I Gent. He that hath miss'd the princess, is a thing 2 Gent. You speak him far. 1 Gent. I do extend him, fir, within himself; Crush him together, rather than unfold His measure duly. 2 Gent. What's his name, and birth? 1 Gent. I cannot delve him to the root: His father Two other fons; who, in the wars o' the time, Died with their fwords in hand; for which, their father A fample A fample to the youngest; to the more mature, What kind of man he is. Even out of your report. But, 'pray you, tell me, His only child. I Gent. I' the fwathing clothes the other, from their nurfery 2 Gent. How long is this ago? 1 Gent. Some twenty years. 2 Gent. That a king's children should be fo convey'd ! So flackly guarded! And the search so slow, That could not trace them! 'I Gent. Howfoe'er 'tis ftrange, Or that the negligence may well be laugh'd at, Yet is it true, fir. 2 Gent. I do well believe you. 1 Gent. We must forbear: Here comes the gentleman, The queen, and princess. [Exeunt, SCENE II. The fame. Enter the Queen, POSTHUMUS, and IMOGEN. Queen. No, be affur`d, you shall not find me, daughter, After the flander of moft step-mothers, Evil-ey'd unto you: you are my prisoner, but Your gaoler fhall deliver you the keys That lock up your reftraint. For you, Pofthumus, I will be known your advocate: marry, yet Polt. 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 Imo. Diffembling courtefy! How fine this tyrant [Exit Queen. Can tickle where the wounds!-My deareft husband, His rage can do on me: You must be gone; Poft. Poft. Than doth become a man! I will remain Re-enter Queen. Queen. Be brief, I pray you: If the king come, I fhall incur I know not How much of his displeasure :-Yet I'll move him [Afide. To walk this way: I never do him wrong, [Exit. Poft. Should we be taking leave As long a term as yet we have to live, The loathness to depart would grow: Adieu! Imo. Nay, ftay a little : Were you but riding forth to air yourself, Such parting were too petty. Look here, love; When Imogen is dead. Poft. How! how! another? You gentle gods, give me but this I have, While fenfe can keep it on! And fweeteft, faireft, Upon this fairest prisoner. [Putting a bracelet on her arm. When shall we see again? Poft. Enter CYMBELINE, and Lords. Alack, the king! Cym. Thou baseft thing, avoid! hence, from my fight! If, after this command, thou fraught the court With thy unworthinefs, thou diest: Away! Harm not yourself with your vexation; I Am fenfeless of your wrath; a touch more rare Cym. Paft grace? obedience? Imo. Paft hope, and in despair; that way, paft grace. Cym. That might'st have had the fole fon of my queen! Imo. O blefs'd, that I might not! I chose an eagle, And did avoid a puttock. Cym. |