further.
Pis. 'Tis my mistress

[Afide. Since she is living, let the time run on, To good, or bad. (Cymb. and Imog. come forward.

Cym. Come, stand thou by our fide. Make thy demand aloud.

Sir, step you forth,

To Iachimo. Give answer to this boy, and do it freely ;


-One fand another
Not more resembles that sweet rosy Youth,

Wbo dy'd and was Fidele.] A Night corruption has made ftark Nonsense of this Passage. One Grain of Sand certainly might resemble another; but it could never resemble a human Form. I believe, I have restor'd the Poet's Meaning; The Verse is none of the smoothest; but, refembles, must be pronounc'd as a dilyllable.


Or, by our Greatness and the Grace of it,
Which is our Honour, bitter torture Ihall
Winnow the truth from falfhood. -On; speak to him.

Imo. My boon is, that this Gentleman may render Of whom he had this ring.

Poft. What's that to him ?

Cym. That diamond upon your finger, say, How came it yours?

lach. Thou'lt torture me to leave unspoken that, Which to be spoke would torture thee.

Cym. How? me?

lach. I'm glad to be constrain'd to utter what Torments me to conceal. By villany I got this ring; 'twas Leonatus' jewel, Whom thou didst banish : and (which more may grieve

thee, As it doth me) a nobler Sir ne'er liv'd 'Twixt ky and ground. Will you hear more, my Lord ?

Cym. All that belongs to this.

l'ach. That paragon, thy daughter, For whom my heart drops blood, and my false spirits Quail to remember, give me leave, I faint.

Cym. My daughter, what of her ? renew thy ftrength;
P'd rather thou shouldst live, while nature will,
Than die ere I hear more : strive, man, and speak.

lach. Upon a time, (unhappy was the clock,
That struck the hour;) it was in Rome, (accurs'd
The mansion where) 'twas at a feast, (oh, 'would
Our viands had been poison’d! or at least,
Those which I heav'd to head :) the good Pofthumus
(What should I say? he was too good to be
Where ill men were; and was the best of all
Amongst the rar'ft of good ones) — fittig fadly,
Hearing us praise our Loves of Italy (30)

For (30) Hearing us praise our Loves of Italy

For Beauty, that made barren the swell’d Boaff
Of bim that best could speak; for Feature, laming
The shrine of Vemis, or forait-pight Minerva,
Poftures, beyond brief Nature ; -]


For Beauty, that made barren the swell’d Boaft
Of him that beft could speak; for Stature, laming
The shrine of Venus, or straight-pight Minerva,
Poftures, beyond brief nature; for condition,
A shop of all the qualities, that man
Loves woman for; besides that hook of wiving,
Fairness, which strikes the eye

Cym. I stand on fire.
Come to the matter.

lach. All too soon I shall, Unless thou wouldft grieve quickly. - This Pofthumus, (Moft like a noble Lord in love, and one That had a royal lover) took his hint; And, not dispraising whom we prais’d, (therein He was as calm as virtue) he began His mistress picture; which by his tongue being made, And then a mind put in't, either our brags Were crack'd-of kitchen-rulls, or his description Prov'd us unspeaking fots.

Cym. Nay, nay, to th' purpose.

lach. Your daughter's chastity; - there it begins:
He spake of her, as Dian had hot dreams,
And she alone were cold; whereat, I, wretch!
Made fcruple of his praise; and wag'd with him
Pieces of gold, 'gainst this which then he wore
Upon his honour'd finger, to attain
In fuit the place of's bed, and win this ring


As plausible as this Reading may appear at first View, I dare say, it is slightly corrupted. What! did they praise their Mistreffes for Beauty, and for Feature too? The Symmetry of Features is always one main part of Beauty. Then why should Features be said to lame a Statue, or the Postures of a well-built Goddess? We must certainly restore

- for Stature laming The Shrine of Venus, &c.

Tbis agrees perfectly well with, laming, srait-pight, and Postures: and so the Lady is prais'd for her Beauty, her Shape, and her Temper of Mind,


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