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. a

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;
But 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 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,

You carry your praise far.

b The Gentleman says-I do extend him-appreciate his good qualities-but only within the real limits of what they are: instead of unfolding his measure duly, I crush him together compress his excellence.

As we do air, fast as 't was ministered,

And in 's 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 th' 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 esteem'd him and his virtue;
By her election may be truly read
What kind of man he is.

I honour him

But, 'pray you, tell me,

2 Gent. Even out of your report. 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 't is 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 gentle

man,

The queen, and princess.

SCENE II.-The same.

[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, 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 't were 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 :—

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.

[Exit QUEEN Imo. O dissembling courtesy! How fine this tyrant Can tickle where she wounds!-My dearest husband, 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 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.

Re-enter QUEEN.

Queen.

Be brief, I pray you:

If the king come, I shall incur I know not
How much of his displeasure: 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.

a

[Aside.

[Exit.

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
With bonds of death!-Remain thou here

[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.

Imo.

[Putting a bracelet on her arm. O, the gods!

When shall we see again?

Post.

Enter CYMBELINE and Lords.

Alack, the king!

Cym, Thou basest thing, avoid! hence, from my sight!

This sentence is obscure; but the meaning of the crafty Queen appears to be, that the kindness of her husband, eveu when she is doing him wrong, purchases injuries as if they were benefits.

If after this command thou fraught the court
With thy unworthiness, thou diest: Away!
Thou art poison to my blood.

Post.

The gods protect you! And bless the good remainders of the court!

I am gone.

Imo.

There cannot be a pinch in death

More sharp than this is.

Cym.

O disloyal thing,

That shouldst repair my youth; thou heapest
A year's age on me!

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.

[Exit.

Past grace? obedience? Io. Past hope, and in despair; that way, past grace. Cym. That mightst have had the sole son of my

queen!

Imo. Obless'd, that I might not! I chose an eagle, And did avoid a puttock.b

Cym. Thou took'st a beggar; wouldst have made my throne

A seat for baseness.

Imo.

A lustre to it.

Cym.

Imo.

No; I rather added

O thou vile one!

Sir,

It is your fault that I have lov'd Posthumus ;
You bred him as my playfellow; and he is
A man worth any woman; overbuys me
Almost the sum he pays.

Cym.

What! art thou mad?

Imo. Almost, sir: Heaven restore me! Would Y