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SCENE I.-Britain. The Garden behind CYMBELINE'S
Enter two Gentlemen.
1st Gent. You do not meet a man, but frowns: our bloods
No more obey the heavens, than our courtiers;
2d Gent. But what's the matter?
1st Gent. His daughter, and the heir of his kingdom, whom
He purpos'd to his wife's sole son, (a widow,
Is outward sorrow; though, I think, the king
2d Gent. None but the king?
1st Gent. 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
2d Gent. And why so?
1st Gent. 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.
od Gent. You speak him far.
1st Gent. I do extend him, sir, within himself; Crush him together, rather than unfold His measure duly.
2d Gent. What's his name, and birth?
1st Gent. I cannot delve him to the root: His father
Was call'd Sicilius, who did join his honour,
But had his titles by Tenantius, whom
Two other sons, who, in the wars o'the time,
What kind of man he is.
2d Gent. I honour him
Even out of your report. But, 'pray you, tell me,
1st Gent. His only child.
He had two sons; (if this be worth your hearing,
Which way they went.
2d Gent. How long is this ago?
1st Gent. Some twenty years.
2d Gent. That a king's children should be so con
So slackly guarded! And the search so slow,
1st Gent. Howsoe'er 'tis strange,
Or that the negligence may well be laugh'd at,
2d Gent. I do well believe you.
1st Gent. We must forbear: Here comes the queen, and princess.
SCENE II.-The same.
Enter the Queen, POSTHUMUS, and IMOGEN.
Queen. No, be assur'd, you shall not find me, daughter, After the slander of most step-mothers,
Evil-ey'd unto you: you are my prisoner, but
I will be known your advocate: marry, yet
The fire of rage is in him; and 'twere good,
Post. Please your highness,
I will from hence to-day.
Queen. You know the peril :
I'll fetch a turn about the garden, pitying