You do not meet a man but frowns: our bloods

No more obey the heavens than our courtiers

Still seem as does the king.

But what's the matter?

His daughter, and the heir of's kingdom, whom

He purposed to his wife's sole son-a widow

That late he married-hath referr'd herself

Unto a poor but worthy gentleman: she's wedded;

Her husband banish'd; she imprison'd: all

Is outward sorrow; though I think the king

Be touch'd at very heart.

None but the king?

He that hath lost her too; so is the queen,

That most desired the match; but not a courtier,

Although they wear their faces to the bent

Of the king's look's, hath a heart that is not

Glad at the thing they scowl at.

And why so?

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.

You speak him far.

I do extend him, sir, within himself,

Crush him together rather than unfold

His measure duly.

What's his name and birth?

I cannot delve him to the root: his father

Was call'd Sicilius, who did join his honour

Against the Romans with Cassibelan,

But had his titles by Tenantius whom

He served with glory and admired success,

So gain'd the sur-addition Leonatus;

And had, besides this gentleman in question,

Two other sons, who in the wars o' the time

Died with their swords in hand; for which

their father,

Then old and fond of issue, took such sorrow

That he quit being, and his gentle lady,

Big of this gentleman our theme, deceased

As he was born. The king he takes the babe

To his protection, calls him Posthumus Leonatus,

Breeds him and makes him of his bed-chamber,

Puts to him all the learnings that his time

Could make him the receiver of; which he took,

As we do air, fast as 'twas minister'd,

And in's spring became a harvest, lived in court —

Which rare it is to do-most praised, most loved,

A sample to the youngest, to the more mature

A glass that feated them, and to the graver

A child that guided dotards; to his mistress,

For whom he now is banish'd, her own price

Proclaims how she esteem'd him and his virtue;

By her election may be truly read

What kind of man he is.

I honour him

Even out of your report. But, pray you, tell me,

Is she sole child to the king?

His only child.

He had two sons: if this be worth your hearing,

Mark it: the eldest of them at three years old,

I' the swathing-clothes the other, from their nursery

Were stol'n, and to this hour no guess in knowledge

Which way they went.

How long is this ago?

Some twenty years.

That a king's children should be so convey'd,

So slackly guarded, and the search so slow,

That could not trace them!

Howsoe'er 'tis strange,

Or that the negligence may well be laugh'd at,

Yet is it true, sir.

I do well believe you.

We must forbear: here comes the gentleman,

The queen, and princess.

No, be assured you shall not find me, daughter,

After the slander of most stepmothers,

Evil-eyed unto you: you're 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 your advocate: marry, yet

The fire of rage is in him, and 'twere good

You lean'd unto his sentence with what patience

Your wisdom may inform you.

Please your highness,

I will from hence to-day.

You know the peril.

I'll fetch a turn about the garden, pitying

The pangs of barr'd affections, though the king

Hath charged you should not speak together.

Dissembling courtesy! How fine this tyrant

Can tickle where she wounds! My dearest husband,

I something fear my father's wrath; but nothing —

Always reserved my holy duty-what

His rage can do on me: you must be gone;

And I shall here abide the hourly shot

Of angry eyes, not comforted to live,

But that there is this jewel in the world

That I may see again.

My queen! my mistress!

O lady, weep no more, lest I give cause

To be suspected of more tenderness

Than doth become a man. I will remain

The loyal'st husband that did e'er plight troth:

My residence in Rome at one Philario's,

Who to my father was a friend, to me

Known but by letter: thither write, my queen,

And with mine eyes I'll drink the words you send,

Though ink be made of gall.

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,

But he does buy my injuries, to be friends;

Pays dear for my offences.

Should we be taking leave

As long a term as yet we have to live,

The loathness to depart would grow. Adieu!

Nay, stay a little:

Were you but riding forth to air yourself,

Such parting were too petty. Look here, love;

This diamond was my mother's: take it, heart;

But keep it till you woo another wife,

When Imogen is dead.

