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, For beauty that made barren the swell'd boast Loves woman for; besides that hook of wiving, Cym. I stand on fire: Come to the matter. Iach. All too soon I shall, Unless thou would'st 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 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! In suit the place of his bed, and win this ring Than I did truly find her, stakes this ring; By wounding his belief in her renown I having ta'en the forfeit. Whereupon,― Post. Ay, so thou dost, [Coming forward. Italian fiend!-Ah me, most credulous fool, That's due to all the villains past, in being, To come!-O, give me cord, or knife, or poison, That all the abhorred things o'the earth amend, Be villainy less than 'twas !—O Imogen ! Imo. Peace, my lord; hear, hear— set Post. Shall's have a play of this? Thou scornful page, There lie thy part. Pis. O, gentlemen, help, help [Striking her she falls. Mine, and your mistress :-O, my lord Posthúmus! 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! 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. The tune of Imogen ! Pis. Lady, The gods throw stones of sulphur on me, if " Imo. It poison'd me. Cor. O Gods ! I left out one thing which the queen confess'd, Cym. What's this, Cornelius? Cor. The queen, sir, very oft impórtun'd me Do their due functions.-Have you ta'en of it? Bel. My boys, There was our error. Gui. This is sure Fidele. Imo. Why did you throw your wedded lady from you? Think, that you are upon a rock; and now Throw me again. Post. Hang there like fruit, my soul, Till the tree die! [Embracing him. Cym. 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. [To GUIDERIUS and ARVIRAGUS. Cym. My tears, that fall, Prove holy water on thee! Imogen, Thy mother's dead. Imo. I am sorry for't, my lord. Cym. 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. Pis. My lord, Now fear is from me, I'll speak troth. Lord Cloten, Upon my lady's missing, came to me 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 |