Her son into the adoption of the crown:
But, failing of her end by his strange absence,
Grew shameless-desperate; open'd, in despite
Of heaven and men, her purposes; repented
The evils she hatch'd were not effected; so,
Despairing, died.

Сут.

Heard you all this, her women? 1 Lady. We did, so please your highness.

Сут.

Were not in fault, for she was beautiful;

Mine eyes

Mine ears, that heard her flattery; nor my heart,
That thought her like her seeming; it had been vicious
To have mistrusted her: yet, O my daughter!

That it was folly in me thou mayst say,

And prove it in thy feeling. Heaven mend all!

Enter LUCIUS, IACHIMO, the Soothsayer, and other Roman
Prisoners, guarded; POSTHUMUS behind, and IMOGEN.
Thou com'st not, Caius, now for tribute; that
The Britons have raz'd out, though with the loss
Of many a bold one, whose kinsmen have made suit
That their good souls may be appeas'd with slaughter
Of you their captives, which ourself have granted:
So, think of your estate.

Luc. Consider, 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 threaten'd

Our prisoners with the sword. But since the gods

Will have it thus, that nothing but our lives
May be call'd ransom, let it come: sufficeth
A Roman with a Roman's heart can suffer:
Augustus lives to think on't: and so much
For my peculiar care. This one thing only
I will entreat; my boy, a Briton born,
Let him be ransom'd: never master had
A page so kind, so duteous, diligent,
So tender over his occasions, true,

So feat, so 'nurse-like: let his virtue join

With my request, which I'll make bold your highness

Cannot deny; he hath done no Briton harm

Though he have serv'd a Roman: save him, sir,
And spare no blood beside.

Сут.

I have surely seen him:

His favour is familiar to me.

Boy, thou hast look'd thyself into my grace,

And art mine own.-I know not why nor wherefore

To say live, boy: ne'er thank thy master; live:
And ask of Cymbeline what boon thou wilt,
Fitting my bounty and thy state, I'll give it;
Yea, though thou do demand a prisoner,
The noblest 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,
Must shuffle for itself.

Luc.

The boy disdains me,
He leaves me, scorns me: briefly die their joys
That place them on the truth of girls and boys.—
Why stands he so perplex'd?

Сут.

What wouldst thou, boy?

I love thee more and more: think more and more
What's best to ask. Know'st him thou look'st on? speak,
Is he thy kin? thy friend?
Imo. He is a Roman; no more kin to me

Wilt have him live?

Than I to your highness; who, being born your vassal,
Am something nearer.

Сут.

Wherefore ey'st 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.

[CYM. and IMO. converse apart.

Bel. Is not this boy reviv'd from death?

Arv.

One sand another

Not more resembles that sweet rosy lad
Who died, and was Fidele.-What think you?
Gui. The same dead thing alive.

Bel. Peace, peace! see further; he eyes us not; forbear; Creatures may be alike: were't he, I am sure

He would have spoke to us.

Gui.

Bel. Be silent; let's see further.
Pis. [aside.]

But we saw him dead.

It is my

mistress:

[CYM. and IMO. come forward. Come, stand thou by our side;

Since she is living, let the time run on

To good or bad.
Сут.

Make thy demand aloud.-[To IACH.] Sir, step 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 falsehood.-On, speak to him.
Imo. My boon is that this gentleman may render
Of whom he had this ring.

Post. [aside.]

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.

Сут.

How! me?

Iach. I am glad to be constrain'd to utter that which Torments me to conceal. By villany

I got this ring: 'twas Leonatus' jewel,

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. Wilt thou hear more, my lord? Cym. All that belongs to this.

Iach.

That paragon, thy daughter,For whom my heart drops blood, and my false spirits Quail to remember,--Give me leave; I faint.

Cym. My daughter! what of her? Renew thy strength:
I had rather thou shouldst live while nature will
Than die ere I hear more: strive, man, and speak.
Iach. Upon a time,-unhappy was the clock
That struck the hour!-it was in Rome,-accurs'd
The mansion where !-'twas at a feast,-0, would
Our viands had been poison'd, or at least

Those which I heav'd to head!-the good Posthumus,-
What should I say? he was too good to be
Where ill men were; and was the best of all
Amongst the rar'st of good ones,—sitting sadly,
Hearing us praise our loves of Italy

For beauty that made barren the swell'd boast
Of him that best could speak; for feature laming
The shrine of Venus, or straight-pight Minerva,
Postures beyond brief nature; for condition,
A shop of all the qualities that man

Loves woman for; besides that hook of wiving,
Fairness which strikes the eye,-

Cym.