How, how! another?

You gentle gods, give me but this I have,

And sear up my embracements from a next

With bonds of death!

Remain, remain thou here

While sense can keep it on. And, sweetest, fairest,

As I my poor self did exchange for you,

To your so infinite loss, so in our trifles

I still win of you: for my sake wear this;

It is a manacle of love; I'll place it

Upon this fairest prisoner.

O the gods!

When shall we see again?

Alack, the king!

Thou basest thing, avoid! hence, from my sight!

If after this command thou fraught the court

With thy unworthiness, thou diest: away!

Thou'rt poison to my blood.

The gods protect you!

And bless the good remainders of the court! I am gone.

There cannot be a pinch in death

More sharp than this is.

O disloyal thing,

That shouldst repair my youth, thou heap'st

A year's age on me.

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.

Past grace? obedience?

Past hope, and in despair; that way, past grace.

That mightst have had the sole son of my queen!

O blest, that I might not! I chose an eagle,

And did avoid a puttock.

Thou took'st a beggar; wouldst have made my throne

A seat for baseness.

No; I rather added

A lustre to it.

O thou vile one!

Sir,

It is your fault that I have loved Posthumus:

You bred him as my playfellow, and he is

A man worth any woman, overbuys me

Almost the sum he pays.

What, art thou mad?

Almost, sir: heaven restore me! Would I were

A neat-herd's daughter, and my Leonatus

Our neighbour shepherd's son!

Thou foolish thing!

They were again together: you have done

Not after our command. Away with her,

And pen her up.

Beseech your patience. Peace,

Dear lady daughter, peace! Sweet sovereign,

Leave us to ourselves; and make yourself some comfort

Out of your best advice.

Nay, let her languish

A drop of blood a day; and, being aged,

Die of this folly!

Fie! you must give way.

Here is your servant. How now, sir! What news?

My lord your son drew on my master.

Ha!

No harm, I trust, is done?

There might have been,

But that my master rather play'd than fought

And had no help of anger: they were parted

By gentlemen at hand.

I am very glad on't.

Your son's my father's friend; he takes his part.

To draw upon an exile! O brave sir!

I would they were in Afric both together;

Myself by with a needle, that I might prick

The goer-back. Why came you from your master?

On his command: he would not suffer me

To bring him to the haven; left these notes

Of what commands I should be subject to,

When 't pleased you to employ me.

This hath been

Your faithful servant: I dare lay mine honour

He will remain so.

I humbly thank your highness.

Pray, walk awhile.

About some half-hour hence,

I pray you, speak with me: you shall at least

Go see my lord aboard: for this time leave me.

Sir, I would advise you to shift a shirt; the

violence of action hath made you reek as a

sacrifice: where air comes out, air comes in:

there's none abroad so wholesome as that you vent.

If my shirt were bloody, then to shift it. Have I hurt him?

[Aside] No, 'faith; not so much as his patience.

Hurt him! his body's a passable carcass, if he be

not hurt: it is a thoroughfare for steel, if it be not hurt.

[Aside] His steel was in debt; it went o' the

backside the town.

The villain would not stand me.

[Aside] No; but he fled forward still, toward your face.

Stand you! You have land enough of your own: but

he added to your having; gave you some ground.

[Aside] As many inches as you have oceans. Puppies!

I would they had not come between us.

[Aside] So would I, till you had measured how long

a fool you were upon the ground.

And that she should love this fellow and refuse me!

[Aside] If it be a sin to make a true election, she

is damned.

Sir, as I told you always, her beauty and her brain

go not together: she's a good sign, but I have seen

small reflection of her wit.

[Aside] She shines not upon fools, lest the

reflection should hurt her.

Come, I'll to my chamber. Would there had been some

hurt done!

[Aside] I wish not so; unless it had been the fall

of an ass, which is no great hurt.

You'll go with us?

I'll attend your lordship.

Nay, come, let's go together.

Well, my lord.