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Companions to our person, and will fit you
With dignities becoming your estates.

Enter Cornelius and Ladies.

There's business in these faces: why fo fadly

Greet you our victory? you look like Romans,
And not o'th' court of Britain.

Cor. Hail, great king!

To four your happiness, I must report
The queen is dead.

Cym. Whom worse than a physician
Would this report become? but I confider,
By med'cine life may be prolong'd, yet death
Will feize the doctor too. How ended fhe?

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,
These her women
Can trip me, if I err; who with wet cheeks
Were present when she finish'd.

Cym. Pr'ythee fay.

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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 bring'ft good news, I am called to be made free.
Goal. I'll be hang'd then.

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.

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Cor. First, the confess'd she never lov'd you, only
Affected greatness got by you, not you:

Married your royalty, wife to your place,
Abhorr❜d your person.

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
Ta'en off by poison.

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
For you a mortal mineral, which being took
Should by the minute feed on life, and lingring
By inches waste you. In which time the purpos'd
By watching, weeping, tendance, kissing, to
O'ercome you with her fhew: yes, and in time
When she had fitted you with her craft, to work
Her fon into th' adoption of the crown:
But failing of her end by his strange absence,
Grew fhameless, defperate; open'd in defpight
Of heav'n and men, her purposes: repented
The ills fhe hatch'd were not effected: fo
Despairing, dy'd.

Cym. Heard you all this, her women ?
Lady. We did, fo please your highness.
Cym. Mine eyes

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!
That it was folly in me, thou may'st say,
And prove it in thy feeling. Heav'n mend all!

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Enter Lucius, Iachimo, and other Roman prifoners, Le-
onatus behind, and Imogen.

Thou com'ft not, Caius, now for tribute; that
The Britains have rac'd out, though with the loss
Of many a bold one; whose kinsmen have made fuit
That their good fouls may be appeas'd with flaughter
Of
you their captives, which our self have granted.

So think of your eftate.

Luc. Confider, Sir, the chance of war; the day
Was yours by accident: had it gone with us,

We should not, when the blood was cool, have threatned
Our pris'ners with the fword. But fince the gods
Will have it thus, that nothing but our lives
May be call'd ransome, let it come. Sufficeth,
A Roman with a Roman's heart can fuffer.-----
Auguftus lives to think on't.- And fo much
For my peculiar care.
This one thing only
I will intreat; my boy, a Britain born,
Let him be ransom'd; never master had
A page so kind, so duteous, diligent,
So tender over his occafions, true,
So feat, fo nurse-like; let his virtue join

With my request, which I'll make bold your highness
Cannot deny: he hath done no Britain harm,

Though he hath ferv'd a Roman. Save him, Sir,
And spare no blood befide.

Cym. I've furely seen him;

His favour is familiar to me. Boy,

Thou

Thou haft look'd thy self into my grace,

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And art mine own. I know not why, nor wherefore
To fay, live boy: ne'er thank thy master, live;
And ask of Cymbeline what boon thou wilt,
Fitting my bounty, and thy ftate, I'll give it:
Yea, though thou do demand a prisoner,

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

Luc. The boy disdains 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 wouldst 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 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?
Imo. Fidele, Sir.

Cym. Thou'rt my good youth, my page,
I'll be thy master: walk with me, speak freely.

Ff 2

Bel.

Bel. Is not this boy reviv'd from death?
Arv. One fand another

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,
To good, or bad.

Cym. Come, stand thou by our fide.
Make thy demand aloud. Sir, ftep you forth,
Give answer to this boy, and do it freely,

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.
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, 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.

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