Shakespeare - First Folio facsimile (1910)/The Tragedie of Cymbeline/Act 1 Scene 2

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Scena Secunda.

Enter the Queene, Posthumus, and Imogen.

No, be assur'd you shall not finde me (Daughter)
After the slander of most Step-Mothers,
Euill-ey'd vnto you. You're my Prisoner, but
Your Gaoler shall deliuer you the keyes
That locke vp your restraint. For you Posthumus,
So soone as I can win th'offended King,
I will be knowne your Aduocate: marry yet
The fire of Rage is in him, and 'twere good
You lean'd vnto his Sentence, with what patience
Your wisedome may informe you.

'Please your Highnesse,
I will from hence to day.

You know the perill:
Ile fetch a turne about the Garden, pittying
The pangs of barr'd Affections, though the King
ExitHath charg'd you should not speake together.

O dissembling Curtesie! How fine this Tyrant
Can tickle where she wounds? My deerest Husband,
I something feare my Fathers wrath, but nothing
(Alwayes reseru'd my holy duty) what
His rage can do on me. You must be gone,
And I shall heere abide the hourely shot
Of angry eyes: not comforted to liue,
But that there is this Iewell in the world,
That I may see againe.

My Queene, my Mistris:
O Lady, weepe no more, least I giue cause
To be suspected of more tendernesse
Then doth become a man. I will remaine
The loyall'st husband, that did ere plight troth.
My residence in Rome, at one Filorio's,
Who, to my Father was a Friend, to me
Knowne but by Letter; thither write (my Queene)
And with mine eyes, Ile drinke the words you send,
Though Inke be made of Gall.

Enter Queene.

Be briefe, I pray you:
If the King come, I shall incurre, I know not
How much of his displeasure: yet Ile moue him
To walke this way: I neuer do him wrong,
But he do's buy my Iniuries, to be Friends:
Payes deere for my offences.

Should we be taking leaue
As long a terme as yet we haue to liue,
The loathnesse to depart, would grow: Adieu.

Nay, stay a little:
Were you but riding forth to ayre your selfe,
Such parting were too petty. Looke heere (Loue)
This Diamond was my Mothers; take it (Heart)
But keepe it till you woo another Wife,
When Imogen is dead.

How, how? Another?
You gentle Gods, giue me but this I haue,
And seare vp my embracements from a next,
With bonds of death. Remaine, remaine thou heere,
While sense can keepe it on: And sweetest, fairest,
As I (my poore selfe) did exchange for you
To your so infinite losse; so in our trifles
I still winne of you. For my sake weare this,
It is a Manacle of Loue, Ile place it
Vpon this fayrest Prisoner.

O the Gods!
When shall we see againe?

Enter Cymbeline, and Lords.

Alacke, the King.

Thou basest thing, auoyd hence, from my sight:
If after this command thou fraught the Court
With thy vnworthinesse, thou dyest. Away,
Thou'rt poyson to my blood.

The Gods protect you,
And blesse the good Remainders of the Court:
Exit.I am gone.

There cannot be a pinch in death
More sharpe then this is.

O disloyall thing,
That should'st repayre my youth, thou heap'st
A yeares age on mee.

I beseech you Sir,
Harme not your selfe with your vexation,
I am senselesse of your Wrath; a Touch more rare
Subdues all pangs, all feares.

Past Grace? Obedience?

Past hope, and in dispaire, that way past Grace.

That might'st haue had
The sole Sonne of my Queene.

O blessed, that I might not: I chose an Eagle,
And did auoyd a Puttocke.

Thou took'st a Begger, would'st haue made my
Throne, a Seate for basenesse.

No, I rather added a lustre to it.

O thou vilde one!

It is your fault that I haue lou'd Posthumus:
You bred him as my Play-fellow, and he is
A man, worth any woman: Ouer-buyes mee
Almost the summe he payes.

What? art thou mad?

Almost Sir: Heauen restore me: would I were
A Neat-heards Daughter, and my Leonatus
Our Neighbour-Shepheards Sonne.

Enter Queene.

Thou foolish thing;
They were againe together: you haue done
Not after our command. Away with her,
And pen her vp.

Beseech your patience: Peace
Deere Lady daughter, peace. Sweet Soueraigne,
Leaue vs to our selues, and make your self some comfort
Out of your best aduice.

Nay, let her languish
A drop of blood a day, and being aged
Exit.Dye of this Folly.

Enter Pisanio.

Fye, you must giue way:
Heere is your Seruant. How now Sir? What newes?

My Lord your Sonne, drew on my Master.

No harme I trust is done?

There might haue beene,
But that my Master rather plaid, then fought,
And had no helpe of Anger: they were parted
By Gentlemen, at hand.

I am very glad on't.

Your Son's my Fathers friend, he takes his part
To draw vpon an Exile. O braue Sir,
I would they were in Affricke both together,
My selfe by with a Needle, that I might pricke
The goer backe. Why came you from your Master?

On his command: he would not suffer mee
To bring him to the Hauen: left these Notes
Of what commands I should be subiect too,
When't pleas'd you to employ me.

This hath beene
Your faithfull Seruant: I dare lay mine Honour
He will remaine so.

I humbly thanke your Highnesse.

Pray walke a-while.

About some halfe houre hence,
Pray you speake with me;
You shall (at least) go see my Lord aboord.
Exeunt.For this time leaue me.