There's other work in hand; I see a thing Bitter to me as death: your life, good master, 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? 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. 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. Сут. Thou art my good youth, my page; I'll be thy master: Walk with me; speak freely. One sand another Not more resembles: That sweet rosy lad, Who died, and was Fidele:-What think you? Bel. Peace, peace! see further; he eyes us not; forbear; Creatures may be alike: were't he, I am sure Gui. Bel. Be silent; let's see further. But we saw him dead. It is my mistress: [Aside. Since she is living, let the time run on, Cym. [Cymbeline and Imogen come forward. Come, stand thou by our side; Make thy demand aloud.-Sir, [to Iach.] step you forth; Give answer to this boy, and do it freely; 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. What's that to him? [Aside. 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 am glad to be constrain'd to utter that which Torments me to conceal. By villainy 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 should'st 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, (O '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 For beauty that made barren the swell'd boast Loves woman for; besides, that hook of wiving, Cym. Come to the matter. I stand on fire: Iach. All too soon I shall, Unless thou would'st grieve quickly.-This Post humus, (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 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. Tach. Your daughter's chastity-there it begins. He spake of her, as Dian had hot dreams, And she alone were cold: Whereat, I, wretch! In suit the place of his bed, and win this ring Than I did truly find her, stakes this ring; Remember me at court, where I was taught your chaste daughter the wide difference "Twixt amorous and villainous. 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, By wounding his belief in her renown Post. Ay, so thou dost, [Coming forward. Italian fiend!-Ah me, most credulous fool, That all the abhorred things o'the earth amend, Imo. Peace, my lord; hear, hear— |