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Ymbeline, King of Britain.

Cloten, Son to the Queen by a former Husband. Leonatus Posthumus, A Gentleman in Love with the Princess, and privately Married to her.

Guiderius, Disguis'd under the Names of Polidore and Arviragus,

Cadwal, Supposed Sons to Bellarius.

Bellarius, A Banishd Lord, disguis'd under the Name of Morgan.

Philario, An Italian, Friend to Posthumus.

Iachimo, Friend to Philario.

Caius Lucius, Ambaffudor from Rome.
Pisanio, Servant to Posthumus.

A French Gentleman, Friend to Philario.
Cornelius, A Doctor, Servant to the Queen.
Two Gentlemen.

Queen, Wife to Cymbeline.

Imogen, Daughter to Cymbeline by a former Queen.
Helen, Woman to Imogen.

Lords, Ladies, Roman Senators, Tribunes, Ghosts, a Soothsayer, Captains, Soldiers, Meffengers, and other Attendants.

SCENE, for fome Part of the first, second, and third Afts, lyes in Rome, for the reft - of the Play in Britain.

CYM

CYMBELINE.

ACTI SCENEI

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OU do not meet a Man but frowns: Our
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No more obey the Heav'ns than our Courtiers;
But feem, as do's the King's.

2 Gent. But what's the matter?

1 Gent. His Daughter, and the Heir of's

Kingdom (whom

He purpos'd to his Wife's fole Son, a Widow
That late he married, hath referi'd her felf
Unto a poor, but worthy Gentleman. She's wedded,
Her Husband banished; the imprifon'd, all
Is outward forrow, though I think the King

Be touch'd at very Heart.

2 Gent. None but the King?

1 Gent. He that hath lost her too: so is the Queer

That most defir'd the Match. But not a Courtier,

Although they wear their Faces to the bent

Of the King's looks, hath a Heart, that is not

Glad at the thing they scoul at.

Gont

2 Gent. And why fo?

1 Gent. He that hath miss'd the Princess, is a thing
Too bad, for bad report: And he that hath her,
(I mean, that marry'd her, alack good Man,
And therefore banish'd) is a Creature, such,
As to feek through the Regions of the Earth
For one, his like; there would be something failing
In him, that should compare. I do not think,
So fair an outward, and such stuff within
Endows a Man, but him.

2 Gent. You speak him fair.

I Gent. I do extend him, Sir, within himself,

Crush him together, rather than unfold
His Measure fully.

2 Gent. What's his Name and Birth ?

1 Gent. I cannot delve him to the Root: his Father

Was call'd Sicillins, who did join his Honour
Against the Romans, with Cassibelan,
But had his Titles by Tenantius, whom
He ferv'd with Glory and admir'd Success;
So gain'd the Sur-addition, Leonatus.
And had, besides this Gentleman in question,
Two other Sons, who in the Wars o'th' time
Dy'd with their Swords in Hand. For which their Father,
Then old, and fond of Iffue, took such Sorrow
That he quit Being; and his gentle Lady
Big of this Gentleman, our Theam, deceas'd,
As he was born. The King, he takes the Babe
To his Protection, calls him Posthumus Leonatus;
Breeds him, and makes him of his Bed-chamber,
Puts to him all the Learnings that his time
Could make him the receiver of, which he took
As we do Air, fast as 'twas miniftred,

And in's Spring, became a Harvest: Liv'd in Court
Which rare it is to do, most prais'd, most lov'd,
A Sample to the youngest; to th' more Mature,
A Glass that featur'd them; and to the Graver,
A Child that guided Dotards. To his Mistrefs,
For whom he now is banish'd, her own Price
Proclaims how the esteem'd him; and his Virtue
By her E'ection may be truly read,
What kind of Man he is.

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2 Gent

2 Gent. I honour him, even out of your report. But pray you tell me, is the fole Child to th'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'th' swathing Cloaths the other, from their Nursery
Were stoll'n, and to this Hour, no guess in knowledge
Which way they went.

2 Gent. How long is this ago?

I Gent. Some twenty Years.

3 Gent. That a King's Children should be so convey'd !

So flackly Guarded, and the Search fo flow

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 Gentleman,

The Queen, and Princess.

[Excunt.

Enter the Queen, Pofthumus, Imogen, and Attendants.

Oneen. No, be afsur'd you shall not find me, Daughter,

After the Slander of most Step-Mothers,

Evil-ey'd unto you: You're my Prisoner, but
Your Goaler shall deliver you the Keys
That lock up your Restraint. For you, Posthumus,
So foon as I can win the offended King,
I will be known your Advocate: marry yet
The fire of Rage is in him, and 'twere good

You lean'd unto his Sentence, with what Patience

Your Wisdom may inform you.

Queen. You know the peril:

Poft. Please your Highness,

I will from hence to Day.

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.

[Exit

Imo. O dissembling Courtefie! How fine this Tyrant

Can tickle where she wounds! My dearest Husband,

I fomething fear my Father's Wrath, but nothing,

Always referv'd my holy Duty, 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 fee again.

Poft. 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 loyalist Husband, that did e'er plight Troth.
My Refidence 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 fend.

Though Ink be made of Gall.

Enter Queen.

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 [Afile.

To walk this way; I never do him wrong.

But he does buy my Injuries, to be Friends,

Pays dear for my Offences.

Poft. Should we be taking leave,

As long a term as yet we have to live,
The lothness to depart, would grow; Adieu.

Imo. Nay, stay a little :
Were you but riding forth to Air your self,
Such parting were too patty. Look here, Love,
This Diamond was iny Mother's; take it, Heart,
But keep it 'till you woo another Wife,
When Imogen is dead.

Poft. How, how? Another!
You gentle Gods, give me but this I have,
And fear up my Embracements from a next,
With Bonds of Death. Remain, remain thou here

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[Exit.

[Putting on the Ring.

While Sense can keep it on: And sweeteft, faireft,
As I, my poor felf, did exchange for you
To your so infinite lofs: So in our Trifles
I still win of you. For my fake wear this,

It is a Manacle of Love, I'll place it

[Putting a Bracelet on her Arm.

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