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'm 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, thou heap'st
A year's age on me.

Imo.
I beseech you, Sir,
Harm not your self with your vexation,
I'm 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.
Thou 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 † ^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; 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 Leonatus
Our neighbour-shepherd's son! Enter Queen.

Cym.
Thou foolish thing;
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,
Leave us t' our selves, and make your self 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.
Hah!
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'm 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,
My self 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 please 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 speak with me;
You shall, at least, go see my lord aboard.
For this time leave me.— [Exeunt.

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