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He purpos'd to his wife's fole son, a widow
i Gent. He that hath lost her 100: fo is the Queen That most desir'd the match. But not a courtier (Although they wear their faces to the bent Of the King's looks) but hath a heart that is Glad at the thing they scoul at.
2 Gent. And why so?
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 banith’d), is a creature such, As, to seek 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 far *.
i Gent. I don't extend him, sir; within himself Crush him together, rather than unfold His measure fully.
2 Gen. What's his name and birth ?
I Gent, I cannot delve him to the root : his father Was called Sıcilius, who did join his honour Against the Romans, with Calfibelan ; But had his titles by Tenantius, whom He serv'd with glory and admir'd success ; So gaind the sur-addition, Leonatus : And had, belides, this gentleman in question, Two other sons; who, in the wars o'th' time, Dy'd with their lwords in hand : for which their father (Then old, and fond of illue) took such forrow, That he quit being ; and his gentle lady, Big of this gentleman, our theme, deceas'd As he was born. The King he takes the babe * įė largely in his praise.
To his protection, calls him Posthumus,
2 Gent. I honour him, ev'n out of your report,
i Gent. His only child.
2 Gent. How long is this ago ?
2 Gent. That a King's children should be so convey'd
I Gent. Howsoe'er 'tis strange,
2 Gent, I do well believe you.
S CE N E II.
Queen. No, be aftur’d, you shall not find me, daughter'
That lock up your restraint. For you, Posthumus,
Queen. You know the peril.
Imo. Dilsembling courtesy ! how fine this tyrant
You must be gone,
Poft. My Queen ! my mistress!
Imo. Nay, ftay a little
Poft How, how, another !
[Putting on the ring. While sense can keep thee on! and sweetest, fairelt, As I my poor self did exchange for you, To your so infinite loss ; so in our trifies I fill win of you. For my fake wear this ; It is a manacle of love, I'll place it
[Putting a bracelet on her arız. Upon this fairest pris'ner.
Imo. O, the gods! When shall we see again ?.
SCENE III. Enter Cymbeline and Lords. Poft. Alack, the King !
Cymb. Thou bafest thing, avoid ; hence, from my fight:
Poft. The gods protect you,
[Exit. Imo. There cannot be a piach in death More sharp than this is.
Cym. O disloyal thing,
Imo. I beseech you, Sir,
Cym. Post grace? obedience ?
6 more strong, forcible; alluding to the stroke of lightning
Cym. Thou might'st have had the fole fon of my.
Queen. Imo o, bless'd, that I might not ! I chose an eagle. And did avoid a puttock.
Cyme. Thou took'st a beggar; 'would't have made A seat for baseness.
[my throne Imo. No, I rather added A luftre to it.
Gym. O thou vile one !
Imo. Sir, It is your
fault that I have lov'd Posthumus :
Gym. What! -art thou mad?
Imo. Almost, Sir; Heav'n restore me ! 'would I were
[To the Queen, Not after our command. Away with her, And pen her up.
Queen. Beseech you patience ; peace,
Cym. Nay, let her languith
sir ? what news Pif. My Lord your son drew on my master.
Pif. There might have been,