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What's best to ask. Know'st thou him thou look'ft on ?

fpeak,

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 val fal,

Am fomething nearer.

Cym. Wherefore eye'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.

Imo. Fidele, Sir.

What's thy name?

Cym. Thou art my good youth, my page; I'll be thy master: walk with me, speak freely.

[Cymbel. and Imo, walk afide.

Bel. Is not this boy reviv'd from death?

Arv. One fand another (29)

Not more resembles, than He th' fweet rofie lad,
Who dy'd and was Fidele. What think you?
Guid. The fame dead thing alive.

Bel. Peace, peace, fee more; he eyes us not; for-
bear,

Creatures may

be alike: were't he, I'm fure,

He would have spoke t' us.

Guid. But we faw him dead.

Bel. Be filent: let's fee furrher.

Pif. 'Tis my miftrefs

Since the is living, let the time run on,

[Afide.

To good, or bad. [Cymb. and Imog, come forward.

Cym Come, ftand thou by our fide.

Make thy demand aloud,

(29)

Sir, ftep you forth,

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[To Lachimo.

A flight corruption has made stark Nonsense of this Paffage. One Grain of Sand certainly might refemble another; but it could never resemble a human Form. I believe, I have restor'd the Poet's Meaning; The Verse is none of the smootheft: but, resembles must be pronounc'd as a disyllable.

Give answer to this boy, and do it freely;
Or, by our Greatness and the Grace of it,
Which is our Honour, bitter torture shall

Winnow the truth from falfhood.-On; fpeak to him, Imo. My boon is, that this Gentleman may render Of whom he had this ring.

Poft. What's that to him?

Cym. That diamond upon your finger, fay, How came it yours?

Iach. Thou'lt torture me to leave unfpoken That, Which to be fpoke would torture thee.

Cym. How? me?

lach. I'm glad to be contrain'd to utter what Torments me to conceal. By villany

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. Will you hear more, my lord? Cym. All that belongs to this.

lach. That paragon, thy daughter,

For whom my heart drops blood, and my falfe fpirits
Quail to remember, give me leave, Í faint.-

Cym My daughter, what of her? renew thy firength;
I'd rather thou thouldft live, while nature will,
Than die ere I hear more: ftrive, man, and speak.
Iach. Upon a time, (unhappy was the clock,
That fruck the hour;) it was in Rome, (accurs'd
The manfion where) 'twas at a feaft, (oh, 'would
Our viands had been poifon'd? or at least,

Those which I heav'd to head :) the good Pofthumus
(What fhould I fay? he was too good to be
Where ill men were; and was the belt of all
Amongst the rar'ft of good ones)

Hearing us praise our Loves of Italy (30)

-fitting fadly,

For

(30) Hearing us praise our Loves of Italy

For Beauty, that made barren the fell'd Boaft

Of him that beft could speak; for Feature, laming

The

For Beauty, that made barren the fwell'd Boaft
Of him that beft could fpeak; for Stature, laming
The fhrine of Venus, or ftraight-pight Minerva,
Poftures, beyond brief nature; for condition,
A fhop of all the qualities, that man

Loves woman for; befides that hook of wiving,
Fairness, which strikes the eye-
Cym. I ftand on fire.

Come to the matter.

lach. All too foon I fhall,

Unless thou wouldst grieve quickly.-This Pofthumus, (Most like a noble lord in love, and one

That had a royal lover) took his hint ;

And, not difpraifing whom we prais'd, (therein
He was as calm as virtue) he began

His mistress' picture; which by his tongue being made,
And then a mind put in't, either our brags

Were crack'd-of kitchen trulls, or his description
Prov'd us unfpeaking fots.

Cym, Nay, nay, to th' purpose.

