Pif. How fares

my mistress?

Imo. O get thee from my fight,

Thou gav'ft me poifon! dang'rous fellow, hence!
Breathe not where Princes are,

Cym. The tune of Imogen!

Pif. Lady, the Gods throw ftones of fulphur on me, If what I gave you was not thought by me A precious thing! I had it from the Queen. Cym. New matter still?

Imo. It poifon'd me.

Cor. Oh Gods!

I left out one thing which the Queen confefs'd,
Which must approve thee honeft. If Pifanio
Have, faid fhe, giv'n his mistress that confection
Which I gave him for cordial, fhe is ferv'd
As I would serve a rat.

Cym. What's this, Cornelius ?

Cor. The Queen, Sir, very oft importun'd me
To temper poifons for her; ftill pretending
The fatisfaction of her knowledge, only
In killing creatures vile, as cats and dogs.
Of no esteem; I dreading that her purpose
Was of more danger, did compound for her
A certain ftuff, which being ta'en would feize
The prefent power of life, but in short time
All offices of nature should again

Do their due functions. Have you ta'en of it?
Imo. Moft like I did, for I was dead.

Bel. My boys,

There was our error.

Guid. This is fure Fidele.

Imo. Why did you throw your wedded Lady from you?

[To Poft.

Think that you are upon a rock, and now

[Throwing her arms about his neck.

Throw me again.

Poft. Hang there like fruit, my foul,

Till the tree die !

Cym. How now, my flesh? my child?

What, mak'ft thou me a dull ard in this act?

Wilt thou not fpeak to me?

Imo. Your bleffing, Sir.

[Kneeling.

Bel. Tho you did love this youth, I blame you not,

You had a motive for't,

Cym. My tears that fall

[To Guiderius and Arviragus.

Prove holy-water on thee! Imogen,
Thy mother's dead.

Imo. I'm forry for't, my Lord.

Cym. Oh, he was nought; and long of her it was That we meet here fo ftrangely; but her fon

Is gone, we know not how, nor where.

Pif. My Lord,

Now fear is from me, I'll speak truth. Lord Cloten,
Upon my Lady's miffing, came to me

With his fword drawn, foam'd at the mouth, and fwore
If I discover'd not which way she went

It was my inftant death. By accident
I had a feigned letter of my mafter's
Then in my pocket, which directed her

To feek him on the mountains near to Milford:
Where in a frenzy, in my mafter's garments,
Which he inforc'd from me, away he posts
With unchafte purpose, and with oath to violate
My Lady's honour: What became of him,
I further know not.

Guid. Let me end the ftory;

I flew him there.

Cym. Marry, the Gods forefend!

I would not thy good deeds fhould from my lips
Pluck a hard fentence: pr'ythee, valiant youth,
Deny't again.

Guid. I've fpoke it, and I did it.

Cym. He was a Prince.

Guid. A moft incivil one. The wrongs he did me
Were nothing Prince-like; for he did provoke me
With language that would make me fpurn the fea,
Could it fo roar to me. I cut off's head,

And am right glad he is not standing here
To tell the tale of me.

Cym. I'm forry for thee;

By

By thine own tongue thou art condemn'd, and muft

Endure our law: thou'rt dead.

Imo. That headless man

I thought had been my Lord.

This man is a better than the man he flew,
As well defcended as thyself, and hath
More of thee merited, than a band of Clotens
Hed ever fcar for. Let his arms alone,
They were not born for bondage.

Cym. Why, old foldier,

[To the Guard.

Wilt thou undo the worth thou art unpaid for,
By tempting of our wrath? how of defcent

As good as we ?

Arv. In that he spake too far.
Cym. And thou shalt die for't.
Bel. We will die all three,

But I will prove that two on's are as good
As I've giv'n out of him. My fons, I must
For mine own part unfold a dangerous fpeech,
Though haply well for you.

Arv. Your danger's ours.
Guid. And our good yours.

Bel. Have at it then, by leave:

Thou had'ft, great King, a subject, who was call'd'
Bellarius.

Cym. What of him? a banish'd traitor.

Bel. He it is that hath

Affum'd this age; indeed a banish'd man,

I know not how a traitor.

Cym. Take him hence,

The whole world fhall not fave him.

Bel. Not too hot :.

First pay me for the nurfing of thy fons,

And let it be confifcate all, fo foon

As I've receiv'd it.

Cym. Nurfing of my fons ?

Bel. I am too blunt, and fawcy; here's

's my

knee:

Ere

Ere I arife, I will prefer my fons,
Then spare not the old father.

Mighty Sir,
These two young gentlemen that call me father
And think they are my fons, are none of mine,
They are the iffue of your loins, my Liege,
And blood of your begetting.

Cym. How? my iffue?

Bel. So fure as you, your father's: I, old Morgan,
Am that Bellarius whom you fometime banish'd;
Your pleasure was my near offence, my punishment
It felf, and all my treafon: That I fuffer'd,
Was all the harm I did. These gentle Princes,
(For fuch and fo they are) these twenty years
Have I train'd up; fuch arts they have, as I
Could put
into them. Sir, my breeding was,
As your Grace knows. Their nurfe Euriphile,
Whom for the theft I wedded, ftole thefe children
Upon my banishment: I mov'd her to't,
Having receiv'd the punishment before

For that which I did then. Beatings for loyalty
Excited me to treafon. Their dear lofs,
The more of you 'twas felt, the more it shap'd
Unto my end of ftealing them. But, Sir,.
Here are your fons again; and I must lofe
Two of the sweet'ft companions in the world.
The benediction of these covering heav'ns
Fall on their heads like dew! for they are worthy
To in-lay heav'n with stars.

Cym. Thou weep'ft, and fpeak'ft:

The fervice that you three have done, is more
Unlike, than this thou tell'ft. I loft my children-
If these be they, I know not how to wish

A pair of worthier fons.

Bel. Be pleas'd a while

This gentleman, whom I call Paladour,

Moft worthy Prince, as yours, is true Guiderius:
This gentleman, my Cadwal, Arviragus,
Your younger Princely fon; he, Sir, was lapt
In a most curious mantle, wrought by thì hand

Of

Of his Queen-mother, which for more probation

I can with ease produce.

Cym. Guiderius had

Upon his neck a mole, a fanguine ftar,

It was a mark of wonder.

Bel. This is he;

Who hath upon him ftill that natʼral stamp:
It was wife nature's end in the donation,
To be his evidence now.

Cym. Oh, what am I?

A mother to the birth of three? ne'er mother
Rejoic'd deliverance more; bleft may you be,
That after this ftrange ftarting from your orbs,
You may reign in them now! oh Imogen,
Thou'aft loft by this a Kingdom.
Imo. No, my Lord:
I've got two worlds by't.
Have we thus met? oh,
But I am trueft fpeaker.

Oh my gentle brothers,
never say hereafter
You call'd me brother

When I was but your fifter: I, you brothers,
When ye were fo indeed.

Cym. Did you e'er meet?

Aru. Ay, my good Lord.

Guid. And at firft meeting lov'd,

Continu'd fo, until we thought he died.

Cor. By the Queen's dram fhe fwallow'd.
Cym. O rare inftinct!

When fhall I hear all through? this fierce abridgment
Hath to it circumftantial branches, which

Diftinction should be rich in. Where? how liv'd you?
And when came you to ferve our Roman captive?
How parted with your brothers? how firft met them?
Why fled you from the Court? and whither? these,
And your three motives to the battel, with

I know not how much more, fhould be demanded,
And all the other by-dependances

From chance to chance; but not the time nor place
Will ferve long interrogatories. See,

Poftbumus anchors upon Imogen ;

And