Although they wear their faces to the bent
Of the king's looks, hath a heart that is not
Glad at the thing they scowl at.

2 Lord. And why so?

Pisanio. 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.

2 Lord. His name and birth?
Pisanio. His father

Was call'd Sicilius, who did join his honour
Against the Romans, with Cassibelan;
So gain'd the sur-addition, Leonatus:

He had, besides this gentleman in question,

Two other sons, who, in the wars o' the time,

Died with their swords in hand; for which, their father,

Then old and fond of issue, took such sorrow,
That he quit being; and his gentle lady,
Big of this gentleman, our theme, deceas'd
As he was born. The king, he takes the babe
To his protection; calls him Posthumus;
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 minister'd; and
In his 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 feated them; and to the graver,
A child that guided dotards.

2 Lord, I honour him

Even out of your report. But, 'pray you, tell me,
Is she sole child to the king?

Pisanio. His only child.

He had two sons (if this be worth your hearing,
Mark it); the eldest of them, at three years old,
I' the swathing clothes the other, from their nurse ry
Were stolen; and, to this hour, no guess in knowledge
Which way they went.

2 Lord. How long is this ago?

Pisanio. Some twenty years.

2 Lord. That a king's children should be so con-
vey'd!

So slackly guarded! And the search so slow,
That could not trace them!

Pisaniò. Howsoe'er 'tis strange,

Or that the negligence may well be laugh'd at,
Yet is it true, sir.

We must forbear: Here comes the gentleman,
The queen, and princess.

[Exit SECOND LORD.

Enter the QUEEN, IMOGEN, and POSTHUMUS.

Queen. No, be assur'd, you shall not find me, daughter,

After the slander of most step-mothers,

Evil-ey'd unto you: you are my prisoner, but
Your gaoler shall deliver you the keys,

That lock up your restraint. For you, Posthumus,
So soon as I can win the 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.

Post. '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.
Imog. O,

Dissembling courtesy! How fine this tyrant

Can tickle where she wounds!-My dearest husband,

You must begone;

And I shall here abide the hourly shot
Of angry eyes; not comforted to live,
But that there is this jewel in the world,
That I may see again.

Post. 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 loyal'st husband that did e'er plight troth.
My residence 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

To walk this way; I never do him wrong,
But he does buy my injuries, to be friends;
Pays dear for my offences.

Post. Should we be taking leave

As long a term, as yet we have to live,

The loathness to depart would grow: Adieu!
Imog. Nay, stay a little:

Were you but riding forth to air yourself,

[Aside.

[Exit.

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.

Post. How!-how! another?

You gentle gods, give me but this I have,

And sear up my embracements from a next,

With bonds of death!-Remain, remain thou here

[Putting on the Ring.

While sense can keep it on! And sweetest, fairest,
As I, my poor self, did exchange for you,
To your so infinite loss; so, in our trifles,
I still win of you: For my sake, wear this;
It is a manacle of love; I'll place it

[Putting a Bracelet on her Arm.

Upon this fairest prisoner.
Imog. O, the gods !-

When shall we see again?

Enter CYMBELINE and Two LORDS.

Post. Alack, the king!

Cym. Thou basest thing! avoid-hence, from my sight!

If, after this command, thou fraught the court
With thy unworthiness, thou diest: Away!
Thou art poison to my blood!

Post. The gods protect you!

And bless the good remainders of the court !

I am gone.

Imog. There cannot be a pinch in death

More sharp than this is.-

Pisanio, go, and see your lord on board.

Cym. O, disloyal thing,

[Exit.

[Exit PISANIO.

That shouldst repair my youth! thou heapest many

A year's age on me.

Imog. I beseech you, sir,

Harm not yourself with your vexation! I

Am senseless of your wrath; a touch more rare

Subdues all pangs, all fears.

Cym. That mightst have had the sole son of my queen!

Imog. O bless'd, that I might not!

Cym. Thou took'st a beggar; wouldst have made my throne

A seat for baseness.

Imog. No; I rather added

A lustre to it.

Cym. O thou vile one!
Imog. 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; overbuys me,
Almost the sum he pays.

Cym. What, art thou mad?

Imog. Almost, sir: Heaven restore me!-'Would
I were

A neatherd's daughter, and my Leonatus
Our neighbour shepherd's son!

Enter QUEEN.

Cym. Thou foolish thing!

They were again together: you have done
Not after our command. Away with her,
And pen her up.

Queen. 'Beseech your patience:-Peace,

Dear lady daughter, peace;-Sweet sovereign, Leave us to ourselves; and make yourself some comfort

Out of

your best advice.

Cym. Nay, let her languish

A drop of blood a-day; and, being aged,

Die of this folly.

[Exeunt CYMBELINE and the Two LORDS.

Queen. Fie! you must give way.

Enter PISANIO.

Here is your servant,

Your faithful servant: I dare lay mine honour,

He will remain so.

Pisanio. I humbly thank your highness.

Imog. Well, good Pisanio,

[Exit.

Thou saw'st thy lord on board?-What was the last

That he spake to thee?