Imatges de pàgina
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Upon this fairest Prisoner.
Imo. O the Gods!

When shall we see again?

Enter Cymbeline, and Lords.

Poft. Alack, the King!

Cym. Thou basest thing, avoid, hence, from my Sight:

If after this command thou fraught the Court

With thy Unworthiness, thou dy'st. Away!

Thou'rt Poison to my Blood.

Poft. The Gods protect you,

And bless the good Remainders of the Court:

I am gone.

[Exit.

Imo. There cannot be a pinch in death

More sharp than this is.

Cym. O difloyal thing,

That should'st repair my Youth, thou heap'st

A Year's age on me.

Imo. I befeech you, Sir,

Harm not your felf with your Vexation,

I am senseless of your Wrath; a touch more rare

Subdues all Pangs, all Fears.

Cym. Paft Grace ? Obedience ?

Imo. Paft Hope, and in Despair, that way past Grace. Cym. That might'st have had the fole Son of my Queen. Imo. O blessed that I might not: I chose an Eagle,

And did avoid a Puttock.

Cym. Thou took'st a Beggar, would'st have made my Throne A Seat for Baseness.

Imo. No, I rather added a Luftre to it.

Cym. O thou vile one!

Imo. Sir,

It is your fault that I have lov'd Posthumus :
You bred him as my Play-fellow, and he is
A Man, worth any Woman; over-buys me
Almost the Sum he pays.

Cym. What ? art thou Mad?

Imo. Almost, Sir; Heav'n Restore me: would I were

A Neat-herd's Daughter, and my Leonatus

Our Neighbour-Shepherd's Son.

Enter Queen.

Cym. Thou foolish thing;

They were again together, you have done

Not

J

Not after our Command. Away with her,
And pen her up.

Queen. Beseech your Patience; Peace,

Dear Lady Daughter, peace. Sweet Sovereign,
Leave us to our selves, and make your self fome Comfort

Out of your best Advice.

Cym. Nay let her languish

A drop of Blood aday, and being aged

Die of this Folly.

Enter Pisanio.

Queen. Fie, you must give way:

[Exit.

Here is your Servant. How now, Sir? What News?

Pif: My Lord your Son, drew on my Master.

Queen. Hah!

No harm, I trust, is done ?

Pif. There might have been,

But that my Master rather play'd than fought,
And had no help of Anger: they were parted
By Gentlemen, at hand.

Queen. I am very glad on't.

Imo. Your Son's my Father's Friend, he takes his part

To draw upon an Exile; O brave Sir,

I would they were in Africk both together,
My felf by with a Needle, that I might prick
The goer back. Why came you from your Master?

Pif. On his command; he would not suffer me To bring him to the Haven: Left these Notes. Of what Commands I should be subject to,

:

When't please you to employ me...

Queen. This hath been

Your faithful Servant: I dare lay mine Honour

He will remain so,

Pif. I humbly thank your Highness.

Queen. Pray walk a while.

Imo. About fome half Hour hence, pray you speak with

re;

You shall, at least, go see my Lord aboard.

For this time leave me.

Enter Cloten, and two Lords.

[Exeunt,

I Lord. Sir, I would advise you to shift a Shirt; the Vic

lence of Action hath made you reek as a Sacrifice: Where

4

Air comes out, Air comes in: There's nome abroad so whol

fome as that you vent.

Clot. If my Shirt were bloody, then to shift it Have I hurt him?

2 Lord. No faith: Not so much as his Patience.

I Lord. Hurt him? His Body's a passable Carkass if he be

not hurt. It is through-fare for Steel if it be not hurt.

2 Lord. His Steel was in debt, it went o'th' Back-fide the Town.

Clo. The Villain would not stand me.

2 Lord. No, but he fled forward still, toward your Face. 1 Lord. Stand you? you have Land enough of yourown: But he added to your having, gave you fome ground. 2 Lord. As many Inches, as you have Oceans, Puppies! Clot. I would they had not come between us.

2 Lord.So would I, 'till you had measur'd how long a Fool you were upon the Ground.

Clot. And that she should love this Fellow, and refuse me! 2 Lord. Ifit be a Sin to make a true Election, she is damn'd. I Lord. Sir,as I told you always, her Beauty and her Brain go not together. She's a good Sige, but I have seen small reflection of her Wit.

