Que.
No, be assur'd, you shall not find me, daughter,
After the slander of most step-mothers,
Evil-ey'd unto you: you're my prisoner, but
Your jailor 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.

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

Que.
You know the peril:—
I'll fetch a turn about the garden, pitying
The pangs of bar'd affections; though the king
Hath charg'd you should not speak together. [Exit Queen.

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,
(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.

Pos.
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 ^note;
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. Re-enter Queen.

Que.
Be brief, I pray you:
If the king come, I shall incur I know not
How much of his displeasure:—&clquo;Yet I'll move him&crquo;
&clquo;To walk this way: I never do him wrong,&crquo;
&clquo;But he does buy my injuries, to be friends;&crquo;
&clquo;Pays dear for my offences.&crquo; [Exit.

Pos.
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, &dagger2; love;
This diamond was my mother's: take it, heart;
But keep it 'till you woo another wife,
When Imogen is dead.

Pos.
How, how! another?—
You gentle gods, give me but this I have,
And sear up my embracements from a ^note next
With bonds of death!—Remain, remain thou † here
While sense can keep it on: ^note14Q1245—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 &dagger2; this;
It is a manacle of love, I'll place it

Upon this fairest prisoner.

Imo.
O the gods!—
When shall we see again? Enter Cymbeline, and Lords.

Pos.
Alack, the king!

Cym.
Thou basest thing, avoid; hence, from my sight!
If, after this command, thou fraught ^note the court
With thy unworthiness, thou dy'st: Away!
Thou'rt poison to my blood.

Pos.
The gods protect you!
And bless the good remainders of the court!
I am gone. [Exit Posthumus.

Imo.
There cannot be a pinch in death
More sharp than this is.

Cym.
O disloyal thing,
That should'st repair my youth; thou heap'st instead
A year's age on me!14Q1246

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.
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 puttock.

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 me14Q1247
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
Not after our command. Away with her,
And pen her up.

Que.
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,
Dye of this folly! [Exit Cymbeline. Enter Pisanio.

Que.
Fie!—you must give way:
Here is your servant.—How now, sir? what news?

Pis.
My lord your son drew on my master.

Que.
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.

Que.
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
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't pleas'd you to employ me.

Que.
This hath been
Your faithful servant: I dare lay mine honour,
He will remain so.

Pis.
I humbly thank your highness.

Que.
Pray, walk a while.

Imo.
About some half hour hence,
I pray you, speak with me: You shall, at least,
Go see my lord aboard: for this time, leave me. [Exeunt.

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