To fay, live, boy :" ne'er thank thy mafter, live; Imo. I humbly thank your Highness. Luc. I do not bid thee beg my life, good lad; And yet, I know, thou wilt. Imo. No, no, alack, There's other work in hand; I fee a thing Luc. The boy difdains me, He leaves me, fcorns me: briefly die their joys, Cym. What would't thou, boy? I love thee more and more: think more and more, Cym. Wherefore eye'ft him fo? Imo. I'll tell you, Sir, in private, if you please To give me hearing. Cym. Ay, with all my heart, And lend my beft attention. Imo. Fidele, Sir. What's thy name? Cym. Thou art my good youth, my page; I'll be thy mafter: walk with me, speak freely. [Cymbel, and Imo. walk afide. Bel. Is not this boy reviv'd from death? Aru. One fand another *One fand another Not more refembles that fweet rofy lad.] A flight Corruption has made Nonfenfe of this Paffage. One Grain might refemble another, but none a human Form. We fhould read, Not more refembles, than He th' fweet rofy lad. Not Not more resembles, than He th' sweet rofy lad, Bel. Peace, peace, bear, fee more; he eyes us not; for Creatures may be alike; were't he, I'm fure, Guid. But we faw him dead. Bel. Be filent: let's fee further. Pif. 'Tis my miftrefs Since fhe is living, let the time run on, [Afide. To good, or bad. [Cymb. and Imog. come forward. Cym. Come, ftand thou by our fide. Make thy demand aloud.Sir, Step you forth, [To Iachimo. Give answer to this boy, and do it freely; Winnow the truth from falfhood-On; speak to him. Imo. My boon is, that this Gentleman may render Of whom he had this ring. Poft. What's that to him? Cym. That diamond upon your finger, fay, How came it yours? Iach. Thou'lt torture me to leave unfpoken That, Which to be fpoke would torture thee. Cym. How? me? Iach. I am glad to be constrain'd to utter what Torments me to conceal. By villany I got this ring; 'twas Leonatus' jewel, Whom thou didst banish: and (which more may grieve thee, As it doth me) a nobler Sir ne'er liv'd 'Twixt fky and ground. Will you hear more, my lord? Cym. All that belongs to this. Iach. That paragon, thy daughter, For For whom my heart drops blood, and my false spirits Quail to remember,-give me leave, I faint. -- Cym. My daughter, what of her? renew thy ftrength; I'd rather thou fhould'ft live, while nature will, For Beauty, that made barren the fwell'd Boaft Loves woman for; befides that hook of wiving, Cym. I ftand on fire. Come to the matter. Iach. All too foon I fhall, Unless thou wouldst grieve quickly.-This Pofthumus, (Moft like a noble lord in love, and one That had a royal lover) took his hint; And, not difpraifing whom we prais'd, (therein He was as calm as virtue) he began His miftrefs' picture; which by his tongue being made, And then a mind put in't, either our brags Were crack'd-of kitchen-trulls, or his description Cym. Nay, nay, to th' purpose. Iach. Your daughter's chastity;-there it begins: He fpake of her, as Dian had hot dreams, And fhe alone were cold; whereat, I, wretch! Made Made fcruple of his praife; and wag'd with him In fuit the place of's bed, and win this ring Than I did truly find her, ftakes this ring; Molt vilely for my vantage excellent; By wounding his belief in her renown, [Coming forward. Egregious murderer, thief, any thing That's due to all the villians paft, in Being, That all th' abhorred things o' th' earth amend, That caus'd a leffer villain than myself, Be villany lefs than 'twas! -Oh Imogen! My Queen, my life, my wife! oh Imogen, Imogen, Imogen! Into. Peace, my Lord, hear, hear Poft. Shall's have a Play of this? Thou fcornful page, there lie thy part, Pif. Oh, gentlemen, help, Striking her, fhe falls. Mine, and your mistress-Oh, my lord Pofthumus! Cym. Does the world go round? Poft. How come these flaggers on me? Pif. Wake, my mistress! Cym. If this be fo, the Gods do mean to ftrike me To death with mortal joy. Pif. How fares my mistress? Imo. O, get thee from my fight; Thou gav'ft me poison: dang'rous fellow, hence! Breathe not, where Princes are. Cym. The tune of Imogen ! Pif. Lady, the Gods throw ftones of fulphur on me, If what I gave you was not thought by me, A precious thing: I had it from the Queen. Cym. New matter ftill? Imo. It poifon'd me. Cor. Oh Gods! I left out one thing which the Queen confefs'd, Cym. |