Cym. Thou basest thing, avoid! hence, from my sight!

If, after this command, thou fraught the court
With thy unworthiness, thou diest: Away!
Thou art poison to my blood.

Post.
And bless the good remainders of the court!

The gods protect you!

I am gone.

Imo.

[Exit.

There cannot be a pinch in death

More sharp than this is.

Cym.

O disloyal thing,

That should'st repair 5 my youth; thou heapest
A year's age on me!

Imo.

I beseech you, sir,

Harm not yourself with your vexation: I
Am senseless of your wrath; a touch more rare
Subdues all pangs, all fears.

5 i. e. renovate my youth, make me young again. To repaire (according to Baret) is to restore to the first state, to renew?' So in All's Well that Ends Well:

it much repairs me

To talk of your good father.'

6 Sir Thomas Hanmer reads:

thou heapest many

A year's age on me!'

Some such emendation seems necessary.

7 A touch more rare' is a more exquisite feeling, a superior sensation.' So in The Tempest:

Hast thou which art but air, a touch, a feeling
Of their afflictions.'

And in Antony and Cleopatra :

The death of Fulvia, with more urgent touches,
Do strongly speak to us.'

A passage in King Lear will illustrate Imogen's meaning:

where the greater malady is fix'd,

The lesser is scarce felt.'

Cym.

Past grace? obedience?

Imo. Past hope, and in despair; that way, past

grace.

Cym. That might'st have had the sole son of my queen!

Imo. O bless'd, that I might not! I chose an

eagle,

And did avoid a puttock3.

Cym. Thou took'st a beggar; would'st have made my throne

A seat for baseness.

Imo.

A lustre to it.

Cym.

Imo.

It is

your fault that I have lov'd Posthumus : You bred him as my playfellow; and he is worth any woman: overbuys me

A man,

Almost the sum he pays9.

Cym.

What!-art thou mad?

Imo. Almost, sir: Heaven restore me!-'Would

I were

A neat-herd's daughter! and my Leonatus
Our neighbour shepherd's son!

Cym.

Re-enter Queen.

Thou foolish thing!

[To the Queen.

They were again together: you have done

Not after our command. Away with her,
And pen her up.

Queen.

'Beseech your patience:-Peace,

Dear lady daughter, peace; Sweet sovereign,

8 A puttock is a mean degenerate species of hawk, too worthless to deserve training.

9 My worth is not half equal to his.'

A drop of blood a day; and, being aged,

Die of this folly 11!

[Exit.

Enter PISANIO.

Queen.

Fye!-you must give way:

Here is your servant.-How now, sir? What news? Pis. My lord your son drew on my master.

Queen.

No harm, I trust, is done?

Pis.

Ha!

There might have been,

But that my master rather play'd than fought,
And had no help of anger: they were parted
By gentlemen at hand.

Queen.

Imo. Your son's my part.

I am very glad on't.

father's friend: he takes his

To draw upon an exile!- -O brave sir!
I would they were in Africk both together;
Myself by with a needle, that I might prick
The goer back.-Why came you from your master?
Pis. On his command: He would not suffer me
To bring him to the haven: left these notes
Of what commands I should be subject to,
When it pleas'd you to employ me.

Queen.

This hath been

10 Advice is consideration, reflection. Thus in Measure for Measure:

'But did repent me after more advice.'

"This is a bitter form of malediction, almost congenial to that in Othello:

may his pernicious soul

Rot half a grain a day.'

VOL. IX.

C

Your faithful servant: I dare lay mine honour,

He will remain so.

Pis.

I humbly thank your highness.

Queen. Pray, walk a while. Imo. I pray you, speak with me: you shall, at least, Go see my lord aboard: for this time, leave me. [Exeunt.

About some half hour hence,

SCENE III. A publick Place.

Enter CLOTEN, and Two Lords.

1 Lord. Sir, I would advise you to take a shirt; the violence of action hath made you reek as a sacrifice: Where air comes out, air comes in: there's none abroad so wholesome as that you vent. Clo. If my shirt were bloody, then to shift it— Have I hurt him?

2 Lord. No, faith; not so much as his patience. [Aside. 1 Lord. Hurt him? his body's a passable carcass, if he be not hurt: it is a thoroughfare for steel if it be not hurt.

2 Lord. His steel was in debt; it went o' the backside the town.

Clo. The villain would not stand me.

[Aside.

2 Lord. No; but he fled forward still, toward your face.

[Aside. 1 Lord. Stand you! you have land enough of your own: but he added to your having; gave you some ground.

2 Lord. As many inches as you have oceans: Puppies! [Aside. Clo. I would, they had not come between us. 2 Lord. So would I, till you had measured how long a fool you were upon the ground. [Aside.

Clo. And that she should love this fellow, and refuse me!

2 Lord. If it be a sin to make a true election, she is damned.

[Aside. 1 Lord. Sir, as I told you always, her beauty and her brain go not together: She's a good sign, but I have seen small reflection of her wit 12.

2 Lord. She shines not upon fools, lest the reflection should hurt her. [Aside. Clo. Come, I'll to my chamber: 'Would there had been some hurt done!

2 Lord. I wish not so; unless it had been the

fall of an ass, which is no great hurt.

Clo. You'll go with us?

1 Lord. I'll attend your lordship.

Clo. Nay, come, let's go together.

2 Lord. Well, my lord.

[Aside.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV. A Room in Cymbeline's Palace.

Enter IMOGEN and PISANIO.

Imo. I would thou grew'st unto the shores o' the haven,

And question'dst every sail: if he should write,
And I not have it, 'twere a paper lost

As offer'd mercy is1.

That he spake to thee?

What was the last

12 Her beauty and her sense are not equal.' To understand the force of this idea, it should be remembered that anciently almost every sign had a motto, or some attempt at a witticism underneath. In a subsequent scene Iachimo, speaking of Imogen, says:

'All of her that is out of door, most rich!
If she be furnish'd with a mind so rare,
She is alone the Arabian bird.'

Its loss would be as fatal as the loss of intended mercy to a condemned criminal.' A thought resembling this occurs in All's Well that Ends Well:

'Like a remorseful pardon slowly carried.'