Imo. He is a Roman; no more kin to me, Than I to your highness; who, being boru your vas. sal, Am something nearer. Cym. Wherefore ey'st him so? Imo. I'll tell you, sir, in private, if you please To give me hearing. Cym. Ay, with all my heart, And lend my best attention. What's thy name? Imo. Fidele, sir. Cym. Thou art my good youth, my page; I'll be thy master: Walk with me; speak freely. [Cymbeline and Imogen converse apart. Bel. Is not this boy reviv'd from death? Aro. One sand another Not more resembles: That sweet rosy lad, Who died, and was Fidele:-What think you? Bel. Peace, peace! see further; he eyes us not; forbear; Creatures may be alike: were't he, I am sure He would have spoke to us. Gui. Bel. Be silent; let's see further. But we saw him dead. It is my mistress: [Aside. Since she is living, let the time run on, To good, or bad. Cym. [Cymbeline and Imogen come forward. Come, stand thou by our side; Make thy demand aloud.-Sir, [To Iach.] step you forth; Give answer to this boy, and do it freely; Or, by our greatness, and the grace of it, Winnow the truth from falsehood.-On, speak to him. Post. What's that to him? [Aside. Cym. That diamond upon your finger, say, How came it yours? lach. Thou'lt torture me to leave unspoken that Which, to be spoke, would torture thee. Cym. How! me? Iach. I am glad to be constrain'd to utter that which Torments me to conceal. By villainy I got this ring; 'twas Leonatus' jewel: Whom thou didst banish; and (which more may grieve thee, As it doth me), a nobler sir ne'er liv'd 'Twixt sky and ground. Wilt thou hear more, my lord? Cym. All that belongs to this. Iach. That paragon, thy daughter,For whom my heart drops blood, and my false spirits Quail to remember,-Give me leave; I faint. Cym. My daughter! what of her? Renew thy strength: I had rather thou should'st live while nature will, For beauty that made barren the swell'd boast Loves woman for; besides, that hook of wiving, Sink into dejection. (Most like a noble lord in love, and one That had a royal lover), took his hint; And, not dispraising whom he prais'd (therein His mistress' picture; which by his tongue being made, And then a mind put in't, either our brags Сут, Nay, nay, to the purpose. In suit the place of his bed, and win this ring Than I did truly find her, stakes this ring, With tokens thus, and thus; averring notes Post. Ay, so thou dost, Italian fiend!-Ah me, most credulous fool, That's due to all the villains past, in being, That all the abhorred things o'the earth amend, Imogen, Iinogen! Imo. Peace, my lord; hear, hear, Post. Shall's have a play of this? Thou scornful page, There lie thy part. Pis. [Striking her: she falls. O, gentlemen, help, help Mine, and your mistress :-O, my lord Posthumus! You ne'er kill'd Imogen till now:-Help, help! Mine honour'd lady! Cym. Does the world go round? Post. How come these staggers on me? * Not only the temple of virtue, but virtue herself. Pis. Wake, my mistress! Cym. If this be so, the gods do mean to strike me To death with mortal joy. Pis. How fares my mistress? Imo. O, get thee from my sight; Thou gav'st me poison: dangerous fellow, hence! Breathe not where princes are. Cym. Pis. Lady, The tune of Imogen! The gods throw stones of sulphur on me, if Imo. Cor. It poison'd me. O Gods! I left out one thing which the queen confess'd, Which must approve thee honest: If Pisanio Have, said she, given his mistress that confection Which I gave him for a cordial, she is serv'd As I would serve a rat. Cym. What's this, Cornelius ? Cor. The queen, sir, very oft impórtun'd me Do their due functions.-Have you ta'en of it? There was our error. Gui. My boys, This is sure, Fidele. Imo. Why did you throw your wedded lady from you? * Mix, compound. |