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In Cambria are we born, and gentlemen:

Further to boast, were neither true nor modest,
Unless I add, we are honest.

Cym. Bow your knees:

Arise my knight's o' the battle; I create you
Companions to our person, and will fit you
With dignities becoming your estates.

Enter CORNELIUS, and Ladies.

There's business in these faces :-Why so sadly
Greet you our victory? you look like Romans,
And not o' the court of Britain.

Cor. Hail, great king!

To sour your happiness; I must report
The queen is dead.

Cym. Whom worse than a physician
Would this report become? But I consider,
By medicine life may be prolong'd, yet death
Will seize the doctor too.-How ended she?

Cor. With horror, madly dying, like her life;
Which being cruel to the world, concluded
Most cruel to herself. What she confess'd,
I will report, so please you: These her women
Can trip me, if I err; who, with wet cheeks,
Were present when she finish'd.

Cym. Pr'ythee, say.

390

400

Cor. First, she confess'd she never lov'd you; only

Affected greatness got by you, not you:

410

Abhorr'd

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,

But that her flight prevented it, she had

Ta'en off by poison.

Cym. O most delicate fiend!

Who is't can read a woman?-Is there more?

420

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 shew: 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 despight
Of heaven and men, her purposes; repented
The ills she hatch'd were not effected; so,
Despairing, dy'd.

Cym. Heard you all this, her women?

Lady. We did, so please your highness.

430

Cym. Mine eyes

Were not in fault, for she was beautiful ;

Mine ears, that heard her flattery; nor my heart, 440

That

That thought her like her seeming; it had been

vicious,

To have mistrusted her: yet, O my daughter!
That it was folly in me, thou may'st say,

And prove it in thy feeling. Heaven mend all!

Enter LUCIUS, IA CHIMO, and other Roman Prisoners ; POSTHUMUS behind, and IMOGEN.

Thou com'st not, Caius, now for tribute; that
The Britons have raz'd out, though with the loss
Of many a bold one; whose kinsmen have made suit,
That their good souls may be appeas'd with slaughter
Of you their captives, which ourself have granted:
So, think of your estate.

Luc. Consider, sir, the chance of war; the day
Was your's by accident; had it gone with us,

450

We should not, when the blood was cold, 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:
Augustus lives to think on't: And so much
For my peculiar care. This one thing only
I will entreat; My boy, a Briton born,
Let him be ransom'd: never master had
A page so kind, so duteous, diligent,
So tender over his occasions, true,

So feat, so nurse-like let his virtue join

460

With my request, which, I'll make bold, your high

ness

Cannot deny; he hath done no Briton harm,
Though he have serv'd a Roman : save him, sir,
And spare no blood beside.

Cym. I have surely seen him;

-Boy,

His favour is familiar to me :-)
Thou hast look'd thyself into my grace, and art
Mine own. I know not why, wherefore, I say,
Live, boy: ne'er thank thy master; live:
And ask of Cymbeline what boon thou wilt,
Fitting my bounty, and thy state, I'll give it
Yea, though thou do demand a prisoner,
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,
Must shuffle for itself.

Luc. The boy disdains me,

He leaves me, scorns me: Briefly die their joys,
That place them on the truth of girls and boys.—
Why stands he so perplex'd

Cym. What wouldst thou, boy?

470

486

489

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?

Imo. He is a Roman; no more kin to me,

Than I to your highness; who, being born your

vassal,

Am something nearer.

Cym. Wherefore ey`st him so?

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? 500

Imo. Fidele, sir.

Cym. Thou art my good youth, my page;

I'll be thy master: Walk with me; speak freely.

[CYMBELINE and IMOGEN walk aside.

Bel. Is not this boy reviv'd from death

Arv. One sand another

Not more resembles: That sweet rosy lad,

Who dy'd, and was Fidele-What think you?
Guid. The same dead thing alive.

Bel. Peace, peace! see further; he eyes us not;

forbear

Creatures may be alike: were't he, I am sure

He would have spoke to ns.

510

Guid. But we saw him dead.

Bel. Be silent; let's see further.

Pis. It is my mistress:

Since she is living, let the time run on, :

[Aside.

To good, or bad. [CYM. and IMO. come forward. Cym. Come, stand thou by our side;

Make thy demand aloud. -Sir, step you forth;

[TO LACHIMO.

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