Cym. No tidings of him? Pisanio. He hath been search'd among the dead and living, But no trace of him. Cym. To my grief, I am The heir of his reward; which I will add [To BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS. By whom, I grant, she lives: 'Tis now the time To ask of whence you are :-report it. Bel. Sir, In Cambria are we born, and gentlemen: Cym. Bow your knees: Arise, my knights o' the battle; I create you you [Drums and Trumpets. Enter LOCRINE, MADAN, IACHIMO, CAIUS LUCIUS, Thou comest not, Caius, now for tribute; that ter Of you their captives, which ourself have granted; So, think of your estate. Luc. Consider, sir, the chance of war; the day Was yours by accident; had it gone with us, We should not, when the blood was cool, have threaten'd Our prisoners with the sword. But, since the gods Will have it thus, that nothing but our lives May be call'd ransom, let it come: sufficeth, A Roman with a Roman's heart can suffer: Though he hath served a Roman: Save him, sir, Cym. I have surely seen him ; His favour is familiar to me. Boy, thou hast look'd thyself into my grace, To say, live, boy: ne'er thank thy master; live: [IMOGEN looks at IACHIMO, Know'st him thou look'st on? speak, Wilt have him live? Is he thy kin? thy friend? Than I to your highness; who, being born your vassal, Am something nearer. Cym. Wherefore ey'st him so? Imog. I'll tell you, sir, in private, if you please To give me hearing. Cym. Ay, with all my heart: Walk with me; speak freely. [CYMBELINE and IMOGEN walk aside. Bel. Is not this boy revived from death? Not more resembles :- That sweet rosy lad, Who died, and was Fidele :— Guid. The same dead thing alive. Pisanio. [Aside.] It is my mistress : Since she is living, let the time run on, To good, or bad. CYMBELINE and IMOGEN come forward. [To IACHIMO. Give answer to this boy, and do it freely; Or, by our greatness, Bitter torture shall Winnow the truth from falsehood.On, speak to him. Imog. My boon is, that this gentleman may render Of whom he had this ring. Post. [Aside.] What's that to him? 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 As it doth me,) a nobler sir ne'er lived 'Twixt sky and ground. Will you hear more, my lord? Cym. All that belongs to this. Tach. 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, 6 Iach. Upon a time, (unhappy was the clock That struck the hour!) it was in Rome, (accursed The mansion where!) 'twas at a feast, (Oh, 'would Our viands had been poison'd! or, at least, Those which I heaved to head!) the good Posthu mus Cym. Come to the matter. Tach. Your daughter's chastity-there it begins.- In suit the place of his bed, and win this ring Away to Britain Post I in this design; well may you, sir, To be brief, my practice so prevail'd, By wounding his belief in her renown That he could not But think her bond of chastity quite crack'd, I having ta'en the forfeit. Methinks, I see him now,- Whereupon, Coming forward. Italian fiend!-Ah me, most credulous fool, Egregious murderer, thief, any thing That's due to all the villains past, in being, To come!-Oh, give me cord, or knife, or poison, I am Posthumus, That kill'd thy daughter:-the temple H Of virtue was she; yea, and she herself. Be villainy less than 'twas!-Oh, Imogen! Imog. Peace, my lord; hear, hear for me. [Striking her; she falls. Pisanio. Oh, gentlemen, help, help Mine, and your mistress :-Oh, my Lord Posthumus! Post. How come these staggers on me? Cym. If this be so, the gods do mean to strike me To death with mortal joy. Imog. Why did you throw your wedded lady from you? Think, that you are upon a rock; and now, Throw me again. [Runs into his Arms. Post. Hang there like fruit, my soul, Till the tree die ! Cym. My child! my child! my dearest Imogen ! Imog. Your blessing, sir. [Kneeling. Bel. Though you did love this youth, I blame you not; You had a motive for't. Cym. Imogen, Thy mother's dead. [To GUIDERIUS and ARVIRAGUS. Imog. I am sorry for❜t, my lord. Cym. Oh, 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. [PISANIO and IMOGEN retire with POSTHUMUS, the GUARDS take off his Chains. |