Should by the minute feed on life, and, ling'ring,
By inches waste you: In which time she purpos'd,
By watching, weeping, tendance, kissing, to
O'ercome you with her show: yes, and in time
(When she had fitted you with her craft), to work
Her son into the adoption of the crown.
But failing of her end by his strange absence,
Grew shameless desperate; open'd, in despite
Of heaven and men, her purposes; repented
The evils she hatch'd were not effected; so,
Despairing, died.

Cym.

Heard you all this, her women? Lady. We did so, please your highness. Cym.

Were not in fault, for she was beautiful;

Mine eyes

Mine ears, that heard her flattery; nor my heart, That thought her like her seeming; it had been vi.

cious,

To have mistrusted her: yet, O my daughter!
That it was folly in me, thou may'st say,

And prove it in thy feeling. Heaven mend all!

Enter Lucius, Iachimo, the Soothsayer, and other Roman Prisoners, guarded; Posthumus behind, and Imogen.

Thou com'st not, Caius, now for tribute; that
The Britons have raz'd out, though with the loss
Of many a bold one; whose kinsmen have made suit,
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 Was yours by accident; had it gone with us,

We should not, when the blood was cool, have

threaten'd

Our prisoners with the sword. But since the gods, Will have it thus, that nothing but our lives

May be call'd ransome, let it come: sufficeth,

A Roman with a Roman's heart can suffer:
Augustus lives to think on't: And so much
For my peculiar care. This one thing only
I will entreat; My boy, a Briton born,
Let him be ransom'd: never master had
A page so kind, so duteous, diligent,
So tender over his occasions, true,

So feat*, so 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 have serv'd a Roman: save him, sir,
And spare no blood beside.

Cym.

I have surely seen him:

His favourt 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 state, I'll give it;
Yea, though thou do demand a prisoner,
The noblest 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.

No, no: alack,

Imo.
There's other work in hand; I see a thing,
Bitter to me as death: your life, good master,
Must shuffle for itself.

Luc.

The boy disdains ine,

He leaves me, scorus me: Briefly die their joys,
That place them on the truth of girls and boys.
Why stands he so perplex'd?

Cym.

What would'st thou, boy?

I love thee more and more; think more and more What's best to ask. Know'st him thou look'st on?

speak,

Wilt have him live? Is he thy kin? thy friend?

* Ready, dextrous.

+ Countenance.

Imo. He is a Roman; no more kin to me, Than I to your highness; who, being born your vas

sal,

Am something nearer.

Cym.

Wherefore ey'st him so?

Imo. I'll tell you, sir, in private, if you please

To give me hearing.

Cym.

Ay, with all my heart,

And lend my best attention. What's thy name?

Imo. Fidele, sir.

Cym.

Thou art my good youth, my page; I'll be thy master: Walk with me; speak freely. [Cymbeline and Imogen converse apart. Bel. Is not this boy reviv'd from death?

One sand another

Aro.
Not more resembles: That sweet rosy lad,
Who died, and was Fidele:-What think you?
Gui. The same dead thing alive.

T

Bel. Peace, peace! see further; he eyes us not; forbear;

Creatures may be alike: were't he, I am sure

He would have spoke to us.

Gui.

Bel. Be silent; let's see further.
Pis.

But we saw him dead.

It is my mistress:

[Aside.

Since she is living, let the time run on,

To good, or bad.

Cym.

[Cymbeline and Imogen come forward. Come, stand thou by our side;

Make thy demand aloud.-Sir, [To Iach.] step you

forth;

Give answer to this boy, and do it freely;

Or, by our greatness, and the grace of it,
Which is our honour, bitter torture shall

Winnow the truth from falsehood.-On, speak to him.
Imo. My boon is, that this gentleman may render
Of whom he had this ring.

Post.

What's that to him?

[Aside.

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?

Iach. I am glad to be constrain'd to utter that

which

Torments me to conceal. By villainy

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 sky and ground. Wilt thou hear more, my

lord?

Cym. All that belongs to this.

Iach.

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 strength :

I had rather thou should'st live while nature will,
Than die ere I hear more: strive man, and speak.
Iach. Upon a time, (unhappy was the clock
That struck the hour!) it was in Rome, (accurs'd
The mansion where!) 'twas at a feast, (O 'would
Our viands had been poison'd! or, at least,
Those which I heav'd to head!) the good Posthúmus
(What should I say? he was too good, to be
Where ill men were; and was the best of all
Amongst the rar'st of good ones), sitting sadly,
Hearing us praise our loves of Italy

For beauty that made barren the swell'd boast
Of him that best could speak; for feature, laming
The shrine of Venus, or straight-pight Minerva,
Postures 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 :-

Sink into dejection.

(Most like a noble lord in love, and one
That had a royal lover), took his hint;
And, not dispraising whom he 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 trulls, or his description
Prov'd us unspeaking sots.

Cym.

Nay, nay, to the 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 scruple of his praise; and wager'd with him
Pieces of gold, 'gainst this which then he wore
Upon his honour'd finger, to attain

In suit the place of his bed, and win this ring
By hers and mine adultery: he, true knight,
No lesser of her honour confident

Than I did truly find her, stakes this ring,
And would so, had it been a carbuncle
Of Phoebus' wheel; and might so safely, had it
Been all the worth of his car. Away to Britain
Post I in this design: Well may you, sir,
Remember me at court, where I was taught
Of your chaste daughter the wide difference
'Twixt amorous and villainous, Being thus quench'd
Of hope, not longing, mine Italian brain
'Gan in your duller Britain operate
Most vilely; for my vantage, excellent;
And, to be brief, my practice so prevail'd,
That I return'd with simular proof enough
To make the noble Leonatus mad,
By wounding his belief in her renown