SCENE II.
Enter the Queen, Posthumus, Imogen, and attendants.
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 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.
O dissembling courtesy! How fine this tyrant
Can tickle where she wounds!—My dearest husband,
I something fear my father's wrath; but nothing,
-- 179 --
(1 noteAlways 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,
2 note
Though ink be made of gall.
Re-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!
-- 180 --
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 up3 note
my embracements from a next
With bonds of death!—Remain, remain thou here
[Putting on the ring.
4 note
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
[Putting a bracelet on her arm.
Upon this fairest prisoner.
Imo.
O, the gods!—
When shall we see again?
Enter Cymbeline, and Lords.
Post.
Alack, the king!
-- 181 --
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 art 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.
Cym.
O disloyal thing,
That should'st repair my youth; 5 note
thou heapest
A year's age on me!
Imo.
I beseech you, sir,
Harm not yourself with your vexation; I
Am senseless of your wrath; 6 note
a touch more rare
-- 182 --
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 blest, that I might not! I chose an eagle,
And did avoid a 7 noteputtock.
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
-- 183 --
A man, worth any woman; over-buys me
Almost the sum he pays.
Cym.
What!—art thou mad?
Imo.
Almost, sir: Heaven restore me!—'Would I were
A neat-herd's daughter! and my Leonatus
Our neighbour shepherd's son!
Re-enter Queen.
Cym.
Thou foolish thing!
They were again together: you have done
[To the queen.
Not after our command. Away with her,
And pen her up.
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.
Nay, let her languish
A drop of blood a day; and, being aged,
Die of this folly!
[Exit.
Enter Pisanio.
Queen.
Fie!—you must give way:
Here is your servant.—How now, sir? What news?
Pis.
My lord your son drew on my master.
Queen.
Ha!
No harm, I trust, is done?
Pis.
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.—
-- 184 --
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
The goer back. Why came you from your master?
Pis.
On his command: He would not suffer me
To bring him to the haven: left these notes
Of what commands I should be subject to,
When it pleas'd you to employ me.
Queen.
This hath been
Your faithful servant: I dare lay mine honour,
He will remain so.
Pis.
I humbly thank your highness.
Queen.
Pray, walk a while.
Imo.
About some half hour hence, pray you, speak with me:
You shall, at least, go see my lord aboard:
For this time, leave me.
[Exeunt.
Samuel Johnson [1778], The plays of William Shakspeare. In ten volumes. With the corrections and illustrations of various commentators; to which are added notes by Samuel Johnson and George Steevens. The second edition, Revised and Augmented (Printed for C. Bathurst [and] W. Strahan [etc.], London) [word count] [S10901].