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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 feat1, 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.

1 Ready, dexterous.

Cym.

I have surely seen him:

His favour2 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.

Imo.
No, no: alack,
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 me,
He leaves me, scorns 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?
Imo. He is a Roman; no more kin to me,
Than I to your highness; who, being born your

vassal,

Am something nearer.

Cym.

Wherefore ey'st him so? Imo. I'll tell you, sir, in private, if you please To give me hearing.

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

Cym.

Ay, with all my heart,

2 Countenance.

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?

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

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.

But we saw him dead.

It is my mistress:

Bel. Be silent; let's see further.

Pis.

Since she is living, let the time run on,

To good, or bad.

Cym.

[Aside.

[CYMBELINE and IMOGEN come forward. Come, stand thou by our side;

Make thy demand aloud.—Sir, [To IACH.] step you forth;

1

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.

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

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 which 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
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,

3 Sink into dejection.

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 :-

Cym.

Come to the matter.

Iach.

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.

Cym.

pose.

Nay, nay, to the pur

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 Phoebus' wheek; 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

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