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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 reviy'd from death? Arv.
One sand another
Gui. The same dead thing alive.
But we saw him dead.
(CYMBELINE and IMOGEN come forward. Cym.
Come, stand thou by our side; Make thy demand aloud. — Sir, (To Sach.) step
you 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 ren
der Of whom he had this ring. Post.
What's that to him?
Aside. Cym. That diamond upon your finger, say, How came it yours?
Iach. Thou'lt torture me to leave unspoken that Which, to be spoke, would torture thee. Cyn.
How! me? Tach. I am glad to be constrain’d to utter that
which Torments me to concea). 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 Quails 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 wbich I heav'd to head !)the good Posthumus, (What should I say? he was too good, to be Where ill men were; and was the best of all Among`st the rarost 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,
3 Sink into dejection.
Postures beyond brief nature; for condition,
I stand on fire :
All too soon I shall, Unless thou would'st grieve quickly. - This Post
húmus, (Most 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 trulls, or his description Prov'd us unspeaking sots. Сут.
Nay, nay, to the purpose. Iach. 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 Phæbus' 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
Ay, so thou dost,
(Coming forward. Italian fiend !- Ah me, most credulous fool, Egregious murderer, thief, any thing That's due to all the villains past, in being, To come! -0, give me cord, or knife, or poison, Some upright justicer! Thou, king, send out For torturers ingenious: it is I That all the abhorred things o’the earth amend, By being worse than they. I am Posthumus, That kill'd thy daughter :---villain like, I lie; That caus'd a lesser villain than myself, A sacrilegious thief, to do't :- the temple Of virtue was she; yea, and she herself. Spit, and throw stones, cast mire upon me, set The dogs o'the street to bay me: every
villain Be call'd, Posthumus Leonatus; and
4 Not only the temple of virtue, but virtue herself.
Be villainy less than 'twas ! - Imogen !
Peace, my lord; hear, hear Post. Shall's have a play of this ? Thou scornful
page, There lie thy part.
[Striking her: she falls. Pis.
O, gentlemen, help, help, Mine, and your mistress :-0, my lord Posthumus! You ne'er killd Imogen till now :-Help, help! Mine honour'd lady! Cym.
Does the world go round? Post. How come these staggers on me? Pis.
Wake, my mistress ! Cym. If this be so, the gods do mean to strike me To death with mortal joy. Pis.
How fares my mistress ? Imo. O, get thee from my sight; Thou gav'st me poison : dangerous fellow, hence ! Breathe not where princes are. Cym.
The tune of Imogen !
Cym. New matter still ?
It poison’d me.
O gods ! I left out one thing which the queen confess'd, Which must approve thee honest: If Pisanio Have, said she, given his mistress that confection Which I gave him for a cordial, she is serv'd As I would serve a rat. Cym.
What's this, Cornelius ! Cor. The queen, sir, very oft impórtun'd me