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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, (Oh, 'would Our viands had been poison'd! or, at least, Those which I heav'd to head !) the good Posthu
Cym. Come to the matter.
Tach. Your daughter's chastity—there it begins.“ He spake of her, as Dian had hot dreams, And she alone were cold: whereat, I,-wretchMade 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. 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 villanous :To be brief, my practice so prevaild, That I return'd, with simular proof enough To make the noble Leonatus mad,. By wounding his belief in her renown With tokens thus, and thus; That he could not But think her bond of chastity quite crack'd, I having ta'en the forfeit. Whereupon, Methinks, I see him now,
Post. 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!-Oh, give me cord, or knife, or poison, Some upright justicer! Thou, king, send out For torturers ingenious : I am Posthumus, That killa thy daughter :-the temple
Of virtue was she; yea, and she herself.
Imog. Peace, my lord; hear, hear-
[Striking her ; she falls.
Post. How come these staggers on me?
Cym. If this be so, the gods do mean to strike me
you? Think, that you are upon a rock; and now, Throw me again.
[Runs into his Arms. Post. Hang there like fruit, my soul, Till the tree die !
Cym. My child! my child! my dearest Imogen!
(Kneeling. Bel. Though you did love this youth, I blame you
not; You had a motive for't.
[To GUIDERIUS and ARVIRAGUS. Cym, Imogen, Thy mother's dead.
Imog. I am sorry for’t, my lord.
Cym. Oh, she was naught; and 'long of her it was, That we meet here so strangely: but her son Is gone, we know not how, nor where.
[Pisanto and IMOGEN retire with PostHUMUS;
the GUARDS take off his Chains.
Guid. Let me end his story: 'Twas I, that slew him.
Cym. Marry, the gods forefend !
Guid. I have spoke it, and I did it.
Guid. A most uncivil one: the wrongs he did me
Cym. I am sorry for thee:
Bel. Stay, sir king :
[To the GUARDS. They were not born for bondage.
Cym. Why, old soldier,
knee: Mighty sir, These two young gentlemer, that call me facher, And think they are my sons, are none of mine ; They are the issue of your loins, my liege, And blood of your begetting. POSTHUMUS, IMOGEN, and PISANIO, come forward.
Cym. How! my issue?
Bel. So sure as you your father's. I, old Morgan,
Cym. Thou weep'st, and speak'st.-
Bel. This is he;
Cym. Bless'd may you be,
Imog. No, my lord;
When shall I hear all through!-How liv'd you?
where? And when came you to serve our Roman captive? How parted with your brothers ? how first met them? Why fled you from the court? and whither? But nor the time, nor place, Will serve our long intergatories.-See, Pósthumus anchors' upon Imogen; And she, like harmless lightning, throws her eye On him.-All o'erjoy'd, Save these in bonds ; let them be joyful too, For they shall taste our comfort.
[GUARDS take off their Chains.
Post. I am, sir,
I then follow'd :—That I was he,
you, Which I so often owe.
Post. Kneel not to me:
Cym. Nobly doom'd :