: Augustus lives to think on 't: and so much So feat, so nurse-like: let his virtue join Cannot deny; he hath done no Briton harm, Though he have serv'd a Roman: save him, sir, And spare no blood beside. Cym. I have surely seen him: To say live boy: ne'er thank thy master; live: Imo. 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? Cym. What would'st 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, 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 vassal, Am something nearer. Cym. Cym. Thou art my good youth, my page; I'll be thy master: Walk with me; speak freely. [CYMBELINE and IMOGEN 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? Unless thou would'st grieve quickly.—This Posthumus (Most like a noble lord in love, and one His mistress' picture; which by his tongue being made, And then a mind put in 't, either our brags Cyn. He spake of her, as Dian had hot dreams, Pieces of gold, 'gainst this which then he wore In suit the place of his bed, and win this ring Than I did truly find her, stakes this ring; Of hope, not longing, mine Italian brain 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. Ay, so thou dost, That all the abhorred things o' the earth amend, Imo. Post. Peace, my lord; hear, hear!Shall's have a play of this? Thou scornful page, There lie thy part. [Striking her she falls. O, gentlemen, help Pis. 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? Post. How come these staggers on me? Pis. Wake, my mistress! Have, said she, given his mistress that confection Which I gave him for cordial, she is serv'd As I would serve a rat. Cym. What's this, Cornelius? Do their due functions.-Have you ta'en of it? There was our error. Gui. My boys, This is sure, Fidele. I am sorry for thee. By thine own tongue thou art condemn'd, and must Endure our law: Thou art dead. Imo. I thought had been my lord. Cym. That headless man Bind the offender, And take him from our presence. This man is better than the man he slew, They were not born for bondage. [To the guard. Сут. Why, old soldier, Wilt thou undo the worth thou art unpaid for, By tasting of our wrath? How of descent As good as we? Arv. In that he spake too far. Cym. And thou shalt die for 't. Bel. We will die all three: But I will prove, that two of us are as good As I have given out him.-My sons, I must, For mine own part, unfold a dangerous speech, Though, haply, well for you. By leave;-Thou hadst, great king, a subject who Was call'd Belarius. Cym. A banish'd traitor. Bel. What of him? he is He it is that hath Assum'd this age :" indeed, a banish'd man; I know not how a traitor. a Assum'd this age-put on these appearances of age. As I have receiv'd it. Cya. Nursing of my sons? Bel. I am too blunt and saucy: Here's my knee; Ere I arise I will prefer my sons; Then, spare not the old father. Mighty sir, How! my issue? Bel. So sure as you your father's. I, old Morgan, Am that Belarius whom you sometime banish'd: Your pleasure was my mere offence, my punish ment Itself, and all my treason; that I suffer'd For that which I did then: Beaten for loyalty, Сукл. A pair of worthier sons. Be pleas'd awhile.— Bel. This gentleman, whom I call Polydore, Most worthy prince, as yours, is true Guiderius: This gentleman, my Cadwal, Arviragus, Your younger princely son; he, sir, was lapp'd In a most curious mantle, wrought by the hand Of his queen mother, which, for more probation, I can with ease produce. Сука. Guiderius had Upon his neck a mole, a sanguine star; It was a mark of wonder. This is he; Who hath upon him still that natural stamp : Cym. O, what, am I And all the other by-dependencies, From chance to chance; but nor the time, nor place, Will serve our long intergatories. See, And she, like harmless lightning, throws her eye Imo. You are my father too; and did relieve me, To see this gracious season. Cym. As Aro. You holp us, sir, you did mean indeed to be our brother; Joy'd are we that you are. Post. Your servant, princes.-Good my lord of Rome, Call forth your soothsayer: As I slept, methought, Great Jupiter, upon his eagle back, The fit and apt construction of thy name, Cym. This hath some seeming. Sooth. The lofty cedar, royal Cymbeline, Personates thee: and thy lopp'd branches point Thy two sons forth; who, by Belarius stolen, For many years thought dead, are now reviv'd, To the majestic cedar join'd; whose issue Promises Britain peace and plenty. Well, Cym. My peace we will begin :-And, Caius Lucius, Although the victor, we submit to Cæsar, And to the Roman empire; promising To pay our wonted tribute, from the which We were dissuaded by our wicked queen: Whom heavens, in justice, (both on her, and hers,) Have laid most heavy hand." Sooth. The fingers of the powers above do tune The imperial Cæsar, should again unite Cym. |