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Guid. But we saw him dead.
Bel. Be filent : let's see further.
Pif. 'Tis my mistress
Since she is living, let the time run on,
To good, or bad.
Cym. Come, stand thou by our side.
Make thy demand aloud. Sir, step you forth, [To Iachimo.
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 falfhood. On, speak to him.
Imo. My boon is, that this gentleman may render
Of whom he had this ring.
Post. What's that to him?
Cym. That diamond upon your finger, say
How came it yours?
Iach. Thou'lt torture me to leave unspoken, that
Which to be spoke would torture thee.
Cym. How? me?
Iach. I'm glad to be constrain'd to utter what
Torments me to conceal. By villainy
I got this ring; 'twas Leonatus' jewel,
Whom thou didst banish: and, (which more may grieve
As it doth me) a nobler Sir ne'er liv'd
'Twixt sky and ground. Will you hear ''more?"
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- [Swoonisa
Cym. My daughter, what of her? renew thy strength;
l'ad rather thou shouldft 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 hour) it was in Rome, (accurs'd
The mansion where) 'twas at a feast, (oh would
Our viands had been poison’d! or at least
9 more, my lord ?
Those which I heav'd to head :) the good Postbumus
What should I say ? he was too good to be
Where ill men were, and was the best of all
Amongst the rar'it of good ones---fitting fadly,
Hearing us praise our loves of Italy
For beauty, that made barren the swell'd boast
Of him that best could speak ; for "'Itature, 'laning
The shrine of Venus, or straight-pight Minerva ;
Postures, beyond brief nature; for condition,
A shop of all the qualities, that man
Loves woman forį besides, that hook of wiving,
Fairness, which strikes the eye-
Cym. I stand on fire.
Come to the matter.
lach. All too soon I shall,
thou wouldst grieve quickly. This posibumus,
(Most like a noble Lord in love, and one
That had a royal lover) took his hint;
And, not difpraising whom we prais'd, (therein
He was as calm as virtue) he began
His mistress' picture ; which by his tongue made,
And then a mind put in't, either our brags
Were crack'd-of kitching-trulls, or his description
Prov'd us unspeaking fots.
Cym. Nay, nay, to th' 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 wagʻd with him
Pieces of gold, 'gainst this which then he wore
Upon his honour'd finger, to attain
In suit the place of 's bed, and win this ring,
z 'her and mine adultery. He, true Knight,
No lesser of her honour confident
Than I did truly find her, stakes this ring,
(And would so, had it been a carbuncle
Of Pbæbus' wheel ; and might so safely, had it
Been ! Feature, 1. old edit. Tbeob, emenda 2 bers
Been all the worth of's car.) Away to Britain
Poft I in this design: well may you, Sir,
Remember me at Court, where I was taught
By your chatte daughter the wide difference
'Í'wixt amorous, 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 prevail'd,
That I return'd with simular proof enough
To make the noble Leonatus mad,
By wounding his belief in her renown,
With tokens thus, and thus ; averring notes
Of chamber-hanging, pictures, this her bracelet,
(Oh cunning 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
Pot. Ay, so thou dost,
Italian fiend! ah me, most credulous fool,
Egregious murtherer, thief, any thing
That's due to all the villains paft, in being,
To come-oh give me cord, or knife, or poison,
Some upright jafticer ! Thou King, send out
For torturers ingenious; it is I
That all th' abhorred things o'th' earth amend,
By being worse than they. I am Posthumus,
That kill'd thy daughter : villain-like, I lie ;
That caus'd a leffer villain than my self,
A sacrilegious thief, to do't. The temple
Of virtue was she, yea, and she her felt.
Spit, and throw stones, caft mire upon me, fet
The dogs o'th' ftreet to bait me: every villain
Be call's Posthumus Leonatus, and
Be villainy less than 'twas. Oh Imogen!
My Queen, my life, my wife! oh Imogen,
Imo. Peace, my Lord, hear, hear
Poft. Shall's have a play of this? thou scornful page, There lye thy part.
[Striking ber, the falls.
Pif. Oh gentlemen, 3 loh, help,
Mine and your mistress -Oh, my Lord Postbumus!
You ne'er kill'd Imogen 'till now- -help, help,
Mine honour'd Lady
Cym. Does the world go round?
Post. How come these staggers on me?
Pif. Wake, my mistress !
Cym. If this be so, the Gods do mean to strike me To death with mortal joy.
Pif. How fares my mistress ?
Imo. Oh, get thee from my sight,
Thou gav'st me poison : dangʻrous fellow, hence!
Breathe not where Princes are.
Cym. The tune of Imogen!
Pif. Lady, the Gods throw stones of sulphur on me,
If what I gave you was not thought by me
A precious thing! I had it from the Queen.
Cym. New matter still ?
Imo. It poison’d me.
Cor. Oh Gods!
I left out one thing which the Queen confessid,
Which must approve thee honest. If Pifanio
Have, said the, giv’n his mistress that confection
Which I gave him for 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 ; ftill 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 seize
The present power of life, but in short time
All 3 help,
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.
Guid. This is sure Fidele.
Imo. Why did you throw your wedded Lady from you?
[To Post. Think that you are upon a rock, and now
[Throwing her arms about his neck. Throw me again.
Post. Hang there like fruit, my soul, 'Till the tree die! Cym. How now, my flesh ?
What, mak'st thou me a dullard in this act ?
Wilt thou not speak to me?
Imo. Your blessing, Sir.
[Kneeling Bel. Tho'you did love this youth, I blame you not, You had a motive for't. [To Guiderius and Arviragus.
Cym. My tears that fall
Prove holy-water on thee! Imogen,
Thy mother's dead.
Ímo. I'm sorry for’t, my Lord.
Cym. Oh, she was naught; and long of her it was
That we meet here so strangely; but her son
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 missing, came to me
With his sword drawn, foam'd at the mouth, and swore
If I discover'd not which way she went
It was my instant death. By accident
I had a feigned letter of my master's
Then in my pocket, which directed her
To seek him on the mountains near to Milford:
Where in a frenzy, in my
garments, Which he inforcéd from me, away he posts With unchaste purpose, and with oath