Imagens das páginas

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.

Enter Queen.

Queen. Be brief, I pray you:

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. [Exit.

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 cere up my embracements from a next
With bands of death ! — Remain, 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.

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

When shall we see again?

Enter Cymbeline and Lords.

Post. Alack, the King!

Cymhellne. Thou basest thing, avoid! hence, from my sight! If after this command thou fraught the Court With thy unworthiness, thou diest. Away! Thou'rt poison to my blood.

Post. The gods protect you,

And bless the good remainders of the Court!
I am gone. [_Exit.

Imo. There cannot be a pinch in death

More sharp than this is.

Cym. O disloyal thing!

That should'st repair my youth, thou heap'st
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. Past grace? obedience?

Imo. Past hope, and in despair; that way, past grace.

Cym. That might'st have had the sole son of my queen.

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

Cym. Thou took'st a beggar; would'st have made my throne A seat for baseness.

Imo. No; I rather added

A lustre to it.

Cym. O thou vile one!

Imo. Sir,

It is your fault that I have lov'd Posthumus.
You bred him as my play-fellow; 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 I were A neat-herd's daughter, and my Leonatus Our neighbour shepherd's son!

Enter Queen.

Cym. Thou foolish thing ! —

[To the Queen.] They were again together: you have

done Not after our command. Away with her, And pen her up.

Queen. Beseech your patience. — Peace!

Dear lady daughter, peace ! — Sweet sovereign,
Leave us to ourselves; and make yourself some com-
Out of your best advice.

Cym. Nay, let her languish

A drop of blood a day; and, being aged,
Die of this folly! [Exit.

Enter Pisanio.

Queen. Fie!TMyou must give way:

Here is your servant. —- How now, sir! What news? Pisanio. My lord your son drew on my master.

Queen. Ha!

No harm, I trust, is done?

Pis. There might have been,

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

Queen. I am very glad on 't.

Imo. Your son's my father's friend; he takes his part. — To draw upon an exile ! —- 0 brave sir ! — I would they were in Afric both together, Myself by with a needle, that I might prick The goer back. — Why came you from your master?

Pis. On his command. He would not suffer 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 servant: I dare lay mine honour
He will remain so.

Pis. I humbly thank your Highness.

Queen. Pray, walk a while.

Imo. About some half hour hence,

[I] pray you, speak with me. You shall, at least, Go see my lord abroad: for this time, leave me.


Scene III.

A Public Place near Cymbelxne's Palace.

Enter Cloten, and two Lords. 1 Lord. Sir, I would advise you to shift a shirt: the violence of action hath made you reek as a sacrifice. Where air comes out, air comes in; there's none abroad so wholesome as that you vent.

Cloten. If my shirt were bloody, then to shift it — Have I hurt him?

2 Lord. [Aside.] No, faith; not so much as his patience.

1 Lord. Hurt him? his body's a passable carcass, if he be not hurt: it is a thoroughfare for steel, if it be not hurt.

2 Lord. [Aside.] His steel was in debt; it went o' th' backside the town.

Clo. The villain would not stand me. 2 Lord. [Aside.'] No; but he fled forward still, toward your face.

1 Lord. Stand you! You have land enough of your own; but he added to your having, gave you some ground.

2 Lord. [Aside.] As many inches as you have oceans. — Puppies!

Clo. I would they had not come between us.

2 Lord. [Aside.] So would I, till you had measur'd how long a fool you were upon the ground.

Clo. And that she should love this fellow, and refuse me!

2 Lord. [Aside.] If it be a sin to make a true election, she is damn'd.

1 Lord. Sir, as I told you always, her beauty and her brain go not together: she's a good sign, but I have seen small reflection of her wit.

2 Lord. [Aside.] She shines not upon fools, lest the reflection should hurt her.

Clo. Come, I'll to my chamber. "Would there had been some hurt done!

2 Lord. [Aside.] I wish not so; unless it had been the fall of an ass, which is no great hurt.

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