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Yet is it true, sir.

2 Gent.

I do well believe you.

1 Gent. We must forbear: Here comes the gen

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Enter the Queen, Posthumus, and Imogen.

Queen. No, be assur'd, you shall not find me, daughter,

After the slander of most step-mothers,
Evil-ey'd unto you: you are my prisoner, but
Your gaoler shall deliver you the keys
That lock up your restraint. For you, Posthumus,
So soon 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

Post.

I will from hence to-day.

Queen.

you.

Please your highness,

You know the peril :

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 Queen.

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Can tickle where she wounds!-My dearest hus

band,

I something fear my father's wrath; but nothing, (Always reserv'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 see again.

Post.
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 loyal'st husband that did e'er plight troth.
My residence 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 send,
Though ink be made of gall.

Queen.

Re-enter 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

To walk this way: I never do him wrong,
But he does buy my injuries, to be friends;
Pays dear for my offences.

Post.

[Aside.

[Exit.

Should we be taking leave

As long a term as yet we have to live,

The loathness to depart would grow: Adieu!
Imo. Nay, stay a little:

Were you but riding forth to air yourself,
Such parting were too petty. Look here, love;
This diamond was my mother's: take it, heart;
But keep it till you woo another wife,

When Imogen is dead.

Post.

How! how!. another?

You gentle gods, give me but this I have,
And sear up my embracements from a next
With bonds of death!-Remain, remain thou here
[Putting on the ring.
While sense can keep it on! And sweetest, fairest,
As I my poor self did exchange for

you,

To your so infinite loss; so, in our trifles

I still win of you: For my sake, wear this;
It is a manacle of love; I'll place it

Upon this fairest prisoner.

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Cym. Thou basest thing, avoid! hence, from my

sight!

If, after this command, thou fraught the court
With thy unworthiness, thou diest: Away!

Thou art poison to my blood.

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Cym.

O disloyal thing,

That should'st repair my youth; thou heapest
A year's age on me!

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you, sir,

Harm not yourself with your vexation; I
Am senseless of your wrath; a touch more rare
Subdues all pangs, all fears.

Cym.

Past grace? obedience? Imo. Past hope, and in despair; that way, past

grace.

Cym. That might'st have had the sole son of my queen!

Imo. O bless'd, 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

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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; overbuys me
Almost the sum he pays.

Cym.

What!-art thou mad?

Imo. Almost, sir: Heaven restore me!-'Would

I were

A neatherd's daughter! and my Leonatus

Our neighbour shepherd's son!

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Queen.

'Beseech your patience:-Peace,

Dear lady daughter, peace;-Sweet sovereign,

Leave us to ourselves; and make yourself some

comfort

Out of your best advice.

Cym.

A drop of blood a-day; and, being aged,

Die of this folly!

Queen.

Nay, let her languish

[Exit.

Enter Pisanio.

Fie!-you must give way:

Here is your servant.-How now, sir? What news? Pis. My lord your son drew on my master.

Queen.

No harm, I trust, is done?

Pis.

Ha!

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;
Myself by with a needle, that I might prick

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