Quail to remember,-give me leave, I faint.- For beauty, that made barren the fwell'd boast Loves woman for; befides that hook of wiving, Cym. I ftand on fire. Come to the matter. Iach. All too soon I shall, Unless thou wouldst grieve quickly.-This Posthumus, (57) Hearing us praife our loves of Italy For beauty, that made barren the fwell'd boaft Of him that beft could fpeak; for feature, laming The forine of Venus, or ftraight pight Minerva, Poftures, beyond brief Nature; As plaufible as this reading may appear at first view, I dare fay, it is flightly corrupted. What! did they praise their miftreffes for beauty, and for feature too? The fymmetry of features is always one main part of beauty. Then why fhould features be faid to lame a ftatue, or the poftures of a well-built Goddess? We muft certainly restore for ftature laming The forine of Venus, &c. This agrees perfectly well with laming, ftraight pight, and postures: and fo the lady is prais'd for her beauty, her fhape, and her temper of mind. He He was as calm as virtue) he began His miftrefs' picture; which by his tongue being made, Were crack'd-of kitchen trulls, or his defcription Cym. Nay, nay, to th' purpose. Lach. Your daughter's chastity ;--there it begins: He fpake of her, as Dian had hot dreams, And the alone were cold; whereat, I, wretch! In fuit the place of's bed, and win this ring Than I did truly find her, ftakes this ring; By wounding his belief in her renown, Poft. Ay, fo thou dost, [Coming forward. Italian fiend! ah me, moft credulous fool, That's That's due to all the villains past, in being, That all th' abhorred things o'th' earth amend, Be villainy less than 'twas!-Oh Imogen! Imo. Peace, my Lord, hear, hear Poft. Shall's have a play of this? Thou fcornful page, there lie thy part. Pif. Oh, gentlemen, help, [Striking her, she falls. Mine, and your miftrefs-Oh, my Lord Pofthumus! You ne'er kill'd Imogen till now-help, help, Mine honour'd lady Cym. Does the world go round? Poft. How come these staggers on me? } Pif. Wake, my mistress! Cym. If this be fo, the Gods do mean to strike me To death with mortal joy. Pif. How fares my mistress? Imo. O, get thee from my fight;: Thou gav'ft me poifon : dang'rous fellow, hence! Cym. The tune of Imogen! Pi Lady, the Gods throw ftones of fulphur on me,. If what I gave you was not thought by me A precious thing: I had it from the Queen. Cym. New matter ftill? Imo. It poifon'd me. Cor. Oh Gods! I left: I left out one thing which the Queen confefs'd, Cym. What's this, Cornelius? Cor. The Queen, Sir, very oft importun'd me Do their due functions. Have you ta'en of it- Bel. My boys, there was our error. Guid. This is, sure, Fidele. Imo. Why did you throw your wedded lady from you? Think, that you are upon a rock, and now Throw me again. Poft. Hang there like fruit, my foul, Till the tree die! Cym. How now, my flesh? my child? What mak'st thou me a dullard in this act? Imo. Your bleffing, Sir. Bel. Tho' you did love this youth, I blame You had a motive for't. Cym. My tears, that fall, Prove holy-water on thee! Imogen, Imo. I'm forry for't, my Lord. [Kneeling. you not, [T. Guid. Arv. Cym. Oh, fhe was naught; and 'long of her it was, That we meet here fo ftrangely; but her fon Is gone, we know not how, nor where. Pif. My Lord, Now fear is from me, I'll speak truth. Lord Cloten, Upon my lady's miffling, came to me With his fword drawn, foam'd at the mouth, and fwore, Guid. Let me end the story; I flew him there. Cym. Marry, the Gods forefend! I would not, thy good deeds fhould from my lips Guid. I've spoke it, and I did it. Cym. He was a Prince. Guid. A moft incivil one. The wrongs, he did me, Were nothing prince-like; for he did provoke me With language that would make me fpurn the fea, Could it fo roar to me. I cut off's head; And am right glad, he is not ftanding here To tell this tale of mine. Cym. I'm forry for thee; By thine own tongue thou art condemn'd, and must Imo. That headlefs man, I thought had been my Lord. Cym. Bind the offender, And take him from our presence, Bel. Stay, Sir King, This man is better than the man he flew, As well defcended as thyfelf; and hath More of thee merited, than a band of Clotens Had ever fcar for.-Let his arms alone; [To the Guard. They were not born for bondage. Cym. Why, old Soldier, Wilt thou undo the worth thou art unpaid for, By |