Loves woman for, besides that hook of wiving, Cymbeline. Come to the matter. Iachimo. I stand on fire; All too soon I shall, Unless thou wouldst grieve quickly. This Posthumus, 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, Were crack'd of kitchen-trulls, or his description Proved us unspeaking sots. Cymbeline. Nay, nay, to the purpose. Iachimo. 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 In suit the place of 's bed and win this ring Than I did truly find her, stakes this ring; Of Phoebus' wheel, and might so safely, had it 'Twixt amorous and villanous. Being thus quench'd Gan in your duller Britain operate 170 180 190 And, to be brief, my practice so prevail'd, By wounding his belief in her renown Posthumus. [Advancing] Ay, so thou dost, That all the abhorred things o' the earth amend Be villany less than 't was !—O Imogen! Imogen. 200 210 220 Peace, my lord; hear, hearPosthumus. Shall's have a play of this? Thou scornful page, There lie thy part. Pisanio. [Striking her: she falls. O, gentlemen, help! Mine and your mistress !—O, my lord Posthumus! 230 You ne'er kill'd Imogen till now. -Help, help! Cymbeline. If this be so, the gods do mean to strike me To death with mortal joy. Pisanio. How fares my mistress? Imogen. O, get thee from my sight; Thou gav'st me poison: dangerous fellow, hence! Cymbeline. Pisanio. Lady, The tune of Imogen ! The gods throw stones of sulphur on me, if Imogen. It poison'd me. O gods! I left out one thing which the queen confess'd, As I would serve a rat.' What 's this, Cornelius? Cymbeline. Do their due functions.-Have you ta'en of it? 240 250 152 Imogen. Most like I did, for I was dead. Imogen. Why did you throw your wedded lady from you? Think that you are upon a rock, and now Throw me again. Posthumus. Till the tree die! Cymbeline. [Embracing him. Hang there like fruit, my soul, How now, my flesh, my child! What, mak'st thou me a dullard in this act? Wilt thou not speak to me? Imogen. [Kneeling] Your blessing, sir. Belarius. [To Guiderius and Arviragus] Though you did love this youth, I blame ye not; You had a motive for 't. Cymbeline. Thy mother's dead. Imogen. My tears that fall Imogen, I am sorry for 't, my lord. Cymbeline. O, she was naught; and long of her it was That we meet here so strangely: but her son Is gone, we know not how nor where. Pisanio. My lord, Lord Cloten, Now car is from me, I'll speak troth. To seek her on the mountains near to Milford; swore, 270 280 With unchaste purpose and with oath to violate My lady's honour. I further know not. I slew him there. Cymbeline. What became of him Let me end the story; Marry, the gods forfend! I would not thy good deeds should from my lips Guiderius. I have spoke it, and I did it. Cymbeline. He was a prince. Guiderius. A most incivil one; the wrongs he did me Were nothing prince-like, for he did provoke me With language that would make me spurn the sea, And am right glad he is not standing here Cymbeline. I am sorry for thee. By thine own tongue thou art condemn'd, and must Endure our law; thou 'rt dead. This man is better than the man he slew, As well descended as thyself, and hath More of thee merited than a band of Clotens Had ever scar for.-[To the Guard] Let his arms alone; Cymbeline. Why, old soldier, Wilt thou undo the worth thou art unpaid for, By tasting of our wrath? How of descent As good as we? Arviragus. In that he spake too far. 290 300 |