Puslapio vaizdai
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To fay, live, boy :" ne'er thank thy mafter, live;
And afk of Cymbeline what boon thou wilt,
Fitting my bounty, and thy ftate, I'll give it :
Yea, though thou do demand a prifoner,
The nobleft ta'en.

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
Bitter to me, as death; your life, good master,
Muft fhuffle for itself.

Luc. The boy difdains me,

He leaves me, fcorns me: briefly die their joys,
That place them on the truth of girls and boys!
Why ftands he so perplext?

Cym. What would't thou, boy?

I love thee more and more: think more and more,
What's best to ask. Know'ft him thou look'ft on? speak,
Wilt have him live? is he thy kin? thy friend?
Imo. He is a Roman; no more kin to me,
Than I to your Highness: who, being born your vaffal,
Am fomething nearer.

Cym. Wherefore eye'ft him fo?

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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,
Who dy'd and was Fidele. What think you?
Guid. The fame dead thing alive.

Bel. Peace, peace,

bear,

fee more; he eyes us not; for

Creatures may be alike; were't he, I'm fure,
He would have spoke t'us.

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;
Or, by our Greatness and the Grace of it,
Which is our Honour, bitter torture fhall

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,
S 3

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,
Than die ere I hear more: firive, man, and Ipeak,
Jach. Upon a time, (unhappy was the clock,
That ftruck the hour:) it was in Rome, (accurs'd
The manfion where) 'twas at a feast, (oh, would
Our viands had been poifon'd! or at leaft,
Those which I heav'd to head:) the good Pofthumus-
(What fhould I fay? he was too good to be
Where ill men were; and was the best of all
Amongst the rar'ft of good ones)--fitting fadly,
Hearing us praife our Loves of Italy

For Beauty, that made barren the fwell'd Boaft
Of him that beft could fpeak; for feature, laming
The thrine of Venus, or ftraight-pight Minerva,
Poftures beyond brief nature; for condition,
A fhop of all the qualities, that man

Loves woman for; befides that hook of wiving,
Fairnefs, which flrikes the eye-

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
Prov'd us unfpeaking fots.

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
Pieces of gold, 'gainst This which then he wore
Upon his honour'd finger, to attain.

In fuit the place of's bed, and win this ring
By hers and mine adultery. He, true Knight,
No leffer of her honour confident

Than I did truly find her, ftakes this ring;
And would fo, had it been a carbuncle
Of Phabus's wheel; and might fo fafely, had it
Been all the worth of's Car. Away to Britaine
Poft I in this defign: well may you, Sir,
Remember me at court, where I was taught
By your chafte daughter the wide difference.
Twixt amorous, and villainous. Being thus quench'd
Of Hope, not Longing, mine Italian brain
'Gan in your duller Britaine operate

Molt vilely for my vantage excellent;
And, to be brief, my practice fo prevail'd,
That I return'd with fimilar proof enough
To make the noble Leonatus mad,

By wounding his belief in her renown,
With tokens thus, and thus; averring notes
Of chamber-hanging, pictures, this her bracelet ;
(Oh, cunning! how I got it) nay, some marks
Of secret on her perfon; that he could not
But think her bond of chaftity quite crack'd,
I having ta'en the forfeit; whereupon,
Methinks, I fee him now..
Poft. Ay, fo thou do'ft,
Italian fiend! ah me, moft credulous fool,

[Coming forward.

Egregious murderer, thief, any thing

That's due to all the villians paft, in Being,
To come-oh, give me cord, or knife, or poifon,
Some upright jufticer! Thou, King, send out
For torturers ingenious; it is I

That all th' abhorred things o' th' earth amend,
By being worfe than they. I am Pothumus
That kill'd thy daughter;-villain-like, I lie;

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That caus'd a leffer villain than myself,
A facrilegious thief, to do't. The temple
Of virtue was fhe, yea, and She herself.
Spit, and throw flones, caft mire upon me, fet
The dogs o' th' ftreet to bay me: every villain
Be call'd Pofthumus Leonatus, and

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!
You ne'er kill'd Imogen 'till now- -help, help,
Mine honour'd lady

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,
Which muft approve thee honest. If Pifanio
Have. faid fhe, giv'n his miftrefs that confection,
Which I gave him for cordial, fhe is ferv'd
As I would ferve a rat..

Cym.

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