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Her Husband banish’d; she imprison’d, all

       Is outward sorrow, though I thinke the King

       Be touch’d at very heart

       2 None but the King? 1 He that hath lost her too: so is the Queene, That most desir’d the Match. But not a Courtier, Although they weare their faces to the bent Of the Kings lookes, hath a heart that is not Glad at the thing they scowle at

       2 And why so?

       1 He that hath miss’d the Princesse, is a thing

       Too bad, for bad report: and he that hath her,

       (I meane, that married her, alacke good man,

       And therefore banish’d) is a Creature, such,

       As to seeke through the Regions of the Earth

       For one, his like; there would be something failing

       In him, that should compare. I do not thinke,

       So faire an Outward, and such stuffe Within

       Endowes a man, but hee

       2 You speake him farre

       1 I do extend him (Sir) within himselfe, Crush him together, rather then vnfold His measure duly

       2 What’s his name, and Birth?

       1 I cannot delue him to the roote: His Father

       Was call’d Sicillius, who did ioyne his Honor

       Against the Romanes, with Cassibulan,

       But had his Titles by Tenantius, whom

       He seru’d with Glory, and admir’d Successe:

       So gain’d the Sur-addition, Leonatus.

       And had (besides this Gentleman in question)

       Two other Sonnes, who in the Warres o’th’ time

       Dy’de with their Swords in hand. For which, their Father

       Then old, and fond of yssue, tooke such sorrow

       That he quit Being; and his gentle Lady

       Bigge of this Gentleman (our Theame) deceast

       As he was borne. The King he takes the Babe

       To his protection, cals him Posthumus Leonatus,

       Breedes him, and makes him of his Bedchamber,

       Puts to him all the Learnings that his time

       Could make him the receiuer of, which he tooke

       As we do ayre, fast as ‘twas ministred,

       And in’s Spring, became a Haruest: Liu’d in Court

       (Which rare it is to do) most prais’d, most lou’d,

       A sample to the yongest: to th’ more Mature,

       A glasse that feated them: and to the grauer,

       A Childe that guided Dotards. To his Mistris,

       (For whom he now is banish’d) her owne price

       Proclaimes how she esteem’d him; and his Vertue

       By her electio[n] may be truly read, what kind of man he is

       2 I honor him, euen out of your report.

       But pray you tell me, is she sole childe to’th’ King?

       1 His onely childe:

       He had two Sonnes (if this be worth your hearing,

       Marke it) the eldest of them, at three yeares old

       I’th’ swathing cloathes, the other from their Nursery

       Were stolne, and to this houre, no ghesse in knowledge

       Which way they went

       2 How long is this ago? 1 Some twenty yeares 2 That a Kings Children should be so conuey’d, So slackely guarded, and the search so slow That could not trace them

       1 Howsoere, ‘tis strange, Or that the negligence may well be laugh’d at: Yet is it true Sir

       2 I do well beleeue you

       1 We must forbeare. Heere comes the Gentleman, The Queene, and Princesse.

       Exeunt.

      SCENE II.

       Enter the Queene, Posthumus, and Imogen.

       Qu. No, be assur’d you shall not finde me (Daughter)

       After the slander of most Step-Mothers,

       Euill-ey’d vnto you. You’re my Prisoner, but

       Your Gaoler shall deliuer you the keyes

       That locke vp your restraint. For you Posthumus,

       So soone as I can win th’ offended King,

       I will be knowne your Aduocate: marry yet

       The fire of Rage is in him, and ‘twere good

       You lean’d vnto his Sentence, with what patience

       Your wisedome may informe you

       Post. ‘Please your Highnesse,

       I will from hence to day

       Qu. You know the perill:

       Ile fetch a turne about the Garden, pittying

       The pangs of barr’d Affections, though the King

       Hath charg’d you should not speake together.

       Exit

       Imo. O dissembling Curtesie! How fine this Tyrant

       Can tickle where she wounds? My deerest Husband,

       I something feare my Fathers wrath, but nothing

       (Alwayes reseru’d my holy duty) what

       His rage can do on me. You must be gone,

       And I shall heere abide the hourely shot

       Of angry eyes: not comforted to liue,

       But that there is this Iewell in the world,

       That I may see againe

       Post. My Queene, my Mistris:

       O Lady, weepe no more, least I giue cause

       To be suspected of more tendernesse

       Then doth become a man. I will remaine

       The loyall’st husband, that did ere plight troth.

       My residence in Rome, at one Filorio’s,

       Who, to my Father was a Friend, to me

       Knowne but by Letter; thither write (my Queene)

       And with mine eyes, Ile drinke the words you send,

       Though Inke be made of Gall.

       Enter Queene.

       Qu. Be briefe, I pray you:

       If the King come, I shall incurre, I know not

       How much of his displeasure: yet Ile moue him

       To walke this way: I neuer do him wrong,

       But he do’s buy my Iniuries, to be Friends:

       Payes deere for my offences

       Post. Should we be taking leaue

       As long a terme as yet we haue to liue,

       The loathnesse to depart, would grow: Adieu

       Imo. Nay, stay a little:

       Were you but riding forth to ayre your selfe,

       Such parting were too petty. Looke heere (Loue)

       This Diamond was my Mothers; take it (Heart)

       But keepe it till you woo another Wife,

       When Imogen is dead

       Post. How, how? Another?

      

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