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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 marry'd 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 him.

2 Gent. You speak him fair.

I Gent. I do extend him, Sir, within himself,

Crush him together, rather than unfold
His Measure fully.

2 Gent. What's his Name and Birth?

1 Gent. I cannot delve him to the Root: his Father

Was call'd Sicillius, 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'th' time
Dy'd with their Swords in Hand. For which their Father
Then old, and fond of Issue, took fuch Sorrow
That he quit Being; and his gentle Lady
Big of this Gentleman, our Theam, 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
As we do Air, fast as 'twas ministred,
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 the more Mature,
A Glass that featur'd 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 the esteem'd him; and his Virtue

By her Election may be truly read,
What kind of Man he is.

2 Gen

a Gent. I honour him, even out of your report.
But pray you tell me, is the fole Child to th'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'th' swathing Cloaths the other, from their Nurfery
Were stoll'n, and to this Hour, no guess in knowledge
Which way they went.

2. Gent. How long is this ago?

I Gent. Some twenty Years.

2 Gent. That a King's Children should be so convey'd!

So slackly Guarded, and the Search fo flow

That could not trace them

I Gent. Howsoe'er 'tis strange,

Or that the Negligence may well be laugh'd at,

Yet is it true, Sir...

1

2 Gent. I do well believe you.

I Gent. We must forbear. Here comes the Gentleman,

The Queen, and Princess.

[Exeunt.

Enter the Queen, Posthumus, Imogen, and Attendants.

Queen. No, be affur'd you shall not find me, Daughter,

After the Slander of most Step-Mothers,

Evil-ey'd unto you: You're my Prifoner, but
Your Goaler shall deliver you the Keys
That lock up your Restraint. For you, Posthumus,
So soon as I can win th'offended King,
I will be known your Advocate: marry yet
The fire of Rage is in him, and 'twere good

You lean'd unto his Sentence, with what Patience

Your Wisdom may inform you.

Poft. Please your Highness,

I will from hence to Day.

Queen. 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

Imo. O dissembling Courtefie! How fine this Tyrant

Can tickle where the wounds! My dearest Husband,
I fomething fear my Father's Wrath, but nothing,

Always referv'd my holy Duty, what

G4

:

His

His Rage can do on me. You must be gone,
And I mall here abide the hourly shot
Of angry Eyes: Not comforted to live,
But that there is this Jewel in the World,
That I may fee again.

Poft. 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 loyall'st Husband, that did e'er plight Troth.
My Refidence 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----yet I'll move him [Afide.

To walk this way; I never do him wrong,

But he do's buy my Injuries, to be Friends,

Pays dear for my Offences.

Poft. Should we be taking leave,

As long a term as yet we have to live,
The lothness to depart, would grow; Adieu.

Imo. Nay, stay a little:

Were you but riding forth to Air your self,
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.

Poft. How, how? Another!
You gentle Gods, give me but this I have,
And fear up my Embracements from a next,

With Bonds of Death. Remain, remain thou here,

[Exit.

[Putting on the Ring.

While Senfe can keep it on: And sweetest, fairest,

As I, my poor felf, did exchange for you
To your so infinite loss: So in our Trifles

I still win of you. For my fake wear this,

It is a Manacle of Love, I'll place it

[Putting a Bracelet on her Arm.

Upon this fairest Prisoner.
Imo. O the Gods!

When shall we see again?

Enter Cymbeline, and Lords.

Poft. Alack, the King!

Cym. Thou basest thing, avoid, hence, from my Sight:

If after this command thou fraught the Court

With thy Unworthiness, thou dyeft. Away!

Thou'rt Poison to my Blood.

Poft. 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 your felf with your Vexation,

I am fenfeless of your Wrath; a touch more rare

Subdues all Pangs, all Fears.

Cym. Paft Grace? Obedience?

Imo. Past Hope, and in Despair, that way past Grace. Cym. That might'st have had the fole Son of my Queen! Imo. O blessed 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 Luftre 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; over-buys me

Almost the Sum he pays.

Cym. What? art thou Mad?

Imo. Almost, Sir; Heav'n restore me: would I were

A Neat-herds Daughter, and my Leonatus

Our Neighbour-Shepherd's Son.

Enter Queen.

Cym. Thou foolish thing;

They were again together, you have done

Not

Antony call, I see him rowse himself
To praise my noble Act. I hear him mock
The luck of Cafar, which the gods give Men
To excuse their atter wrath. Husband, I come;

Now to that Name, my Courage prove my Title.
I am Fire, and Air; my other Elements

I give to baser life.

So-have you done?

Come then, and take the last warmth of my Lips.

Farewel kind Charmian, Iras, long farewel. [Applying the Afp.

Have I the Aspick in my Lips? Doft fall?

If thou and Nature can so gently part,

The stroke of Death is as a Lovers Pinch,

Which hurts, and is defir'd.

Dost thou lye still?

If thus thou vanishest, thou tell'st the World

It is not worth leave taking.

Char. Dissolve thick Cloud and Rain, that I may fay,

The gods themselves do weep.

Cleo. This proves me base

If she approves the curled Antony,

He'll make demand of her, and spend that kiss

Which is my Heav'n to have. Come thou mortal wretch,

With thy sharp Teeth this knot intrinsficate

Of life at once untie: Poor venomous Fool,

Be angry and dispatch. Oh couldft thou speak,

That I might hear thee call great Cafar Afs, unpolicied.

Char. Oh Eastern Star!

Cleo. Peace, prace!

Dost thou not see my Baby at my Breaft,

That fucks the Nurse asfleep.

Char. O break! O break!

Cleo. As sweet as Balm, as soft as Air, as gentle.

O Antony! Nay I will take thee too.

What should I stay

Char. In this wild World? so fare thee well:

Now boast thee Death, in thy possession lyes
A Lass unparallel'd. Downy Windows close,
And Golden Phœbus never be beheld

Of Eyes again so Royal: your Crowns away,
I'll mend it, and then play

[Dies.

Enter

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