Companions to our person, and will fit you Enter Cornelius and Ladies. There's business in these faces: why fo fadly Greet you our victory? you look like Romans, Cor. Hail, great king! To four your happiness, I must report Cym. Whom worse than a physician Cor. With horror, madly dying, like her self, Who being cruel to the world, concluded I will report, so please you. 4 Moft cruel to her self. What she confeft, Cym. Pr'ythee fay. take upon your felf that which I am fure you do not know; or lump the after-enquiry on your own peril; and how you shall speed in your journy's-end, I think you'll never return to tell one. Poft. I tell thee, fellow, there are none want eyes, to direct them the way I am going, but fuch as wink, and will not use them. Goal. What an infinite mock is this, that a man fhould have the best use of eyes, to feek the way of blindnefs: I am fure fuch hanging's the way of winking. Enter a meffenger. Mef. Knock off his manacles, bring your prifoner to the king. Poft. Thou shalt be then freer than a goaler: no bolts for the dead. [Exeunt. Goal. Unless a man would marry a gallows, and beget young gibbets, I never faw one fo prone. Yet on my confcience, there are verier knaves defire to live, for all he be a Roman: and there be fome of them too that die against their wills; fo fhould I, if I were one. I would we were all of one mind, and one mind good; O there were defolation of goalers and gallowfes; I fpeak against my prefent profit, but my wifh hath a preferment in't. SCENE IV. &c. [Exit. Cor. Cor. First, the confess'd she never lov'd you, only Married your royalty, wife to your place, Cym. She alone knew this: And but she spoke it dying, I would not Believe her lips in opening it. Proceed. Cor. Your daughter, whom she bore in hand to love With fuch integrity, fhe did confess Was as a scorpion to her fight, whofe life, But that her flight prevented it, she had Cym. O most delicate fiend! Who is't can read a woman? is there more? Cor. More, Sir, and worse. She did confefs fhe had Cym. Heard you all this, her women ? Were not in fault, for fhe was beautiful: Mine ears, that heard her flattery, nor my heart, That thought her like her seeming. It had been vicious VOL VI. F f To To have mistrusted her. Yet oh my daughter! Enter Lucius, Iachimo, and other Roman prifoners, Le- Thou com'ft not, Caius, now for tribute; that So think of your eftate. Luc. Confider, Sir, the chance of war; the day We should not, when the blood was cool, have threatned With my request, which I'll make bold your highness Though he hath ferv'd a Roman. Save him, Sir, Cym. I've furely seen him; His favour is familiar to me. Boy, Thou Thou haft look'd thy self into my grace, And art mine own. I know not why, nor wherefore 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 see a thing Luc. The boy disdains me, He leaves me, fcorns me: briefly die their joys, Cym. What wouldst thou, boy? I love thee more and more: think more and more, Imo. He is a Roman, no more kin to me, Than I to your highness, who being born your vaffal Am something nearer. Cym. Wherefore eye'ft him so? Imo. I'll tell you, Sir, in private, if you please To give me hearing. Cym. Ay, with all my heart, And lend my best attention. What's thy name? Cym. Thou'rt my good youth, my page, Ff 2 Bel. Bel. Is not this boy reviv'd from death? Not more resembles that sweet rofie lad, Who dy'd, and was Fidele. What think you? Guid. The fame dead thing alive, Bel. Peace, peace, fee more; he eyes us not, forbear, 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 mistress- -610 Since she is living, let the time run on, Cym. Come, stand thou by our fide. Or by our greatness and the grace of it Which is our honour, bitter torture shall Winnow the truth from falfhood. On, fpeak to him. Of whom he had this ring. Poft. What's that to him? Cym. That diamond upon your finger, say How came it yours? Iach. Thou'lt torture me to leave unspoken, that Which to be spoke would torture thee. Cym. How? me? Iach. I'm glad to be constrain'd to utter what Torments me to conceal. By villany I got this ring; 'twas Leonatus' jewel, [afide. [To Iach Whom thou didst banish: and, (which more may grieve thee, As it doth me) a nobler Sir ne'er liv'd 'Twixt sky and ground. Will you hear more, my lord? Cym. |