Tach. Your daughter's chastity; there it begins: He spake of her, as Dian had hot dreams,

And he alone were cold; whereat, I, wretch !.
Made fcruple of his praife; and wag'd with him
Pieces of gold, 'gainst This which then he wore
Upon his honour'd finger, to attain

In fuit the place of's bed, and win this ring

The fhrine of Venus, or firait-pight Minerva,
Poftures, beyond brief Nature ;- -]

1

As plaufible as this Reading may appear at firft View, I dare fay, it is flightly corrupted. What! did they praise their Miftreffes for Beauty, and for Feature too? The Symmetry of Features is always one main part of Beauty. Then why fhould Features be faid to lame a Statue, or the Poftures of a well-built Goddefs; We must certainly restore

for Stature laming

The Shrine of Venus, &c,

This agrees perfectly well with, laming, Arait-pight, and Pof tures: and fo the Lady is prais'd for her Beauty, her Shape, and her Tempeof M nd.

By

By hers and mine adultery. He, true Knight,
No leffer of her honour confident

Than I did truly find her, ftakes this ring;
And would fo, had it been a carbuncle

Of Phoebus' wheel; and might fo fafely, had it
Been all the worth of's Car. Away to Britaine
Poft I in this defign: well may you, Sir,
Remember me at court, where I was taught
By your chafte daughter the wide difference
"Twixt amorous, and villainous. Being thus quench'd
Of Hope, not Longing, mine Italian brain
'Gan in your duller Britaine operate
Moft vilely for my vantage excellent;
And, to be brief, my practice fo prevail'd,
That I return'd with fimular proof enough
To make the noble Leonatus mad,

By wounding his belief in her renown,
With tokens thus, and thus; averring notes
Of chamber-hanging, pictures, this her bracelet;
(Oh, cunning! how I got it) nay, fome marks
Of fecret on her perfon; that he could not
But think her bond of chastity quite crack'd,
I having ta'en the forfeit; whereupon,
Methinks, I fee him now

Poft. Ay, fo thou doft,

[Coming forward.

Italian fiend! ah me, most credulous fool,
Egregious murtherer, thief, any thing

That's due to all the villains paft, in Being,

To come- -oh, give me cord, or knife, or poison,
Some upright jufticer! Thou, King, fend out
For torturers ingenious; it is I

That all th' abhorred things o'th' earth amend,
By being worse than they. I am Pofthumus,
That kill'd thy daughter; -villain like, I lie;
That caus'd a leffer villain than myself,
A facrilegious thief, to do't. The temple
Of virtue was fhe, yea, and She herself.
Spit, and throw ftones, caft mire upon me, fet
The dogs o'th' ftreet to bay me: every villain
Be call'd Pofthumus Leonatus, and

Be

Be villany less than 'twas!

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Oh Imogen?

My Queen, my life, my wife! oh Imogen,
Imogen, Imogen!

Imo. Peace, my lord, hear, hear-
Poft. Shall's have a Play of this!
Thou scornful page, there lie thy part.

Pif. Oh, gentlemen, help, Mine, and your mistress

[Striking her, he falls.

Oh, my lord Pofthumus!

-help, help,

You ne'er kill'd Imogen 'till now———

Mine honour'd lady

Cym. Does the world go round ?

Poft. How come thefe ftaggers on me?

Pif. Wake, my miftrefs!

Cym. If this be fo, the Gods do mean to ftrike me

To death with mortal joy.

Pif. How fares my mistress?

Imo. O, get thee from my fight;

Thou gav'ft me poifon

dang'rous fellow, hence!

Breathe not, where Princes are.

Cym. The tune of Imogen!

Pif. Lady, the Gods throw ftones of fulphur on me, If what I gave you was not thought by me

A precious thing: I had it from the Queen.
Cym. New matter ftill?

Imo. It poifon'd me.

Cor. Oh Gods!

I left out one thing which the Queen confefs'd,
Which must approve thee honeft. If Pifanio
Have, faid fhe, giv'n his mistress that confection,
Which I gave him for cordial, fhe is ferv'd
As I would ferve a rat.

Cym. What's this, Cornelius?

Cor. The Queen, Sir, very oft importun'd me
To temper poifons for her; ftill pretending
The fatisfaction of her knowledge, only
In killing creatures vile, as cats and dogs
Of no efteem; I, dreading that her purpofe
Was of more danger, did compound for her
A certain ftuff, which, being ta'en, would feize

The

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