(For whom he now is banish'd) her own price Proclaims, how the efteem'd him and his virtue. By her election may be truly read,

What kind of man he is.

2 Gent. I honour him, ev'n out of your report. But tell me, is fhe fole child to the King? 1 Gent. His only child.

He had two fons, (if this be worth your hearing,
Mark it;) the eldest of them at three years old,
I'th' fwathing cloaths the other, from their nursery
Were ftol'n; 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 fo con-
vey'd,

So flackly guarded, and the search so flow
That could not trace them,

1 Gent. Howfoe'er 'tis ftrange,

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 Gentle

man,

The Queen, and Princess.

[Exeunt.

Enter the Queen, Pofthumus, Imogen, and attendants: Queen. No, be affur'd, you fhall not find me, daugh

ter,

After the flander of moft step mothers,

I'll-ey'd unto you: You're my pris'ner, but
Your goaler fhall deliver you the keys

That lock up your reftraint. For you, Pofthumus,
So foon as I can win th' 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.

Poft. Pleafe your Highness,
I will from hence to day.

Queen

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 fhould not speak together. [Exit.
Ima. Diffembling courtefie! how fine this tyrant
Can tickle, where the wounds! My deareft husband,
I fomething fear my father's wrath, but nothing
(Always referv'd my holy duty) what

His rage can do on me.

You must be gone,
And I fhail here abide the hourly fhot
Of angry eyes: not comforted to live,
But that there is this jewel in the world,
That I may fee again.

Poft. My Queen! my Mistress!

O lady, weep no more, left I give cause
To be fufpected of more tenderness

Than doth become a man. I will remain
The loyall'ft husband, that did e'er plight troth;
My refidence 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 fend,
Though ink be made of gall.

Re-enter Queen.

Queen. Be brief, I pray you;

If the King come, I fhall incur I know not

How much of his difpleasure

-yet I'll move him

[Afide

[Exit.

To walk this way; I never do him wrong,

But he does buy my injuries to be friends,

Pays dear for my offences.

Poft. Should we be taking leave,

As long a term as yet we have to live,

The lothness to depart would grow:-adieu!
Imo. Nay, ftay a little-

Were you but riding forth to air your felf,

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.

Poft.

Poft. How, how, another!

You gentle Gods, give me but this I have,
And fear up my embracements from a next

With bonds of death. Remain, remain thou here,

[Putting on the ring. While fenfe can keep thee on! and Sweeteft, Faireft, As I my poor felf did exchange for you, To your so infinite lofs; so, in our trifles

I ftill win of you. For my fake, wear this;
It is a manacle of love, I'll place it

Upon this faireft pris'ner.
Imo. O, the Gods!

When fhall we fee again?

[Putting a bracelet on her arm.

Enter Cymbeline, and Lords.

Poft. Alack, the King!

Cym. Thou baseft Thing, avoid; hence, from my fight:

If, after this Command, thou fraught the Court
With thy unworthiness, thou dy'ft. Away!

Thou'rt poifon to my

blood.

Poft. The Gods protect you,

And blefs the good remainders of the Court!

I'm gone.

Imo. There cannot be a pinch in death

More fharp than this is.

Cym. O difloyal thing, (2)

That should' ft repair my Youth, thou heap'st

A Year's Age on me.]

[Exit.

That

The King lov'd his Daughter, and was much vex'd and difappointed at her having married against his Confent. But, furely, his Sorrow was not very extreme, if the Effects of it only added one Year to his Age. Others have complain'd, of bringing their grey Hairs with Sorrow to the Grave. Our Cym beline feems a more temperate Mourner. But we muft correct, as my ingenious Friend Mr. Warburton acutely observ'd to me, A yare Age on me.

!

i.e, a sudden, precipitate, Old Age. For the Word fignifies not only

That should'st repair my youth, thou heap't
A yare age on me.

Imo. I befeech you, Sir,

Harm not your felf with your Vexation;

I'm fenfelefs of your wrath; a touch more rare
Subdues all pangs, all fears.

Cym. Paft grace? obedience?

Imo. Paft hope, and in defpair; that way, paft grace. Cym. Thou might'ft have had the fole fon of my Queen.

Imo. O, bleft, that I might not! I chose an eagle, And did avoid a puttock.

Cym. Thou took'ft a beggar; would't have made my Throne

A Seat for Baseness.

Imo. No, I rather added

A luftre to it.

Cym. O thou vile one!

Imo. Sir,

It is your fault, that I have lov'd Pofthumus:
You bred him as my play-fellow; and he is
A man, worth any woman; over-buys me
Almoft the fum he pays.

Cym. What!- -art thou mad?

Imo. Almoft, Sir; heav'n restore me! 'would I were A neat-herd's daughter, and my Leonatus

Our neighbour-fhepherd's fon!"

Enter Queen.

Cym. Thou foolish Thing

They were again together, you have done

[To the Queen

Not after our Command. Away with her,

And pen her up.

Queen. Befeech your patience; peace,

Dear lady daughter, peace. Sweet Sovereign,

only nimble, dextrous, as it is many times employ'd in our Author; but likewife, as SKINNER expounds it, fervidas, promptus, præceps, impatiens,,

Leave us t' our felves, and make your felf fome comfort

Out of your best advice.

Cym. Nay, let her languish

A drop of blood a-day; and, being aged,

Die of this folly.

Enter Pifanio.

Queen. Fie, you must give way:

[Exits

Here is your fervant. How now, Sir? what news?

Pif. My lord your fon drew on my master.
Queen. Hah!

No harm, I truft, is done?

Pif. There might have been,

But that my mafter rather play'd, than fought,
And had no help of anger: they were parted
By gentlemen at hand.

Queen. I'm very glad on't.

Imo. Your fon's my father's friend, he takes his part. To draw upon an exile: O brave Sir!

I would they were in Africk both together,

My felf by with a needle, that I might prick
The goer-back. Why came you from your mafter
Pif. On his command; he would not fuffer me
To bring him to the haven: left these notes
Of what commands I should be subject to,
When't pleas'd you to employ me.

Queen. This hath been

Your faithful fervant: I dare lay mine honour,
He will remain fo.

Pif. I humbly thank your Highness.

Queen. Pray, walk a while.

Imo. About fome half hour hence, pray you, fpeak

with me;

You fhall, at least, go

For this time leave me.

Enter Cloten, and two Lords.

1 Lord. Sir, I would advise you to fhift a fhirt; the violence of action hath made you reek as a facrifice. Where air comes out, air comes in: there's none abroad fo wholfome as That you vent.

Clat