CYMBELINE

ACT I.

SCENE I. Britain. The garden of Cymbeline's palace.

Enter two Gentlemen.

First Gent. You do not meet a man but frowns : our bloods

No more obey the heavens than our courtiers

Still seem as does the king.

Sec. Gent.

But what's the matter?

First Gent. His daughter, and the heir of's kingdom, whom

He purposed to his wife's sole son a widow
That late he married-hath referr'd herself
Unto a poor but worthy gentleman: she's wedded;
Her husband banish'd; she imprison'd: all
Is outward sorrow; though I think the king

Be touch'd at very heart.

Sec. Gent.

None but the king?

First Gent. He that hath lost her too; so is
the queen,

That most desired the match; but not a courtier,
Although they wear their faces to the bent
Of the king's looks, hath a heart that is not

Glad at the thing they scowl at.

Sec. Gent.

And why so?

First Gent. He that hath miss'd the princess is a thing

Too bad for bad report: and he that hath her

I mean, that married her, alack, good man !
And therefore banish'd-is a creature such

As, to seek through the regions of the earth
For one his like, there would be something failing
In him that should compare. I do not think
So fair an outward and such stuff within

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You speak him far.

Endows a man but he.

Sec. Gent.

First Gent. I do extend him, sir, within himself,

Crush him together rather than unfold

His measure duly.

Sec. Gent.

What's his name and birth?

First Gent. I cannot delve him to the root: his father

Was called Sicilius, who did join his honour

Against the Romans with Cassibelan,

But had his titles by Tenantius whom
He served with glory and admired success,

So gain'd the sur-addition Leonatus;

And had, besides this gentleman in question,

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Two other sons, who in the wars o' the time

Died with their swords in hand; for which their

father,

Then old and fond of issue, took such sorrow
That he quit being, and his gentle lady,
Big of this gentleman our theme, deceased
As he was born. The king he takes the babe
To his protection, calls him Posthumus Leonatus,
Breeds him and makes him of his bed-chamber,
Puts to him all the learnings that his time
Could make him the receiver of; which he took,
As we do air, fast as 'twas minister'd,
And in 's spring became a harvest, lived in court-
Which rare it is to do-most praised, most loved,
A sample to the youngest, to the more mature
A glass that feated them, and to the graver
A child that guided dotards; to his mistress,
For whom he now is banish'd, her own price
Proclaims how she esteem'd him and his virtue;
By her election may be truly read

What kind of man he is.

Sec. Gent.

Even out of your report.

me,

I honour him

But, pray you, tell

Is she sole child to the king?
First Gent.
His only child.
He had two sons: if this be worth your hearing,
Mark it: the eldest of them at three years old,
I' the swathing-clothes the other, from their nursery
Were stol'n, and to this hour no guess in know-

ledge

Which way they went.

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60

Sec. Gent.

How long is this ago?

First Gent. Some twenty years.

Sec. Gent. That a king's children should be so

convey'd,

So slackly guarded, and the search so slow,

That could not trace them!

First Gent.

Howsoe'er 'tis strange,

Or that the negligence may well be laugh'd at,

Yet is it true, sir.

Sec. Gent.

I do well believe you.

First Gent. We must forbear: here comes the

gentleman,

The queen, and princess.

[Exeunt.

Enter the QUEEN, POSTHUMUS, and IMOGEN.

Queen. No, be assured you shall not find me,
daughter,

After the slander of most stepmothers,
Evil-eyed unto you: you're my prisoner, but
Your gaoler shall deliver you the keys
That lock up your restraint. For you, Posthumus,
So soon as I can win the offended king,
I will be known your advocate: marry, yet
The fire of rage is in him, and 'twere good
You lean'd unto his sentence with what patience
Your wisdom may inform you.

Post.

I will from hence to-day.
Queen.

Please your highness,

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1

I'll fetch a turn about the garden, pitying
The pangs of barr'd affections, though the king
Hath charged you should not speak together.

Imo.

[Exit.

Dissembling courtesy! How fine this tyrant

Can tickle where she wounds! My dearest hus-
band,

I something fear my father's wrath; but nothing-
Always reserved my holy duty-what

His rage can do on me: you must be gone;

And I shall here abide the hourly shot

Of angry eyes, not comforted to live,

But that there is this jewel in the world

That I may see again.

Post.

My queen! my mistress!

O lady, weep no more, lest I give cause
To be suspected of more tenderness
Than doth become a man. I will remain

The loyal'st husband that did e'er plight troth :

My residence in Rome at one Philario's,

Who to my father was a friend, to me

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Known but by letter: thither write, my queen,
And with mine eyes I'll drink the words you send, 100

Though ink be made of gall.

Queen.

Re-enter QUEEN.

Be brief, I pray you:

If the king come, I shall incur I know not

How much of his displeasure. [Aside] Yet I'll
move him

To walk this way: I never do him wrong,
But he does buy my injuries, to be friends;

Pays dear for my offences.
Post.

[Exit.
Should we be taking leave

As long a term as yet we have to live,
The loathness to depart would grow.

Imo. Nay, stay a little:

Adieu!