To you, the liver, heart, and brain of Britain, [TO BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS. By whom, I grant, she lives; 'Tis now the time To ask of whence you are:-report it. Bel. In Cambria are we born, and gentlemen : Sir, Further to boast, were neither true nor modest, Unless I add, we are honest. Cym. Arise, my knights o'the battle: I create you Enter CORNELIUS and Ladies. There's business in these faces :-Why so sadly Cor. Hail, great king! To sour your happiness, I must report The queen is dead. Cum. Cor. With horror, madly dying, like her life; Cym. Pr'ythee, say. Cor. First, she confess'd she never lov'd you; only Affected greatness got by you, not you: Married your royalty, was wife to your place; Abhorr'd your person. Cym. She alone knew this : And, but she spoke it dying, I would not Believe her lips in opening it. Proceed. Cor. Your daughter, whom she bore in hand to love With such integrity, she did confess Was as a scorpion to her sight; whose life, Ta'en off by poison. Cym. O most delicate fiend! Who is't can read a woman?-Is there more? Cor. More, sir, and worse. She did confess, she had For you a mortal mineral; which, being took, Should by the minute feed on life, and, ling'ring, By inches waste you: In which time she purpos'd, By watching, weeping, tendance, kissing, to O'ercome you with her show: yes, and in time, (When she had fitted you with her craft,) to work Her son into the adoption of the crown. But failing of her end by his strange absence, Grew shameless desperate; open'd, in despite Of heaven and men, her purposes; repented The evils she hatch'd were not effected; so, Despairing, died. Cym. Heard you all this, her women? Lady. We did so, please your highness. Cym. Were not in fault, for she was beautiful; Mine eyes Mine ears, that heard her flattery; nor my heart, That thought her like her seeming; it had been vicious, To have mistrusted her: yet, O my daughter! Enter LUCIUS, IACHIMO, the Soothsayer, and other Roman Prisoners, guarded; POSTHUMUS behind, and IMOGEN. Thou com'st not, Caius, now for tribute; that Luc. Consider, sir, the chance of war: the day Our prisoners with the sword. But since the gods So feat,' so nurse-like: let his virtue join With my request, which, I'll make bold, your highness Cannot deny; he hath done no Briton harm, Though he have serv'd à Roman: save him, sir, 1 Ready, dextrous. And spare no blood beside. Cym. I have surely seen him His favour is familiar to me. Boy, thou hast look'd thyself into my grace, And art mine own.-I know not why, nor wherefore, The noblest ta'en. Imo. I humbly thank your highness. Luc. I do not bid thee beg my life, good lad; And yet, I know, thou wilt. Imo. No, no: alack, There's other work in hand; I see a thing Bitter to me as death: your life, good master, Luc. The boy disdains me, He leaves me, scorns me: Briefly die their joys, Cym. 1 What would'st thou, boy? I love thee more and more; think more and more What's best to ask. 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. Сут. Wherefore ey'st him so ? 2 Countenance. Imo. I'll tell you, sir, in private, if you please To give me hearing. Cym. Ay, with all my heart, And lend my best attention. What's thy name? Imo. Fidele, sir. Cym.: Thou art my good youth, my page; I'll be thy master: Walk with me; speak freely. [CYMBELIN NE and IMOGEN converse apart. Bel. Is not this boy reviv'd from death? One sand another Arv. -What think you? Who died, and was Fidele :-) Bel. Peace, peace! see further; he eyes us not Since she is living, let the time run on, To good, or bad. Cym. [CYMBELINE and IMOGEN come forward. Come, stand thou by our side; Make thy demand aloud.-Sir, [To IACH.] step you forth; Give answer to this boy, and do it freely; Or, by our greatness, and the grace of it, Winnow the truth from falsehood.-On, speak to him. |