2 Lord. She shines not upon Fools, left the reflection Should hurt her.

Clot. Come, I'll to my Chamber: would there had been some hurt done.

2 Lord. I wish not so, unless it had been the fall of an

Ass, which is no great hurt.

Clot. You'll go with us?

1 Lord. I'll attend your Lordship.

Clot. Nay come, let's go together.

2 Lord. Well, my Lord.

Enter Imogen, and Pifanio.

[Exeunt.

Imo. I would thou grew'it unto the Shoreso'th' Haven,

And questioned'st every Sail: If he should write,

And I not have it, 'twere a Paper loft

As offer'd Mercy is: What was the last

That he spake to thee?

Pif. It was his Queen, his Queen.

Imo. Then wav'd his Handkerchief?

Pis. And kiss'd it, Madam.

Imo. Senseless Linnen, happier therein than I: And that was all?

Pis. No, Madam; for so long

And as he could make me with his Eyes, or Ear,
Diftinguish him from others, he did keep
The Deck, with Glove, or Hat, or Handkerchief,
Still waving, as the fit and stirs of's mind
Could best express how flow his Soul fail'd on,
How swift his Ship.

Imo. Thou should'st have made him

As little as a Crow, or less, e'er left
To after-eye him.

Pis. Madam, so I did.

Imo. I would have broke mine Eye-strings; Crack'd them, but to look upon him; 'till the Diminution Offpace, had pointed him sharp as my Needle; Nay, followed him, 'till he had melted from

The smallness of a Gnat, to air; and then

Have turn'd mine Eye, and wept. But, good Pifanio,
When shall we hear from him?

Pis. Be affur'd, Madam,

With his next Vantage.

Imo. I did not take my leave of him, but had
Most pretty things to say; E'er I could tell him
How I would think on him at certain Hours,
Such thoughts, and such; or I could make him swear,
The She's of Italy should not betray

Mine Interest, and his Honuor; or bave charged him
At the fixth Hour of Morn, at Noon, at Midnight,
T'encounter me with Oraisons, for then
I am in Heav'n for him; or e'er I could,
Give him that parting Kiss, which I had fet
Betwixt two charming words, comes in my Father,
And like the tyrannous breathing of the North,
Shakes all our buds from growing,

Enter a Lady.

Lady. The Queen, Madam,

Defires your Highness Company.

1

Imo. Those things I bid you do, get them dispatch'd,

I will attend the Queen.

Pis. Madam, I shall,

[Exeunt. SCENE

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Enter Philario, Iachimo, and a French Man. lach. Believe it, Sir, I have seen him in Britain; he was then of a Crefcent, none expected to prove so worthy, as fince he hath been allowed the name of. But I could then have look'd on him, without the help of Admiration, though the Catalogue of his endowments had been tabled by his fide, and I to peruse him by Items.

Phil. You speak of him when he was less furnish'd, than now he is, with that which makes him both without and within.

French. I have seen him in France; we had very many there, could behold the Sun, with as firm Eyes as he.

lach. This matter of marrying his King's Daughter, wherein he must be weighed rather by her value, than his owa, words him, I doubt not, a great deal from the matter. French. And then his banishment.

Iach. Ay, and the approbation of those, that weep this lamentable Divorce under her Colours, are wonderfully to extend him; be it but to fortifie her Judgment, which else an easie Battery might lay flat, for taking a Beggar without more Quali y. But how comes it, he is to fojourn with you? how creeps acquaintance?

Phil. His Father and I were Soldiers together, to whom I have been often bound for no less than my Life.

Enter Posthumus.

Here comes the Britain. Let him be so entertainnd amongst you, as fuits with Gentlemen of your knowing, to a stranger of his quality. I beseech you all be better known to this Gentleman, whom I commend to you, as a noble Friend of mine. How worthy he is, I will leave to appear hereafter, rather than story him in his own hearing. French. Sir, we have known together in Orleance. Poft. Since when I have been debter to you for courtefies, which I will be ever to pay, and yet pay still.

French. Sir, you o'er-rate my poor kindness; I was glad I did atone my Countryman and you; it had been pity you should have been put together, with fo mortal a purpofe, as then each bore, upon importance of so slight and trival a nature.

Poft.

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