Iach. Thou'lt torture me to leave unspoken that Which, to be spoke, would torture thee. Cym. How! me? Tach. I am glad to be constrain'd to utter that which Torments me to conceal. By villainy I got this ring; 'twas Leonatus' jewel: Whom thou didst banish; and (which more may grieve thee, As it doth me,) a nobler sir ne'er liv'd 'Twixt sky and ground. lord? Wilt thou hear more, my Cym. All that belongs to this. Iach. That paragon, thy daughter, For whom my heart drops blood, and my false spirits Quail3 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, Than die ere I hear more: strive man, and speak. Iach. Upon a time, (unhappy was the clock That struck the hour!) it was in Rome, (accurs'd The mansion where!) 'twas at a feast, (O 'would Our viands had been poison'd! or, at least, Those which I heav'd to head!) the good Posthúmus, (What should I say? he was too good, to be For beauty that made barren the swell'd boast Gym. Come to the matter. I stand on fire: 3 Sink into dejection. Iach. All too soon I shall, Unless thou would'st grieve quickly. This Post húmus, - (Most like a noble lord in love, and one His mistress' picture; which by his tongue being made, And then a mind put in't, either our brags Cym. Nay, nay, to the purpose. Iach. Your daughter's chastity. He spake of her As she alone were pure: Whereat, I, wretch! Made scruple of his praise; and wager'd with him Pieces of gold, 'gainst this which then he wore Upon his honour'd finger, to attain In suit the place of his bed, and win this ring Than I did truly find her, stakes this ring; Most vilely; for my 'vantage, excellent; By wounding his belief in her renown (O, cunning, how I got it!) nay, some marks Methinks, I see him now, Post. Italian fiend! Ay, so thou dost, Ah me, most credulous fool, Egregious murderer, thief, any thing O, give me cord, or knife, or poison, That all the abhorred things o'the earth amend, 4 Be villainy less than 'twas! - O Imogen! My queen, my life, my wife! O Imogen, Imo. Peace, my lord; hear, hear Post. Shall's have a play of this? Thou scornful page, There lie thy part. Pis. [Striking her she falls. : O, gentlemen, help, help Mine, and your mistress:-O, my lord Posthúmus! You ne'er kill'd Imogen till now: Help, help! Mine honour'd lady! Cym. Does the world go round? Pis. Post. How come these staggers on me? 4 Not only the temple of virtue, but virtue herself. Wake, my mistress? Cym. If this be so, the gods do mean to strike me. To death with mortal joy. How fares my mistress? Pis. Thou gav'st me poison: dangerous fellow, hence ! Cym. The tune of Imogen! The gods throw stones of sulphur on me, if Imo. Cor. It poison'd me. O Gods! Cym. Bel. There was our error. Gui. you My boys, This is sure, Fidele. Imo. Why did you throw your wedded lady from you? s Mix, compound. Think, that you are upon a rock; Throw me again. Till the tree die! Cym. and now [Embracing him. Hang there like fruit, my soul, What, mak'st thou me a dullard in this act? Imo. How now, my flesh, my child? Your blessing, sir. ye Bel. Though you did love this youth, I blame not; You had a motive for't. Cym. [To GUIDERIUS and ARVIRAGUS. My tears that fall, Prove holy water on thee! Imogen, Imo. I am sorry for't, my lord. Cym. O, she was naught; and 'long of her it was, That we meet here so strangely: But her son Pis. My lord, Now fear is from me, I'll speak troth. Cloten ; Upon my lady's missing, came to me Lord With his sword drawn; foam'd at the mouth, and swore, If I discover'd not which way she was gone, It was my instant death: By accident, Gui. I slew him there. Let me end the story: |