Pisanio.† ^note
You do not meet a man, but frowns. Our looks
No more obey the heavens, than our courtiers;
But seem, as does the king's.

Gent.
But what's the matter?

Pis.
Are you so fresh a stranger, to ask that;
His daughter, and the heir of's kingdom (whom
He purpos'd to his wife's sole son, a widow

That late he married) hath referred herself
Unto a poor, but worthy gentleman.
She's wedded,
Her husband banish'd; she imprison'd; All
Is outward sorrow, though I think the king.
Be touch'd at very heart.

Gent.
None but the king?

Pis.
There is not a courtier,
Although they wear their faces to the bent
Of the king's looks, hath a heart that is not
Glad at the thing he scoul at.

Gent.
And why so?

Pis.
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,) 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.

Gent.
His name and birth?

Pis.
That I can well inform you, having liv'd
A faithful servant in the family.
His father was Sicilius, who serv'd
Against the Romans, with Cassibelan,
And gain'd the sur-addition Leonatus.
He had, besides this gentleman in question,
Two other sons, who in the wars o' th' time,
Dy'd with their swords in hand. For which their father,
Then old, and fond of issue, took such sorrow,
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
To his protection, calls him Posthumus Leonatus,
Breeds him, and makes him of his bed-chamber,
Puts to him all the learnings that his time
Could make him the receiver of, which he took
As we do air, fast as 'twas ministred;
His spring became a harvest: he liv'd in court,
Which rare it is to do, most prais'd most lov'd,
A sample to the youngest; to th' more mature,
A glass that featur'd them; and to the graver,
A child that guided dotards.

Gent.
I honour him, even out of your report.
But to my mistress, is she the sole child to the king?

Pis.
His only child.
He had two sons (if this be worth your hearing,
Mark it) the eldest of them, at three years old,
I'th' swathing cloaths the other, from their nursery
Were stol'n, and to this hour no guess in knowledge,
Which way they went.

Gent.
How long is this ago?* ^note

Pis.
Some twenty years.

Gent.
That a king's children should be so convey'd!
So slackly guarded, and the search so slow
That could not trace them—† ^note

Pis.
Howsoe'er 'tis strange,
Or that the negligence may well be laugh'd at,
Yet it is true, sir.

Gent.
I do well believe you.

Pis.
Here comes my lord,
The queen, and princess. You must forbear. Enter the Queen, Posthumus, Imogen, and Attendants.‡ ^note

Queen.
No, be assur'd you shall not find me, daughter,
After the slander of most step-mothers,

Ill-ey'd unto you: you're my prisoner, but
Your gaoler shall deliver you the keys,
That lock up your restraint. For you, good Posthumus,
As soon as I can win th' 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 you.

Post.
Please your highness,
I will from hence, to-day.

Queen.
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.

Imo.
Dissembling courtesy! How fine this tyrant
Can tickle where she wounds! My dearest husband,
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 love,
And with mine eyes I'll drink the words you send,
Though ink be made of gall. Enter Queen.

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

Post.
Should we be taking leave,
As long a term as yet we have to live,
The lothness 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, my 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 thee 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 [Putting a Bracelet on her Arm.
Upon this fairest prisoner.

Imo.
O the gods!
When shall we meet again? Enter Cymbeline,* ^note and Lords.

Post.
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.

Post.
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.
Pisanio, go see your lord on board. [Exit Pisanio.

Cym.
O disloyal thing,
Thou should'st repair my youth, thou heap'st
A years age on me.

Imo.
I beseech you, sir,
Harm not yourself with your vexation,
I am senseless of your wrath; a touch more rare,
Subdues all pangs, all fears.

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

Imo.
O blest that I might not.

Cym.
Thou took'st a beggar, would'st have made my throne
A seat for baseness.

Imo.
No, I rather added
A lustre 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 Posthumus
Our neighbour-shepherd's son.† ^note Enter Queen.

Cym.
Thou foolish thing,* ^note
They were again together, you have done
Not after our command. Away, with her,
And pen her up.

Queen.
Beseech your patience: peace,
Dear lady daughter; peace, sweet sovereign;
Make yourself some comfort,
Out of your best advice.

Cym.
Nay, let her languish,
A drop of blood a day, and being aged,
Die of this folly. [Exit.

Queen.
Fy, fy, you must give way—here is Pisanio.

Enter Pisanio.
Your faithful servant, and I dare lay mine honour
He will remain so.

Pis.
I humbly thank your highness. [Exit Queen.

Imo.
Well, good Pisanio.
Thou saw'st thy lord on board; what was the last
That he spake to thee.

Pis.
'Twas his lovely princess.

Imo.
Then wav'd his handkerchief?

Pis.
And kiss'd it, madam.

Imo.
Senseless linen, happier therein than I:
And that was all!

Pis.
No, madam; for so long
As he could make me with this eye or ear,
Distinguish 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 slow his soul sail'd on,
How swift his ship.

