GYMBELINE. ACT 1. SCENE I. Britain. The garden behind Cymbeline's palace. Enter TWO GENTLEMEN. 1 Gen. You do not meet a man, but frowns: our bloods 1 No more obey the heavens, than our courtiers Still seem, as does the king's. 2 Gen. But what's the matter? 1 Gen. His daughter, and the heir of his king dom, whom He purposed to his wife's sole son, (a widow, That late he married) hath referr'd herself Unto a poor but worthy gentleman. She's wedded; Is outward sorrow; though, I think, the king 2 Gen. None but the king? 1 Inclination, natural disposition. ACT I. 1 Gen. He, that hath lost her too: so is the queen, That most desired the match: but not a courtier, Of the king's looks, hath a heart that is not 2 Gen. And why so? 1 Gen. He that hath miss'd the princess, is a thing Too bad for bad report; and he that hath her, 2 Gen. You speak him far.1 1 Gen. I do extend him, sir, within himself; 2 Crush him together, rather than unfold His measure duly. 2 Gen. What's his name and birth? 1 Gen. I cannot delve him to the root. father Was call'd Sicilius, who did join his honor, But had his titles by Tenantius,3 whom You are lavish in your encomiums. 2 My praise, however extensive, is within his merit. 3 The father of Cymbeline. His He served with glory and admired success; Two other sons, who, in the wars o' the time, Died with their swords in hand; for which, their father, Then old and fond of issue, took such sorrow, That he quit being; and his gentle lady, He had two sons: (if this be worth your hearing, Mark it) the eldest of them at three years old, I' the swathing-clothes the other, from their nursery Were stolen; and to this hour, no guess in knowlege Which way they went. 2 Gen. How long is this ago? 1 Gen. Some twenty years. 2 Gen. That a king's children should be so con vey'd, So slackly guarded, and the search so slow, That could not trace them! 1 Gen. Howsoe'er 'tis strange, Or that the negligence may well be laugh'd at, and IMOGEN. Enter QUEEN, POSTHUMUS, Queen. No, be assured, you shall not find me, daughter, After the slander of most stepmothers, Evil-eyed unto you: you are my prisoner, but Your jailer shall deliver you the keys That lock up your restraint. For you, Posthumus, So soon as I can win the offended king, I will be known your advocate: marry, yet The fire of rage is in him; and 'twere good You lean'd unto his sentence, with what patience Post. I will from hence to-day. Queen. Please your highness, You know the peril :- Imo. [Exit Queen. O Dissembling courtesy! How fine this tyrant His rage can do on me. You must be gone; And I shall here abide the hourly shot Of angry eyes; not comforted to live, But that there is this jewel in the world, Post. My queen! my mistress! O lady, weep no more, lest I give cause To be suspected of more tenderness Than doth become a man: I will remain The loyal'st husband that did e'er plight troth. Who to my father was a friend, to me Known but by letter: thither write, my queen, And with mine eyes I'll drink the words you send, Though ink be made of gall. |