Queen.
No, be assur'd you shall not find me, daughter,
After the slander of most step-mothers,
I'll-ey'd unto you: you're my pris'ner, but
Your goaler shall deliver you the keys
That lock up your restraint. For you, Posthumus,
So 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 courtesie! 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.

Post.
My queen! my mistress!
O lady, weep no more, lest I give cause
To be suspected of more tenderness
Then doth become a man. I will remain

The loyall'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. 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.

Imo.
Nay, stay a little—
Were you but riding forth to air your self,
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 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 pris'ner.

Imo.
O the gods!
When shall we see again?

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