Cym. What's this, Cornelius?

Cor. The Queen, Sir, very oft importun'd me
To temper poifons for her; ftill pretending
The fatisfaction of her knowledge, only
In killing creatures vile, as cats and dogs
Of no esteem; I, dreading that her purpose
Was of more danger, did compound for her
A certain ftuff, which, being ta'en would seize
The prefent power of life; but, in fhort time,
All offices of nature should again

Do their due functions.

Have you ta'en of it? Imo. Molt like I did, for I was dead.

Bel. My boys, there was our error.

Guid. This is, fure, Fidele.

[you?

Imo. Why did you throw your wedded lady from

Think, that you are upon a mock, and now

Throw me again.

(Throwing her arms about his neck.

Poft. Hang there like fruit, my foul,

'Till the tree die!

Cym. How now, my flefh? my child?

What, mak't thou me a dullard in this act?

Wilt thou not speak to me?

Imo. Your Bleffing, Sir,

[Kneeling.

[To Guid. Arvi.

Bel. Tho' you did love this youth, I blame you not,

You had a motive for't.

Cym. My tears, that fall,

Prove holy-water on thee! Imogen,

Thy mother's dead.

Imo. I'm forry for't, my lord.

Cym. Oh, fhe was naught; and long of her it was,

That we meet here fo ftrangely; but her fon

Is gone, we know not how, nor where.

Pif. My lord,

Now fear is from me, I'll speak truth.
Upon my lady's miffing, came to me

Lord Cloten,

With his fword drawn, foam'd at the mouth, and

fwore,

If I difcover'd not which

way

fhe went,

It

It was my inftant death. By accident
I had a feigned letter of my master's
Then in my pocket; which directed her

To feek him on the mountains near to Milford :
Where, in a frenzy, in my mafter's garments,
Which he inforc'd from me, away he posts
With unchafte purpose, and with oath to violate
My lady's honour: What became of him,
I further know not.

Guid. Let me end the ftory;

I flew him there.

Cym. Marry, the Gods forefend!

I would not, thy good deeds fhould from my lips
Pluck a hard fentence: pr'ythee, valiant youth,
Deny't again.

Guid. I've fpoke it, and I did it.

Cym. He was a Prince.

Guid. A moft incivil one. The wrongs

he did me,

Were nothing prince-like; for he did provoke me
With language that would make me fpurn the fea,
Could it fo roar to me. I cut off's head;

And am right glad, he is not ftanding here

To tell this tale of mine.

Cym. I'm forry for thee;

By thine own tongue thou art condemn'd, and must
Endure our law: thou'rt dead.

Imo. That headlefs man

I thought had been my lord.

Cym. Bind the offender,

And take him from our prefence.

Bel. Stay, Sir King,

This man is better than the man he flew,
As well defcended as thy felf; and hath
More of thee merited, than a band of Clotens
Had ever fcar for.--Let his arms alone;

They were not born for bondage.
Cym. Why, old Soldier,

[To the Guard.

7

Wilt

1

Wilt thou undo the worth thou art unpaid for,
By hafting of our wrath? how of defcent

But I will prove, that two on's are as good

As I've giv'n out of him.

My fons, I muft,

For my own part, unfold a dangerous fpeech,

Though, haply, well for you.

Aru. Your danger's ours.

Guid. And our good, his.

Bel. Have at it then, by leave:

Thou had', great King, a fubject, who was call'd
Belarius:

Cym. What of him? a banish'd traitor.
Bel. He it is, that hath

Affum'd this age; indeed, a banish'd man;
I know not how, a traitor.

Cym. Take him hence,

The whole world fhall not fave him.

Bel. Not too hot:

Firft, pay me for the nurfing of thy fons;
And let it be confiscate all, so foon

As I've receiv'd it.

Cym. Nurfing of my fons?

Bel. I am too blunt, and faucy; here's my knee: Ere I arife, I will prefer my fons,

Then fpare not the old Father. Mighty Sir,
Thefe two young gentlemen, that call me father,
And think they are my fons, are none of mine;
They are the iffue of your loins, my liege,
And blood of your begetting.

Cym. How? my iffue?

Bel. So fure, as you, your father's: I, old Morgan, Am that Belarius whom you fometime banish'd; Your pleasure was my near offence, my punifhment Itfelf, and all my treafon: That I fuffer'd,

Was

Was all the harm I did. These gentle Princes
(For fuch and fo they are,) these twenty years
Have I train'd up; fuch arts they have, as I
Could put into them. Sir, my breeding was,
As your Grace knows. Their nurfe Euriphile,
Whom for the theft I wedded, stole these children
Upon my banishment: I mov'd her to't;
Having receiv'd the punishment before,
For That which I did then. Beaten for loyalty,
Excited me to treafon. Their dear lofs,

The more of you 'twas felt, the more it shap'd
Unto my end of ftealing them. But. Sir,
Here are your fons again; and I must lose
Two of the fweet'ft companions in the world.
The benediction of thefe covering heav'ns
Fall on their heads like dew! for they are worthy
To in-lay heav'n with ftars.

Cym. Thou weep'ft, and speak'ft:

The fervice, that you three have done, is more
Unlike, than this thou tell'ft.

I loft my children

If thefe be they, I know not how to wish

A pair of worthier fons.

Bel. Be pleas'd a while

This gentleman, whom I call Paladour,

Moft worthy Prince, as yours, is true Guiderius :
This gentleman, my Cadwall, Arviragus,

Your younger princely fon; he, Sir, was lapt
In a moft curious mantle, wrought by th' hand
Of his Queen-mother, which, for more probation,
I can with ease produce.

Cym. Guiderius had

Upon his neck a mole, a fanguine ftar;

It was a mark of wonder.

Bel. This is he;

Who hath upon him ftill that nat'ral flamp:
It was wife Nature's end, in the donation,
To be his evidence now.

Cym. Oh, what am I

A

A mother to the birth of three! ne'er mother
Rejoic'd deliverance more; bleft may you be,
That, after this ftrange ftarting from your orbs,
You may reign in them now oh Imogen,
Thou' loft by this a kingdom.

Imo. No, my lord:

I've got two worlds by't.

Have we thus met? oh, never fay hereafter,

Oh, my gentle brothers,

You call'd me brother,

I, you brothers;

But I am trueft speaker.
When I was but your fifter
When ye were fo, indeed.
Cym. Did

you e'er meet?

Aru. Ay, my good lord.

Guid. And at firft meeting lov'd;
Continued fo, until we thought he died.

Cor. By the Queen's dram fhe swallow'd.
Cym. O rare instinct!

When fhall I hear all through? this fierce abridgment
Hath to it circumftantial branches, which

Diftinction fhould be rich in.-Where? how liv'd you? And when came you to ferve our Roman captive? How parted with your brothers ? how firft met them? Why fled you from the court? and whither ?-These, And your three motives to the battle, with

I know not how much more, should be demanded;
And all the other by-dependances

From chance to chance: but not the time, nor place,
Will ferve long interrogatories. See,
Pofthumus anchors upon Imogen;

And fhe, like harmless lightning, throws her eye
On him, her brothers, me, her mafler; hitting
Each object with a joy. The counter-change
Is fev'rally in all. Let's quit this ground,
And smoke the temple with our facrifices.
Thou art my brother; fo we'll hold thee ever.

[To Belarius.

Imo. You are my father too, and did relieve me, To fee this gracious season!

Cym.