2 Gent. And why so? 1 Gent. He that hath miss'd the Princess, is a thing 2 Gent. You speak him fair. I Gent. I do extend him, Sir, within himself, Crush him together, rather than unfold 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 By her Election may be truly read, 2 Gen a Gent. I honour him, even out of your report. He had two Sons (if this be worth your hearing, 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 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, Always referv'd my holy Duty, what G4 : His His Rage can do on me. You must be gone, Poft. My Queen! my Mistress! 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, Imo. Nay, stay a little: Were you but riding forth to Air your self, When Imogen is dead. Poft. How, how? Another! 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 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. 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: 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 Now to that Name, my Courage prove my Title. 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 Of Eyes again so Royal: your Crowns away, [Dies. Enter |