2 Gent. I honour him But, 'pray you, tell me, Even out of your report. 1 Gent. 2 Gent. How long is this ago? 1 Gent. Some twenty years. 2 Gent. That a king's children should be so convey'd! So slackly guarded! And the search so slow, 1 Gent. Howsoe'er 'tis strange, Or that the negligence may well be laugh'd at, 2 Gent. I do well believe you. 1 Gent. We must forbear: Here comes the and princess. SCENE II. The same. queen [Exeunt. 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-eyed unto you: you are my prisoner, but Your gaoler shall deliver you the keys That lock up your restraint. For you, Posthumus, So soon as I can win the offended king, I will be known advocate: marry, yet your The fire of rage is in him; and 'twere good, Post. I will from hence to-day. Queen. Please your highness, 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. Imo. [Exit Queen. Dissembling courtesy! How fine this tyrant Can tickle where she wounds!-My dearest husband, I something fear my father's wrath; but nothing His rage can do on me: You must be gone; Post. My queen! my mistress! Than doth become a man! I will remain And with mine eyes I'll drink the words you send, Queen. Re-enter 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 [Aside. I say I do not fear my father, so far as I may say it without breach of duty.' To walk this way: I never do him wrong, Post. [Exit. 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, When Imogen is dead. Post. How! how! another?You gentle gods, give me but this I have, And sear up3 my embracements from a next 4 With bonds of death!-Remain, remain thou here Upon this fairest prisoner. [Putting a Bracelet on her Arm. 2 He gives me a valuable consideration in new kindness (purchasing, as it were, the wrong I have done him), in order to renew our amity, and make us friends again.' 3 Shakspeare poetically calls the cere-cloths, in which the dead are wrapped, the bonds of death. There was no distinction in ancient orthography between seare, to dry, to wither; and seare, to dress or cover with wax. Cere-cloth is most frequently spelled seare-cloth. In Hamlet we have : 'Why, thy canonized bones hearsed in death Have burst their cerements.' i. e. while I have sensation to retain it. There can be no doubt that it refers to the ring, and it is equally obvious that thee would have been more proper. Whether this error is to be laid to the poet's charge or to that of careless printing, it would not be easy to decide. Malone, however, has shown that there are many passages in these plays of equally loose construction. Imo. O, the gods! t When shall we see again? Post. Enter CYMBELINE and Lords. Alack, the king! Cym. Thou basest thing, avoid! hence, from my sight! If, after this command, thou fraught the court Post. I am gone. Imo. There cannot be a pinch in death More sharp than this is. Cym. O disloyal thing, [Exit. That should'st repair 5 my youth; thou heapest Imo. 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. 5 i. e. renovate my youth, make me young again. To repaire (according to Baret) is to restore to the first state, to renew.' So in All's Well that Ends Well: it much repairs me To talk of your good father.' 6 Sir Thomas Hanmer reads: thou heapest many A year's age on me!' Some such emendation seems necessary. 7 A touch more rare' is a more exquisite feeling, a superior sensation.' So in The Tempest : 'Hast thou which art but air, a touch, a feeling And in Antony and Cleopatra : The death of Fulvia, with more urgent touches, A passage in King Lear will illustrate Imogen's meaning:- The lesser is scarce felt.' Cym. grace. Cym. That might'st have had the sole son of m queen! Imo. O bless'd, that I might not! I chose a eagle, And did avoid a puttock3. Cym. Thou took'st a beggar; would'st have mad my throne It is Cym. What!-art thou mad Imo. Almost, sir: Heaven restore me!-'Would I were A neat-herd's daughter! and my Leonatus Cym. ·Re-enter Queen. They were again together: you have done Thou foolish thing! [To the Queen. 'Beseech your patience :-Peace, Not after our command. Away with her, Queen. Dear lady daughter, peace; Sweet sovereign, 8. A puttock is a mean degenerate species of hawk, too worthless to deserve training. |