2 Gent.

I honour him

But, 'pray you, tell me,

Even out of your report.
Is she sole child to the 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' the swathing clothes the other, from their nursery
Were stolen: and to this hour, no guess in knowledge
Which way they went.

2 Gent.

How long is this ago?

1 Gent. Some twenty years.

2 Gent. That a king's children should be so convey'd!

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

1 Gent.

Howsoe'er 'tis strange,

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

2 Gent.

I do well believe you.

1 Gent. We must forbear: Here comes the

and princess.

SCENE II. The same.

queen [Exeunt.

Enter the Queen, POSTHUMUS, and IMOGEN.

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

After the slander of most step-mothers,

Evil-eyed 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 advocate: marry, yet

your

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.

I will from hence to-day.

Queen.

Please your highness,

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.

Imo.

[Exit Queen.

Dissembling courtesy! How fine this tyrant Can tickle where she wounds!-My dearest husband,

I something fear my father's wrath; but nothing
(Always reserv'd my holy duty 1), what

His rage can do on me: You must be gone;
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.

Queen.

Re-enter 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

[Aside.

I say I do not fear my father, so far as I may say it without breach of duty.'

To walk this way: I never do him wrong,
But he does buy my injuries, to be friends:
Pays dear for my offences 2.

Post.

[Exit.

Should we be taking leave

As long a term as yet we have to live,

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

Were you but riding forth to air yourself,
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 up3 my embracements from a next

4

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

Upon this fairest prisoner.

[Putting a Bracelet on her Arm.

2 He gives me a valuable consideration in new kindness (purchasing, as it were, the wrong I have done him), in order to renew our amity, and make us friends again.'

3 Shakspeare poetically calls the cere-cloths, in which the dead are wrapped, the bonds of death. There was no distinction in ancient orthography between seare, to dry, to wither; and seare, to dress or cover with wax. Cere-cloth is most frequently spelled seare-cloth. In Hamlet we have :

'Why, thy canonized bones hearsed in death

Have burst their cerements.'

i. e. while I have sensation to retain it. There can be no doubt that it refers to the ring, and it is equally obvious that thee would have been more proper. Whether this error is to be laid to the poet's charge or to that of careless printing, it would not be easy to decide. Malone, however, has shown that there are many passages in these plays of equally loose construction.

Imo.

O, the gods!

t

When shall we see again?

Post.

Enter CYMBELINE and Lords.

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.

Imo.

There cannot be a pinch in death

More sharp than this is.

Cym.

O disloyal thing,

[Exit.

That should'st repair 5 my youth; thou heapest
A year's age on me!

Imo.

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.

5 i. e. renovate my youth, make me young again. To repaire (according to Baret) is to restore to the first state, to renew.' So in All's Well that Ends Well:

it much repairs me

To talk of your good father.'

6 Sir Thomas Hanmer reads:

thou heapest many

A year's age on me!'

Some such emendation seems necessary.

7 A touch more rare' is a more exquisite feeling, a superior sensation.' So in The Tempest :

'Hast thou which art but air, a touch, a feeling
Of their afflictions.'

And in Antony and Cleopatra :

The death of Fulvia, with more urgent touches,
Do strongly speak to us.'

A passage in King Lear will illustrate Imogen's meaning:-
where the greater malady is fix'd,

The lesser is scarce felt.'

Cym.
Past grace? obedience
Imo. Past hope, and in despair; that way, pa

grace.

Cym. That might'st have had the sole son of m queen!

Imo. O bless'd, that I might not! I chose a eagle,

And did avoid a puttock3.

Cym. Thou took'st a beggar; would'st have mad my throne

It is
your fault that I have lov'd Posthumus:
You bred him as my playfellow; and he is
A man, worth any woman: overbuys me
Almost the sum he pays9.

Cym.

What!-art thou mad

Imo. Almost, sir: Heaven restore me!-'Would

I were

A neat-herd's daughter! and my Leonatus
Our neighbour shepherd's son!

Cym.

·Re-enter Queen.

They were again together: you have done

Thou foolish thing!

[To the Queen.

'Beseech your patience :-Peace,

Not after our command. Away with her,
And pen her up.

Queen.

Dear lady daughter, peace; Sweet sovereign,

8. A puttock is a mean degenerate species of hawk, too worthless to deserve training.