You must begone; And I shall here abide the hourly shot Post. My queen! my mistress! O, lady, weep no more; lest I give cause Enter QUEEN. Queen. Be brief, I pray you ; If the king come, I shall incur I know not How much of his displeasure:-Yet, I'll move him To walk this way; I never do him wrong, Post. Should we be taking leave As long a term, as yet we have to live, The loathness to depart would grow: Adieu! Were you but riding forth to air yourself, [Aside. [Exit. Such parting were too petty. Look here, love; When Imogen is dead. Post. How!-how! another? You gentle gods, give me but this I have, With bonds of death!-Remain, remain thou here [Putting on the Ring. While sense can keep it on! And sweetest, fairest, [Putting a Bracelet on her Arm. Upon this fairest prisoner. When shall we see again? Enter CYMBELINE and Two LORDS. Post. Alack, the king! Cym. Thou basest thing! avoid-hence, from my sight! If, after this command, thou fraught the court Post. The gods protect you! And bless the good remainders of the court !— I am gone. Imog. There cannot be a pinch in death More sharp than this is.— Pisanio, go, and see your lord on board. Cym. O, disloyal thing, [Exit. [Exit PISANIO. That shouldst repair my youth! thou heapest many A year's age on me. Imog. I beseech you, sir, Harm not yourself with your vexation! I Am senseless of your wrath; a touch more rare Subdues all pangs, all fears. Cym. That mightst have had the sole son of my queen! Imog. O bless'd, that I might not! Cym. Thou took'st a beggar; wouldst have made my throne A seat for baseness. Imog. No; I rather added A lustre to it. Cym. O thou vile one! It is your fault, that I have lov'd Posthumus: Cym. What, art thou mad? Imog. Almost, sir: Heaven restore me!-'Would A neatherd's daughter, and my Leonatus Enter QUEEN. Cym. Thou foolish thing! They were again together: you have done Queen. 'Beseech your patience:-Peace, Dear lady daughter, peace;-Sweet sovereign, Leave us to ourselves; and make yourself some comfort Out of your best advice. Cym. Nay, let her languish A drop of blood a-day; and, being aged, Die of this folly. [Exeunt CYMBELINE and the Two LORDS. Queen. Fie! you must give way. Enter PISANIO. Here is your servant, Your faithful servant: I dare lay mine honour, He will remain so. Pisanio. I humbly thank your highness. Imog. Well, good Pisanio, [Exit. Thou saw'st thy lord on board?-What was the last That he spake to thee? Pisanio. "Twas "His queen, his queen !" Imog. Senseless linen! happier therein than I! Pisanio. No, madam; for so long As he could make me with this eye, or ear, Imog. Thou shouldst have made him As little as a crow, or less, ere left To after-eye him. Pisanio. Madam, so I did. Imog. I would have broke mine eye-strings, crack'd them, but To look upon him; till the diminution Of space, had pointed him sharp as my needle; The smallness of a gnat to air; and then Have turn'd mine eye and wept.-But, good Pisanio, When shall we hear from him? Pisanio. Be assur'd, madam, With his next vantage. Imog. I did not take my leave of him, but had Most pretty things to say: ere I could tell him, How I would think on him, at certain hours, Such thoughts, and such; or I could make him swear Mine interest, and his honour; or have charg'd him, I am in heaven for him; or, ere I could Shakes all our buds from growing.-See, the queenThose things I bid you do, get them despatch'd. [Exit. Pisanio. Madam, I shall. Enter QUEEN, meeting CORNELIUS. [Exit. Queen. Now, master doctor; have you brought those drugs? Corn. Pleaseth your highness, ay: [Gives the QUEEN a Phial. But I beseech your grace, without offence, My conscience bids me ask, wherefore you have Thou ask'st me such a question: Have I`not been I will try the forces Of these thy compounds, And apply Allayments to their act; and by them gather [Aside.] Here comes a flattering rascal; upon him Will I first work; he's for his master, And enemy to my son. Enter PISANIO. How now, Pisanio ?-Hark thee, a word. I know her spirit, And will not trust one of her malice with But there is No danger in what show of death it makes, |