Imo.
Thou shouldst have made him
As little as a crow, or less, ere 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
Of space had pointed him sharp as my needle;
Nay, follow'd him, till he had melted from
The smallness of a gnat, to air; and then,
Then turn'd mine eye, and wept. But, good Pisanio,
When shall we hear from him?

Pis.
Be assur'd, madam,
With his next vantage.

Imo.
I did not take my leave of him, but had
Most pretty things to say: ere 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, in his honour; or have charg'd him

At the sixth hour of morn, at noon, or at midnight,
T'encounter me with oraisons, (for then
I am in Heav'n for him;) or ere I could
Give him that parting kiss, which I had set
Betwixt two charming words, comes in my father,
And, like the tyrannous breathing of the north,
Shakes all our buds from growing. See the Queen.
Those things I bid you do, get them dispatch'd.* ^note [Exeunt. Enter Queen and Cornelius, with a Phial.

Queen.
Now, master doctor, have you brought those drugs?

Cor.
Pleaseth your highness, ay;
But I beseech your grace, without offence
My conscience bids me ask, wherefore you have
Commanded of me these most poisonous compounds?

Queen.
I wonder, doctor,
Thou ask'st me such a question; have I not been
Thy pupil long? I will but try the force
And vigour of thy compounds, and apply
Allayments to their act; and by them gather
Their virtues and effect. Enter Pisanio.
Here comes a flatt'ring rascal; upon him [Aside.
Will I first work. He's, for his master's sake,
An enemy to my son. A sly and constant knave,
Not to be shak'd; the agent for his master,
And the remembrancer of her, to hold
The hand fast to her lord. How now, Pisanio!
Doctor, your service, for this time is ended.

Cor.
I do suspect you, madam; [Aside.
But you shall do no harm.

Queen.
Hark thee, a word. [To Pisanio.

Cor.
I will not trust one of her malice, with
A drug of such damn'd nature. Those she has
Will stupify and dull the sense, awhile,
But there is no danger in that shew of death,
More than the locking up the spirits, a time,
To be more fresh, reviving. She is fool'd,
With a most false effect; and I the truer,
So to be false with her. [Exit.

Queen.
Weeps she still, say'st thou? Dost thou think, in time,
She will not quench, and let instructions enter,
Where folly now possesses? Do thou work;
When thou shalt bring me word she loves my son,
I'll tell thee, on the instant, thou art then
As great as is thy master; greater; for
His fortunes all lie speechless, and his name
Is at last gasp; and what shalt thou expect
To be depender on a thing that leans;
Who cannot be new built, and has no friends,
So much as but to prop him? Thou takest up [Pisanio looking on the Phial.
Thou know'st not what; but take it for thy labour,
It is a thing I make, which hath the king
Five times redeem'd from death: I do not know
What is more cordial. Nay, I pr'ythee take it,
It is an earnest of a farther good,
That I mean to thee. Tell thy mistress how
The case stands with her; do't as from thyself;
I'll move the king
To any shape of thy preferment, such
As thoul't desire: think on my words.
I have given him that, [Aside.
Which, if he take, shall quite unpeople her
Of leidgers for her sweet; and which she after,
Except she bend her humour, shall be assur'd
To taste of, too. Fare thee well, Pisanio.
Think on my words. [Exit Queen.

Pis.
And shall do;
But when to my good lord I prove untrue,
I'll choke myself; there's all I'll do for you.

By this he is at Rome, and good Philario,
With open arms, and grateful heart, receives
His friend's reflected image in his son,
Old Leonatus in young Posthumus:
Sweet Imogen, what thou endur'st, the while,
Betwixt a father by thy step-dame govern'd;
A mother hourly coining plots; a wooer,
More hateful than the foul expulsion is
Of thy dear husband—Heaven keep unshaken
That temple, thy fair mind, that thou may'st stand
T'enjoy thy banish'd lord, and this great land.* ^note [Exit. Scene SCENE, Philario's House in Rome. Philario, Iachimo,† ^note and a Frenchman, at a Banquet.

Iach.

Believe it, sir, I have seen him in Britain; and he was then but crescent, not expressed to prove so worthy, as since he has 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 side, and I to peruse him by Items.

Phil.

You speak of him when he was less furnish'd, than now he is.

French.

I have seen him in France; we had very many there could behold the sun with as firm eyes as he.

Iach.

This matter of marrying his king's daughter, wherein he must be weighed rather by her value, than his own, 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 fortify her judgment, which else an easy battery might lay flat, for taking a beggar without more quality. But how comes it he is to sojourn 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.

Here comes the Briton. Let him be so entertained amongst you, as suits 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 been known together in Orleans.

Post.

Since when I have been debtor to you for courtesies, 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 attone my countryman and you; it had been pity you should have been put together, with so mortal a purpose as then each bore, upon importance of so slight and trivial a nature.

Post.

By your pardon, sir, I was then a young traveller; but upon my mended judgment, (if I offend not to say it is mended) my quarrel was not altogether slight.

