GYMBELINE.

ACT 1.

SCENE I.

Britain. The garden behind Cymbeline's palace.

Enter TWO GENTLEMEN.

1 Gen. You do not meet a man, but frowns: our

bloods 1

No more obey the heavens, than our courtiers

Still seem, as does the king's.

2 Gen.

But what's the matter?

1 Gen. His daughter, and the heir of his king

dom, 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.

2 Gen.

None but the king?

1 Inclination, natural disposition.

ACT I.

1 Gen. 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.

2 Gen.

And why so?

1 Gen. 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,
Endows a man but he.

2 Gen.

You speak him far.1

1 Gen. I do extend him, sir, within himself; 2 Crush him together, rather than unfold

His measure duly.

2 Gen.

What's his name and birth?

1 Gen. I cannot delve him to the root.

father

Was call'd Sicilius, who did join his honor,
Against the Romans, with Cassibelan;

But had his titles by Tenantius,3 whom

You are lavish in your encomiums.

2 My praise, however extensive, is within his merit. 3 The father of Cymbeline.

His

He served with glory and admired success;
So gain'd the sur-addition, Leonatus ;
And had, besides this gentleman in question,

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;
Breeds him, and makes him of his bed-chamber;
Puts him to 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 his spring became a harvest: iived 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; 1 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,

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 stolen; and to this hour, no guess in knowlege Which way they went.

2 Gen.

How long is this ago?

1 Gen. Some twenty years.

2 Gen. That a king's children should be so con

vey'd,

So slackly guarded, and the search so slow,

That could not trace them!

1 Gen.

Howsoe'er 'tis strange,

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

and IMOGEN.

Enter QUEEN, POSTHUMUS,

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

daughter,

After the slander of most stepmothers,

Evil-eyed unto you: you are my prisoner, but

Your jailer 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,

You know the peril :-
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 Queen. O

Dissembling courtesy! How fine this tyrant
Can tickle where she wounds!-My dearest husband,
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

Known but by letter: thither write, my queen, And with mine eyes I'll drink the words you send, Though ink be made of gall.