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Is outward sorrow, though I think the King |
Be touch'd at very heart. |
SECOND GENTLEMAN. None but the King? |
FIRST GENTLEMAN. He that hath lost her too. So is the Queen, |
That most desir'd the match. But not a courtier, |
Although they wear their faces to the bent |
Of the King's looks, hath a heart that is not |
Glad at the thing they scowl at. |
SECOND GENTLEMAN. And why so? |
FIRST GENTLEMAN. He that hath miss'd the Princess is a thing |
Too bad for bad report; and he that hath her- |
I mean that married her, alack, good man! |
And therefore banish'd- is a creature such |
As, to seek through the regions of the earth |
For one his like, there would be something failing |
In him that should compare. I do not think |
So fair an outward and such stuff within |
Endows a man but he. |
SECOND GENTLEMAN. You speak him far. |
FIRST GENTLEMAN. I do extend him, sir, within himself; |
Crush him together rather than unfold |
His measure duly. |
SECOND GENTLEMAN. What's his name and birth? |
FIRST GENTLEMAN. I cannot delve him to the root; his father |
Was call'd Sicilius, who did join his honour |
Against the Romans with Cassibelan, |
But had his titles by Tenantius, whom |
He serv'd with glory and admir'd success, |
So gain'd the sur-addition Leonatus; |
And had, besides this gentleman in question, |
Two other sons, who, in the wars o' th' 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, |
Big of this gentleman, our theme, deceas'd |
As he was born. The King he takes the babe |
To his protection, calls him Posthumus Leonatus, |
Breeds him and makes him of his bed-chamber, |
Puts to him all the learnings that his time |
Could make him the receiver of; which he took, |
As we do air, fast as 'twas minist'red, |
And in's spring became a harvest, liv'd in court- |
Which rare it is to do- most prais'd, most lov'd, |
A sample to the youngest; to th' more mature |
A glass that feated them; and to the graver |
A child that guided dotards. To his mistress, |
For whom he now is banish'd- her own price |
Proclaims how she esteem'd him and his virtue; |
By her election may be truly read |
What kind of man he is. |
SECOND GENTLEMAN. I honour him |
Even out of your report. But pray you tell me, |
Is she sole child to th' King? |
FIRST GENTLEMAN. His only child. |
He had two sons- if this be worth your hearing, |
Mark it- the eldest of them at three years old, |
I' th' swathing clothes the other, from their nursery |
Were stol'n; and to this hour no guess in knowledge |
Which way they went. |
SECOND GENTLEMAN. How long is this ago? |
FIRST GENTLEMAN. Some twenty years. |
SECOND GENTLEMAN. That a king's children should be so convey'd, |
So slackly guarded, and the search so slow |
That could not trace them! |
FIRST GENTLEMAN. Howsoe'er 'tis strange, |
Or that the negligence may well be laugh'd at, |
Yet is it true, sir. |
SECOND GENTLEMAN. I do well believe you. |
FIRST GENTLEMAN. We must forbear; here comes the gentleman, |
The Queen, and Princess. Exeunt |
Enter the QUEEN, POSTHUMUS, and IMOGEN |
QUEEN. No, be assur'd you shall not find me, daughter, |
After the slander of most stepmothers, |
Evil-ey'd unto you. You're my prisoner, but |
Your gaoler shall deliver you the keys |
That lock up your restraint. For you, Posthumus, |
So soon as I can win th' 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 |
Your wisdom may inform you. |
POSTHUMUS. Please your Highness, |
I will from hence to-day. |
QUEEN. You know the peril. |
I'll fetch a turn about the garden, pitying |
The pangs of barr'd affections, though the King |
Hath charg'd you should not speak together. Exit |
IMOGEN. O dissembling courtesy! How fine this tyrant |
Can tickle where she wounds! My dearest husband, |
I something fear my father's wrath, but nothing- |
Always reserv'd my holy duty- what |
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 |
That I may see again. |
POSTHUMUS. 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 |
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