French.

Faith, yes, to be put to the arbitrament of swords.

Iach.

Can we, with manners, ask what was the difference?

French.

Safely, I think; 'twas a contention in publick, which may, without contradiction, suffer the report. It was much like an argument that fell out,

last night, where each of us fell in praise of our country-mistresses. This gentleman at that time vouching, (and upon warrant of bloody affirmation,) his to be more fair, virtuous, wife, chaste, constant, qualified, and less attemptable, than any, the rarest of our ladies in France.* ^note

Iach.

That lady is not now living, or this gentleman's opinion is by this worn out.

Post.

She holds her virtue still, and I my mind.

Iach.

You must not so far prefer her, 'fore ours of Italy.

Post.

Being so far provok'd, as I was in France, I would abate her nothing; tho' I profess myself her adorer, not her friend.

Iach.

As fair, and as good; a kind of hand in hand comparison, had been something too fair, and too good, for any lady in Britain; if she went out before others I have seen, as that diamond of yours out-lustres many I have beheld, I could believe she excelled many; but I have not seen the most precious diamond that is, nor you the lady.

Post.

I prais'd her, as I rated her? so do I my ring.

Iach.

What do you esteem it at?

Post.

More than the world enjoys.

Iach.

Either your paragon'd mistress is dead, or she's outpriz'd by a trifle.

Post.

You are mistaken; the one may be sold or given, if there were wealth enough for the purchase, or merit for the gift. The other is not a thing for sale, and only the gift of the gods.

Iach.

Which the gods have given you.

Post.

Which, by their graces, I will keep.

Iach.

You may wear her in title yours; but, you know, strange fowl light upon neighbouring ponds. Your ring may be stol'n, too; so of your brace of unprisable estimations, the one is but frail, and the

other casual. A cunning thief, or a that-way accomplished courtier, would hazard the winning both of first and last.

Post.

Your Italy contains none so accomplished a courtier to convince the honour of my mistress; if in the holding or loss of that, you term her frail. I do nothing doubt you have store of thieves, notwithstanding, I fear not my ring.

Phil.

Let us leave here, gentlemen.

Post.

Sir, with all my heart. This worthy signior, I thank him, makes no stranger of me, we are familiar, at first.

Iach.

With five times so much conversation, I should get ground of your fair mistress. Make her go back, even to the yielding, had I admittance, and opportunity to friend.

Post.

No, no.

Iach.

I dare thereupon pawn the moiety of my estate, to your ring, which in my opinion o'er-values it something: but I make my wager rather against, your confidence, than her reputation. And to bar your offence herein, too, I durst attempt it, against any lady in the world.

Post.

You are a great deal abused in too bold a persuasion; and I doubt not, you'd sustain what you're worthy of, by your attempt.

Iach.

What's that?

Post.

A repulse; though your attempt, as you call it, deserves more; a punishment, too.

Phil.

Gentlemen, enough of this, it came in too suddenly; let it die as it was born, and I pray you, be better acquainted.

Iach.

Would I had put my estate, and my neighbour's, on th' approbation of what I have spoke.

Post.

What lady would you chuse to assail?

Iach.

Yours; whom in constancy you think stands so safe. I will lay you ten thousand ducats, to your ring, that commend me to the court where your lady

is, with no more advantage than the opportunity of a second conference, and I will bring from thence that honour of hers, which you imagine so reserv'd.

Post.

I will wage against your gold, gold to it: my ring I hold dear as my finger, 'tis part of it.

Iach.

You are afraid, and therein the wiser. If you buy ladies flesh at a million a dram, you cannot preserve it from tainting: but I see you have some religion in you, that you fear.

Post.

This is but a custom in your tongue; you bear a graver purpose, I hope.

Iach.

I am the master of my speeches, and would undergo what's spoken, I swear.

Post.

Will you? let there be covenants drawn between us. My mistress exceeds in goodness the hugeness of your unworthy thinking. I dare you to this match; here's my ring.* ^note

Phil.

I will have it no lay.

Iach.

By the gods it is one; if I bring you sufficient testimony that I have enjoy'd the dearest bodily part of your mistress, my ten thousand ducats are mine, so is your diamond, too; if I come off, and leave her in such honour as you have trust in, she, your jewel, this your jewel, and my gold, are yours, provided I have your commendation, for my more free entertainment.

Post.

I embrace these conditions; let us have articles betwixt us; only thus far you shall answer. If you make your voyage upon her, and give me directly to understand you have prevailed, I am no further your enemy; she is not worth our debate. If she remain unseduc'd, you, not making it appear otherwise, for

your ill opinion, and the assault you have made on her chastity, you shall answer me with your sword.

Iach.

Your hand; a covenant; we will have these things set down by lawful counsel, and I'll straight away for Britain, lest the bargain should catch cold, and starve; I will fetch my gold, and have our two wagers recorded.

Post.

Agreed.