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Imo. He is a Roman; no more kin to me, Than I to your highness; who, being bord 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.
Сут. .

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.

(Cyrubeline 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?

Gui. The same dead thing alive.
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.

But we saw him dead.
Bel. Be silent; let's see further.
Pis.

mistress :

(Aside. Since she is living, let the time run on, To good, or bad.

(Cymbeline and Imogen come forward. Сут.

Come, stand thou by our side; Make thy demand aloud.—Sir, [To lach.) step you

forth; Give answer to this boy, and do it freely; Or, by our greatness, and the grace of it, Which is our honour, bitter torture shall Winnow the truth from falsehood.Ou, speak to him.

Imo. My boon is, that this gentleman may render Of whom he had this riog. Post.

What's that to him?

(Aside.

It is my

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 lir'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, Than die ere I hear more: strive man, and speak.

Iach. Upon a time, (unhappy was the clock That struck the bour!) it was in Rome, (accurs'd The mansion where!) 'twas at a feast, (O 'would Our viaods had been poison'd! or, at least, Those which I heav'd to head !) the good Posthumus (What should I say? he was too good, to be Where ill men were; and was the best of all Amongst the rar'st of good ones), sitting sadly, Hearing us praise our loves of Italy For beauty that made barren the swell's boast of him that best could speak; for feature, laming The slirine of Venus, or straight-pight Minerva, Postures beyond brief nature; for condition, A shop of all the qualities that man Loves woman for ; besides, that hook of wiving, Fairness which strikes the

eye:

• Sink into dejection.

Cym.

I stand on fire:
Come to the matter.
Iach.

All too soon I shall,
Unless thou would'st grieve quickly. This Posthú-

mus (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 He was as calm as virtue), he began His mistress picture; which by his tongue being

made, And then mind put in't, either our brags Were crack'd of kitchen trulls, or his description Prov'd us unspeaking sots. Сут. .

Nay, nay, to the purpose. lach. Your daughter's chastity-there it begins. He spake of her as Dian had hot dreams, And she alone were cold : Whereat, I, wretch! Made 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 bis bed, and win this ring By hers and mine adultery: he, true knight, No lesser of her honour confident Than I did truly find her, stakes this sing, And would so, had it beeu a carbuncle Of Phæbus' wheel; and might so safely, had it Been all the worth of his car. 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 ainorous and villainous. Being thus quench'd Of hope, not longing, mine Italian brain 'Gan in your duller Britain operate Most vilely; for my vantage, excellent; And, 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 renowa

With tokens thus, and thus; averring notes
Of chamber-hanging, pictures, this her bracelet,
(0, cupning, how I got it !) nay, some marks
Of secret on her person, 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!-0, give me cord, or knife, or poison, Some upright justicer! Thou, king, send out For torturers ingevious: it is I That all the abhorred things o'the earth amend, By being worse than they. I am Posthamus, That kill'd thy daughter :-villain-like, I lie; That caus'd a lesser villain than myself, A sacrilegious thief, to do't :- the temple Of virtue was she; yea, and she herself*. Spit, and throw stones, cast mire upon me, set The dogs o'the street to bay me: every villain be call’d, Posthumus Leonatus; and Be villainy less than 'twas!- Imogen! My queen, my life, my wife! O Imogen, Imogen, Iinogen! Imo.

Peace, my lord; hear, hear,Post. Shall's have a play of this? Thou scornful

page, There lie thy part. [Striking her: she falls.

O, gentlemen, help, help Mine, and your mistress :-0, my lord Posthumus! You ne'er killd Imogen till now:-Help, help! Mine honour'd lady! Cum.

Does the world go round? Post. How come these staggers on me?

Pis.

* 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.

The tune of Imogen! Pis. Lady, The gods throw stones of sulphur on me, if That box I gave you was not thought by me A precious thing; I had

from the queen. Cym. New matter still ? Imo.

It poison'd me. Cor.

O Gods!
I left out one thing which the queen confessid,
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 importun'd me
To temper* poisons for her; still pretending
The satisfaction of her knowledge, only
In killing creatures vile, as cats and dogs
Of no esteem: I, dreading that her purpose
Was of more danger, did compound for her
A certain stuff, which, being ta'en, would cease
The present power of life; but, in short time,
All offices of nature should again
Do their due functions.-Have you ta'en of it?

Imo. Most like I did, for I was dead.
Bel.

My boys,
There was our error.
Gui.

This is sure, Fidele.
Imo. Why did you throw your wedded lady from

you?

* Mix, compound.

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