Come to the matter.

Iach.

I stand on fire:

All too soon I shall,

Unless thou wouldst grieve quickly.—This Posthumus,— Most like a noble lord in love, and one

That had a royal lover,-took his hint;

And not dispraising whom we prais'd,—therein
He was as calm as virtue, he began

His mistress' picture; which by his tongue being made,
And then a mind put in't, either our brags

Were crack'd of kitchen trulls, or his description
Prov'd us unspeaking sots.

Cym.

Nay, nay, to the purpose.

Iach. Your daughter's chastity-there it begins.
He spake of her as Dian had hot dreams
And she alone were cold: whereat I, wretch,
Made scruple of his praise; and wager'd with him
Pieces of gold, 'gainst this, which then he wore
Upon his honour'd finger, to attain

In suit the place of's bed, and win this ring
By hers and mine adultery: he, true knight,
No lesser of her honour confident

Than I did truly find her, stakes this ring;
And would so, had it been a carbuncle
Of Phoebus' wheel; and might so safely, had it
Been all the worth of's car. Away to Britain
Post I in this design. Well may you, sir,
Remember me at court, where I was taught
Of your chaste daughter the wide difference
'Twixt amorous and villanous. Being thus quench'd
Of hope, not longing, mine Italian brain
'Gan in your duller Britain operate

Most vilely, for my vantage excellent;
And, to be brief, my practice so prevail'd
That I return'd with simular proof enough
To make the noble Leonatus mad,

By wounding his belief in her renown
With tokens thus and thus; averring notes
Of chamber-hanging, pictures, this her bracelet, —
O cunning how I got it!-nay, some marks
Of secret on her person, that he could not
But think her bond of chastity quite crack'd,
I having ta'en the forfeit. Whereupon,-
Methinks I see him now,-

Post. [coming forward.] Ay, so thou dost,
Italian fiend!-Ah me, most credulous fool,
Egregious murderer, thief, anything
That's due to all the villains past, in being,
To come!-0, give me cord, or knife, or poison,

Some upright justicer! Thou, king, send out
For torturers ingenious: it is I

That all the abhorred things o' the earth amend
By being worse than they. I am Posthumus,
That kill'd thy daughter:-villain-like, I lie,-
That caus'd a lesser villain than myself,
A sacrilegious thief, to do't:-the temple
Of virtue was she; yea, and she herself.
Spit, and throw stones, cast mire upon me, set
The dogs o' the street to bay me: every villain
Be call'd Posthumus Leonatus; and

Be villany less than 'twas!-O Imogen!
My queen, my life, my wife! O Imogen,
Imogen, Imogen!

Imo. Peace, my lord; hear, hear,Post. Shall's have a play of this? Thou scornful page, There lie thy part.

Pis.

[Striking her: she falls.

O, gentlemen, help!

Mine and your mistress!-0, my lord Posthumus!
You ne'er kill'd Imogen till now.-Help, help!-
Mine honour'd lady!

Cym.

Does the world go round?

Wake, my mistress!

Post. How come these staggers on me?

Pis.
Cym. If this be so, the gods do mean to strike me
To death with mortal joy.

Pis.

How fares my mistress?
Imo. O, get thee from my sight;

Thou gav'st me poison: dangerous fellow, hence!
Breathe not where princes are.

Сут.
Pis. Lady,

The tune of Imogen.

The gods throw stones of sulphur on me if
That box I gave you was not thought by me
A precious thing: I had it from the queen.
Cym. New matter still?

It poison'd me.

Imo.
Cor.
O gods!-
I left out one thing which the queen confess'd,
Which must approve thee honest: If Pisanio
Have, said she, given his mistress that confection
Which I gave him for cordial, she is serv'd
As I would serve a rat.

What's this, Cornelius?

Сут.
Cor. The queen, sir, very oft importun'd me
To temper poisons for her; still pretending