Post. Shall's have a play of this? Thou scornful

page,

There lie thy part.

Pis.

[Striking her: she falls.

O, gentlemen, help, help

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

Cym.

Post. How come these staggers on me?

Pis.

Does the world go round?

Wake, my mistress!

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.

Cym.

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?

Imo.

Cor.

It poison'd me.

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.

Cym.

What's this, Cornelius?

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

K

The satisfaction of her knowledge, only
In killing creatures vile, as cats and dogs,
Of no esteem: I, dreading that her purpose
Was of more danger, did compound for her
A certain stuff, which, being ta'en, would cease
The present power of life; but, in short time,
All offices of nature should again

Do their due functions.-Have you ta'en of it?
Imo. Most like I did, for I was dead.

Bel.

There was our error.

Gui.

This is sure, Fidele.

My boys,

Imo. Why did you throw your wedded lady from

you?

Think, that you are upon a rock; and now

Throw me again.

Post.

Till the tree die!

Cym.

[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?

Imo.

Your blessing, sir.

[Kneeling,

Bel. Though you did love this youth, I blame

ye not;

You had a motive for't.

Cym.

Prove holy water on thee! Imogen,

Thy mother's dead.

Imo.

Cym. O, she was naught; and, 'long of her it was,

That we meet here so strangely: But her son gone, we know not how, nor where.

Is

Pis.

Now fear is from me, I'll speak troth.

Upon my lady's missing, came to me

My lord,

Lord Cloten,

With his sword drawn; foam'd at the mouth, and

swore,

If I discover'd not which way she was gone,
It was my instant death: By accident,
I had a feigned letter of my master's
Then in my pocket; which directed him
To seek her on the mountains near to Milford;
Where, in a frenzy, in my master's garments,
Which he inforc'd from me, away he posts
With unchaste purpose, and with oath to violate
My lady's honour: what became of him,

I would not thy good deeds should from my lips Pluck a hard sentence: pr'ythee, valiant youth, Deny't again.

Gui.

I have spoke it, and I did it.

Cym. He was a prince.

Gui. A most uncivil one: The wrongs he did

me

Were nothing prince-like; for he did provoke me
With language that would make me spurn the sea,

If it could so roar to me: I cut off's head;
And am right glad, he is not standing here
To tell this tale of mine.

Cym.

I am sorry for thee:

By thine own tongue thou art condemn'd, and must

Endure our law: Thou art 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.-Let his arms alone;

They were not born for bondage.

Cym.

[To the Guard.

Why, old soldier,

Wilt thou undo the worth thou art unpaid for,

By tasting of our wrath? How of descent

As good as we?

Aro.

In that he spake too far.

We will die all three:

Cym. And thou shalt die for't.

Bel.
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.

Aro.

Ours.

Gui. And our good is his.

Bel.

Your danger is

Have at it then.

By leave;-Thou hadst, great king, a subject, who

Was call'd Belarius.

Cym.

What of him? he is

A banish'd traitor.

Bel.

He it is, that hath

Assum'd this age: indeed, a banish'd man;

I know not how a traitor.

Cym.

Take him hence;

Not too hot:

The whole world shall not save him.

Bel.

First pay me for the nursing of thy sons;
And let it be confiscate all, so soon

As I have receiv'd it.

Cym.

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,
These two young gentlemen, that call me father,
And think they are my sons, are none of mine;
They are the issue of your loins, my liege,
And blood of your begetting.

Cym.

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 punishment Itself, and all my treason; that I suffer'd, Was all the harm I did. These gentle princes (For such, and so they are,) these twenty years Have I train'd up: those arts they have, as I Could put into them; my breeding was, sir, as Your highness knows. Their nurse, Euriphile, Whom for the theft I wedded, stole these children Upon my banishment: I mov'd her to't;

Having receiv'd the punishment before,