CYMBELINE. ACT I. SCENE I Cymbeline's Palace in Britain. You do not meet a man but frowns: our * U bloods the greavens than our cour Still feem as does the King's. 2 Gent. But what's the matter? [tiers, I Gent. His daughter, and the heir of's kingdom, He purpos'd to his wife's fole fon, a widow [whom That late he married, hath referr'd herself Unto a poor but worthy gentleman. She's wedded; Her husband banished; fhe imprison'd: All 2 Gent. None but the King? 1 Gent. He that hath loft her too: fo is the Queen, That most defir'd the match. But not a courtier, Although they wear their faces to the bent i. e. Our difpofitions: thefe are commonly fuppofed to be influenced by the weather, and therefore may be properly faid to obey it. The fenfe therefore is, Every one you meet appears to be difpleafed and out of humour; the heavens have no more influence on our difpofitions than they have on the courtiers: both feem to be equally determined by the humour the King hap pens to be in. If he is cloudy, all are instantly cloudy too. Revifal. Of the King's look, hath a heart that is not 2. Gent. And why fo? 1 Gent. He that hath mifs'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 banifh'd, is a creature fucli As, to feek through the regions of the earth For one his like, there would be fomething failing In him that fhould compare. I do not think So fair an outward, and fuch stuff within Endows a man but him. 2 Gent. You fpeak him far. 1 Gent. I do extend him, Sir, within himself *,. Crufh 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 And had, befides this gentleman in queftion, Breeds him, and makes him of his bed-chamber And in's (pring became a harvest: liv'd in court, * That is, I do extend him, or give you his propor tions; Sir, far fort of what they really are in himfelf. .i Revifal A glass that featur'd them; and to the graver, 2 Gent. I honour him, Ev'n out of your report. But pray you tell me, 1 Gent. His only child. He had two fons, (if this be worth your hearing, 2 Gent. How long is this ago? 1 Gent. Some twenty years.. 2 Gent. That a king's children fhould be fo conSo flackly guarded, and the fearch fo flow [vey'd, That could not trace them 1 Gent. Howfoe'er 'tis ftrange, Or that the negligence may well be laugh'd at," 2 Gent. I do well believe you. I Gent. We must forbear. Here comes the gentle- man, The queen and princess. SCENE [Exeunt. II. Enter the Queen, Pofthumus, Imogen, and At tendants. Queen. No, be affur'd you fhall not find me, daughAfter the flander of moft ftep-mothers, Evil-eyed unto you. You're my prifoner, but [ter, That lock up your reftraint. For you, Pofthumus, I will be known your advocate: marry, yet, You lean'd unto his fentence, with what patience Poft. Please your Highness, I will from hence to-day. Queen. You know the peril; I'll fetch a turn about the garden, pitying Poft. My Queen! my mistress! O Lady, weep no more, left I give caufe Than doth become a man. I will remain Known but by letter. Thither write, my Queen, Re-enter Queen. Queen. Be brief, I pray you; If the King come, I fhall incur I know not Pays dear for my offences. Poft Should we be taking leave, As long a term as yet we have to live, [Exiz. -Adieu ! Were you but riding forth to air yourself, Such parting were too petty. Look here, love. Poft. How, how, another! You gentle gods, give me but this I have, To your fo infinite lofs; fo, in our trifles [Putting a bracelet on her arm. Upon this faireft pris'ner. When fhall we fee again? SCENE III. Enter Cymbeline and Lords. Poft. Alack, the King!. Cym. Thou bafeft thing, avoid! hence! from my. fight! If, after this command, thou fraught the court Thou'rt poifon to my blood, Poft. The Gods protect you, And blefs the good remainders of the court! F'm gone. Imo. There cannot be a pinch in death More fharp, than this is. Cym. O difloyal thing, That fhouldft repair my youth, thou heap't A year's age * on me. Imo. I befeech you, Sir, Harm not yourself with your vexation; [Exit I'm fenfelefs of your wrath; a touch more rare Cym. Paft grace? obedience? Imo. Paft hope, and in defpair; that way paft grace. Cym. Thou might'st have had the fole fon of my queen. |